“I’m being held captive.” Her dark eyes flicker with something that could be annoyance, but also… I wonder if it’s not. If it’s curiosity. Perhaps even a bit of arousal, as her chest pinkens, contrasting against her white sundress.
“You’re still in the same building.”
“Prison,” she points out. But although she rails against me, she doesn’t attempt to move. “I can’t leave this penthouse. Thus, it’s a prison.”
“If you count something with a rooftop pool, a personal chef, a gym, infinite streamed entertainment, and any luxuries youwish for delivered, as a prison.” With a man who will worship her and give her anything she asks for. If she justasks.
“You do if you’re acaptive.” Such a sassy mouth now she’s found it.
“You’re being stronglyencouragedto stay for your own safety and comfort,” I growl.
“Lack of liberty equals captivity.”
“Has being here been so bad?” She’s a damn house-cat railing against walls that protect and coddle her. For ten days she’s been utterly content, so far as I can see. “It’s not like before this you left the building except to work or go to university.”
“That’s not the point,” she says, pushing gently against my chest. I allow it, giving her the distance she’s implicitly requesting. “I’m not your pawn, Angel.”
That change, to calling me by my mafia territory name, hits me in the heart. I invaded her space, and she pushed me away. I think—I fear—I’ve lost everything I’ve built with Caterina.
“I want to go to my exam,” she says clearly.
And I must extinguish the threat to her life.
“Fine.” I straighten. “You want a test of your business studies? I’ll take you to prove yourself to the richest businessmen in London.”
11
CATERINA
The Dark Angel.
He’s a legend in this part of London, and he’s been living above me all this time.
The Dark Angel has a reputation, shall we say? He’s ruthless, but a shadow. He makes snap decisions, in and out of situations in a blink. He’s cold and calculating, and he leaves death in his wake. The kingpin of Angel doesn’t ask questions, he judges. And no god can help you if the Dark Angel has decided you’re not wanted in his territory. The only punishment is death. No one survives an encounter with the Dark Angel, it seems.
Except me.
The only thing that doesn’t stack up here is that he’s been so kind and attentive. I’m nobody.
Though there are whispers of the Dark Angel’s compassion, too. Always whispers. No one has ever met him or seen him, but rumours abound of his cold fury when someone is mistreated.
And looking at the glint in Brody’s grey eyes… I can believe it. He’s Angel? Yeah. It suits him better, to be honest.
I should ask him about what he means by having me meet the wealthiest men in London, but I don’t. I gulp, and as he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, all the time regarding mecarefully, as though I might run away, I voice the question I’ve needed to know. Have to know.
“Why have the men in the photos got their eyes closed?”
“Do not ask questions you do not want to hear the answer to, moya koshechka,” he advises quietly.
“I do want to hear,” I insist. Because I’m brave now, aren’t I?
Not brave enough to tell Brody how you feel,a horrible little voice in my head says.Not brave enough to ask him for what you really want.
Shut up. This is different, and serious, I tell the nasty voice. This is totally different to my crush gone wild and having fallen right into adoration of this darkly protective, dangerous, kind kingpin.
“Mm. I think you know why their eyes are closed.” Brody types into his phone with more force than strictly necessary.
Okay, that’s true.
