Page 28 of Mafia Captor

I smooth a hand over its glossy top. “Does anyone play?”

“My brother John. He lives in a studio apartment in the city, no way to have one. I promised him the day I closed, I’d have one here for him.”

I love how much he looks out for his family. Kinda makes me bring my guard down a bit. “That’s extremely generous of you. I’ve always wanted to learn to play.”

“He’s real good. He loves to teach. Maybe he can show you a few things.”

“I’d like that.” It’s a nice idea, but I doubt I’ll be here long enough to take piano lessons.

He leads me up a curving staircase to the second floor. Cream-colored walls and large windows create a light and airy ambiance in the main spaces. He has an extensive collection of brightly colored modern art pieces hung in his hallways.

My eyes wander over the walls. “You like art, I see.”

“I like bright colors.”

I eye what seems to be his daily uniform, an ensemble that’s head-to-toe black. “Yeah. I can see that.”

He stops at a door, grabbing the crystal glass doorknob. “This”— he opens the door— “is your room.”

He doesn’t move for me to walk past, instead taking up space at the doorway so I have to brush up against his chest to step inside. His scent, his warmth, sends a little thrill through me.

Taking in my new prison, I try to control my excitement.

Because it’s the tower room, the far wall is rounded, a semi-circle of oblong windows. Heavy white curtains hang from high, gold rods. It’s classic but modern and fresh. The walls are eggshell, the linens white. The bedframe is made of thin gold bars, crisscrossing into patterns at the headboard and footboard. There’s a stone fireplace, currently hosting a large vase filled with branches of cherry blossoms.

I’m staying. In. A. Turret. My heart almost explodes.

“It’s lovely.” I say.

This place would be my dream home if I’d ever dared to dream this fabulous. But for how long? When will I be out of danger? And more importantly…

How will I live without Mr. Armani and my stuff?

“What about my belongings?” I ask.

“We can have your things sent. Anything you don’t have? We’ll get. Buy whatever you want. Get yourself a whole new wardrobe. You’re living in a French chateau now, you should look the part.”

His words make a little shiver of pleasure trip down my spine. I might have to take him up on his offer.

“And my cat?” I ask.

His face twists in distaste. “I’m a dog person.”

“Well, I’m both.” No cat? That’s a deal-breaker. I’ll take my chances on the streets. I straighten my spine. “My cat is nonnegotiable. He’s very special to me.”

“Look, you’re safe here, but I have a ton of dogs. And some of them have a killer hunting instinct. They’re well-trained animals but they could chase your cat—what’s his name?”

“Giorgio Armani.”

Is he… laughing at my cat’s amazing name?

He runs a hand over his stubbled jaw, his dark eyes sparkling with humor. “You’re safe here, but your little fashion designer isn’t. I have a newer employee, Talia. She’s a part-time vet tech here who helps out with my dogs. She’s obsessed with animals. I bet she’d love to care for him for you. She can bring you updates, pics, every morning.”

I take a minute to think over his proposal. “Okay. I can work with that. I’ll miss him but I want what’s best for G.”

“Same,” he says. “I mean, I won’t miss him. I hate cats. But I’ll make sure he’s well cared for, for your sake.”

“How can you hate cats? They’re perfect.”

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