Page 22 of SINS & Riley
I'm not sure why he thinks that clarifies it in my head, but whatever.
His gaze flicks sharply to Dominic. “How long do I have?”
Dominic straightens. “Zver wants her ready tonight.”
Tonight. Right.
The note Zver left on a silk blindfold.
I threw it out. Buried it in the trash.
He resurrected it. Now it sits center stage on the dresser, daring me to pretend I don’t see it.
Tonight, Zapretnaya.
The man checks his watch, a deep frown pulling at his mouth. “Three hours isn’t nearly enough time.”
Dominic’s gaze remains unmoved. “It’s all the time you have.”
A silent standoff stretches between them, eyes locked in some unspoken negotiation. My nerves knot tight, like I’m a rope they’re tug-o-warring over.
After a tense pause, the stranger finally huffs out a reluctant breath. “Fine.”
Dominic doesn’t flinch. He simply raises a brow. Pure authority. “It was never an option, Mr. Ricci.”
Several guards file in, lugging several heavy trunks before retreating in silence.
Dominic’s gaze cuts back to this Mr. Ricci. “Is this everything you need?”
Ricci studies the trunks, lips pressed tight, then gives a single nod. “Yes.”
Dominic studies me. For the first time since I’ve known him, his eyes are cold and unreadable. “Stay in your room. Do as this man says. You won’t like what happens to this man if you don’t.”
First off, My room is a misnomer. Every room in this fortress belongs to him. Zver. State-of-the-art surveillance included, complete with four cameras aimed at every angle of my bed.
But second and more importantly, Dominic’s threat isn’t for me. It’s for him. Which means Mr. Ricci didn’t come here by choice.
When Dominic leaves, a thick silence settles until the man finally exhales and starts rifling through a trunk.
“Our host is charming,” he scoffs.
“Careful,” I warn, gesturing to the cameras in the room.
He shrugs. “Those are video, not audio.”
My mouth goes dry. All those F-bombs I hurled in frustration? Totally wasted.
I level a stare. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
“Who am I?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes like the answer should be obvious. “People usually recognize me.” Then, with a flash of forced charm, he extends a hand. “Ricardo Ricci.”
He waits, clearly fishing for recognition.
I give him none. Because I have no idea who he is. Just a firm shake and a flat reply.
“Riley.”
He shakes his head, muttering angrily. “When a dangerous Russian wildcard kidnaps you and forces you into servitude, the least he can do is make sure everyone you’ll be attending to knows who the hell you are.”
