Page 55 of Shadows of Steel
It’s easier this way. It keeps the boundaries exactly where they belong.
Love has never been a conviction I’ve held. It’s a beautifully spun deception, a fragile promise people chase, only to watch it unravel into disillusionment. Betrayal. Pain. That’s why I refuse to invite complications into my life. I need to keep my distance, before it’s too late, before I suffer wounds deeper than the ones I already carry. Keeping Dante at arm’s length isn’t just a choice. It’s survival.
I throw back the covers and sit up as sunlight spills into the room, the June heat already thick in the air. As always, the view outside holds me captive.
From here, the sea stretches toward the horizon, an unbroken expanse of calm. Yachts drift across the water, their white sails slicing through the shimmering surface. Below, the beach is pristine, bathed in gold, breathtaking no matter how many times I lay eyes on it. For a moment, I let myself take it in, the quiet, the stillness, the illusion of peace.
Exhaling, I turn away from the view and step into the bathroom, letting the scalding water pour over me. Steam rises in thick swirls, the heat seeping into my muscles, easing tension I hadn’t even realized was there.
After a long shower, I gather my hair into a sleek ponytail, sweep on a touch of mascara, and slip into black leggings and a fitted sports bra. As I make my way to the kitchen, the rich aroma of freshly brewed espresso lingers in the air.
“Buongiorno, signora.” Bianca greets, her voice warm as she moves efficiently through the space, arranging breakfast.
“Good morning, Bianca.” I reply, stretching slightly.
“Shall I prepare you something to eat?” She offers.
“Not yet,” I say, reaching for a glass of water. “I’m heading outside for an hour of pilates.”
Bianca nods in approval. “Your mat is already set up. I’ll bring you a smoothie when you’re finished.”
I pause, caught off guard by the thoughtfulness. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “It’s no trouble.”
I give her a small nod of gratitude. “Thank you.”
Taking a sip of water, I step outside, ready to lose myself in movement. The estate is quiet, the early morning sun casting a soft glow over the manicured gardens. My mat is laid out on the grass, the air warm but not unbearable. I move through each position, stretching and settling into the rhythm of my workout.
Then, that feeling creeps in, the unmistakable prickle at the back of my neck. My body tenses before my mind can catchup, instincts sharpening as an unwelcome sensation coils low in my stomach. My stalker has been silent for too long. The quiet doesn’t bring comfort, it feels like waiting. Like patience. Like something lurking just beneath the surface, biding its time. I know I’m probably being paranoid, but the thought refuses to loosen its grip. And that’s what frustrates me the most. The power this faceless bastard holds over me, invading my thoughts, making me question everything. I glance toward the house, scanning the windows for movement, expecting to find nothing but shifting shadows. Instead, my gaze lands on an upper window.
Dante stands there, watching me.
The tension in my muscles shifts, something raw stirring beneath my skin. I can’t see his expression from here, but the rigid set of his jaw and the muscle ticking in his cheek tell me enough. Even from this distance, I feel the intensity of his stare, the weight of it dragging over my body like a touch. I hold his gaze for a moment, refusing to react, before turning back to my workout as if I never noticed him at all. If he insists on watching, perhaps I’ll give him something worth looking at.
I turn my focus back to my exercises. The minutes pass, my body falling into the familiar pattern.
But the feeling returns.
A different kind of stare, this one unwelcome.
For whatever reason, Dante can watch me all he wants, devour me with his eyes, and I let him. Maybe even enjoy it. I’m not about to analyse that too much.
But this? This, I don’t tolerate.
Angling my body slightly, I become aware of one of the guards lingering nearby. His posture is casually confident, arms crossed and a faintly arrogant smirk playing upon his lips. His gaze trails slowly down my figure, lingering boldly on the curves of my backside with an intensity that sends an unsettling prickleacross my skin. When he steps closer, his attention deepens, becoming far more invasive than admiring, leaving me acutely aware of his unwelcome scrutiny.
“I wasn’t expecting morning entertainment.” He muses, his tone laced with insolence, each word carrying a lazy sort of arrogance that grates against my patience.
I rise from my stretch, my expression composed as I meet his gaze. “You would do well to keep your mouth shut,” I say, my tone smooth, edged with quiet authority. “And your eyes where they belong.” I let the words settle between us before adding, almost idly, “It’s unwise to antagonize the hand that holds the power to have you castrated.”
His smirk falters, uncertainty flickering across his face before he schools his features, forcing out a low chuckle. “Fiery, aren’t you?” he muses, though there’s a fraction less confidence in his voice now. “No wonder the boss is so taken with you. If your skills in bed match that sharp tongue of yours…”
I don’t dignify him with a response, only holding his gaze long enough for the amusement in his eyes to wane. The shift is subtle, but I catch it, the moment he realizes he’s overstepped. Without another word, he takes a step back, his smirk fading as he turns away.
I move through the rest of my workout, pushing each movement a little harder, letting the sun warm my skin, the sea breeze brush over me. This was supposed to help, stretch, breathe, relieve tension, but my shoulders are still tight, my jaw locked. Some people are just insufferable.
With a quiet exhale, I grab my towel, running it over my damp skin as I make my way back inside. The shift from the sunlit gardens to the cool interior of the house is immediate. As I step into the kitchen, I expect to find someone bustling around, but the space is empty, silent except for the faint hum of the espresso machine cooling down. My gaze sweeps acrossthe room before landing on the island. There is a fresh breakfast, warm, perfectly plated. A cappuccino sits beside it, the foam still holding its delicate swirl.
