Page 23 of Lies like Rubies, Part Two (Savage Jewels)

“All right, Sofia, whatever you need.” He helped me walk to the bathroom. “I’m going to give you your privacy, but I’m going to leave the door open so I can check on you if I don’t hear anything for a few minutes, okay?”

I nodded, unused to anyone being so damn careful with me. After taking off the borrowed clothes Lorenzo had dressed me in, I slipped into the shower, relishing the hot water as it scoured my skin, ignoring the way it reopened my wounds and blood ran down my body.

Lorenzo waited for me with a towel, gently buffing my skin, heedless of the stains I left on the textured fabric. For a second, I wished he’d lose control, lose the tight hold he had on his emotions and tell me he fucking cared, that he missed me, that he hated every moment that we were apart, that he fucking loved me like I wanted him to so badly.

Never mind that I couldn’t return the sentiment. Not now that I had a city to conquer. I’d use every tool in my arsenal to do it, including him.

His phone pinged. “That’s Nick and Dante,” he said before leaning forward to kiss the top of my head.

“You haven’t eaten yet, and I’m worried about leaving you alone. Can I let them in, then come back to you?”

“Take me to your room first?” I asked, trepidation settling in my gut, heavy and sad.

I strained my ears to hear the low voices in the living room but couldn’t make anything out. I fiddled with the towel as I waited on Lorenzo’s bed, taking in the sparse, simple furniture, the room decorated with nothing more than a few books and some framed photos.

Intrigued, I wandered over to the dresser. He had photos of his family before their murder, a photo of him with my father, and?—

He’d saved a photo of us from the night of my pretend senior prom. I’d been so despondent about not getting to go to prom like a regular student, my mother bought me a gorgeous silver dress and heels. My father brought me a boutonnière, and then invited me to dance with him in the living room.

They hadn’t understood why I was so upset.

Lorenzo had.

When my father tried to convince me to take pictures under the balloon arch they’d booked, Lorenzo stepped in and tactfully suggested he do it.

Had my crush on him been apparent even then? I looked closer at the photo, and my breath caught in my chest like the wings of a thousand butterflies. Yes. We stared into each other’s eyes like we were fucking meant for each other.

My parents had cleared their throats and posed us differently. I remembered the feeling of his hands on my shoulders, the respectful distance he kept from my back,and wishing he felt the same way about me as I felt about him.

I grazed my fingers over the frame. Hehadfelt that way. And we’d wasted so much fucking time.

Despite the open door, Lorenzo knocked. My eyes collided with his, warm and golden, gentle and patient.

“You’ve probably got sixty seconds before Dante shoves his way in here, so if you want to get dressed before he does, you better do it quick.”

He shoved two shopping bags at me—designer—then shut the door behind him. I emptied them on the bed.Dante.My heart thudded, warm from his consideration and care.

No.I was done with that. He promised me he’d protect my daughter. I’d given himeverything. And he’d fucking taken my soul and stomped on it, unable to protect me when I needed it the most.

His choice of clothing showed me he knew the game I’d have to play today, no matter what I’d endured—silk underpinnings that slid over my skin like the softest whisper, and elegant but comfortable clothes told me he’d thought carefully about what I’d need.

The second bag contained makeup. I carefully hid the bruises on my face, enough that Lizzie would believe I’d fallen and hurt myself.

A soft knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

“May I?” Dante’s Italian accent washed through me like gravel over velvet, ripping and tearing at the scars in my soul.

“No.”

He entered the room anyway. We stared at each other, his obsidian eyes raking me from my head to my toes, warm with emotions I didn’t care to understand.

“Get out,” I snapped. When he made no motion to leave, I lost any composure I had left and yelled, “Out!”

“Kitten—”

“No. My name is Sofia Russo,” I snarled, stepping in front of him and opening the door, the pearls he’d sent with the clothes still clutched between my fingers, forgotten. “Get out of my way, Oscuro.”

His eyes flew to mine when I used his last name, hurt flashing in them before he schooled his expressions into blankness. Too fucking bad.

---