For a while, the only sounds were the dice, the crackling fire, and the wind howling outside. The game stretched on — accusations, bluffs, quiet laughs. Every move felt like a dare.
He took notes seriously, marking down cards like a detective solving an actual murder. I watched him, chin in hand, pretending not to notice how focused he looked; sleeves rolled up, forearms tensed, that little crease between his brows when he concentrated.
After several rounds, I could tell we were both on the cusp of solving the game. When I saw Enzo moving toward the kitchen, I tensed. I wanted to scream when he got in there before me, but I silently prayed he got the other details wrong.
“I’m ready to make my formal accusation. Miss Scarlet with the candlestick in the kitchen.”
My stomach sank as Enzo picked up the envelope with the winning cards inside. As he took the cards out, he slowly flipped them over on the board, one at a time.
I groaned as he sat back with a smug look on his face like he’d just solved a real homicide.
I tossed a popcorn kernel at him. “You are infuriating.”
He caught it midair and popped it in his mouth. “You’re just mad I beat you.”
I stared at him across the flickering firelight, board game scattered between us, snow pressing against the windows like a silent observer. His face was softer in the dim firelight; less guarded, less sharp-edged. His eyes had a quiet calm about them, but I could see the tension underneath, always simmering just beneath the surface.
As always, I wanted to punch him and kiss him at the same time.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I huffed. “I want a rematch.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Chapter Six
Enzo
By the fourth day of the storm, both Gianina and I were restless. We’d played all the board games and didn’t know what to do with ourselves. And when I had nothing to do, I became anxious.
The storm had ramped up, snow falling in thick, heavy flurries as the wind howled through the trees. Gianina was sitting by the fire, a book in her lap, but I could tell she wasn’t reading. Her eyes kept drifting to the window, then back to the flames.
I kept glancing at her, unable to keep my eyes off of her as I monitored the cameras on my tablet for the millionth time. The firelight cast warm, flickering shadows on her face, making her look ethereal. She had this quiet grace about her, even in the midst of the storm, even though the threat of danger hovered over us like a dark cloud.
I had no idea what she was thinking; I never did. Hell, I didn’t even think that she had had self-defense training before, but she put me on my ass more than once during our sparringsessions. Something shifted that night, a subtle crack in the armor we’d both been wearing since we’d met.
And when she’d pinned me beneath her, the attraction we’d both been fighting reached a peak. I almost gave in when I flipped her over. Having her under me, so close, yet so far, was the ultimate temptation. I was less than an inch away from tasting her, but I stopped myself so I didn’t make a mistake we’d both regret.
Since that night, the tension between us was through the roof. We’d had other sparring sessions, but they weren’t the same. We were both on guard, at the top of our game, not wanting to let the other win.
Even if we avoided conflict with the Sorellos, I wasn’t sure we’d make it through everything unscathed.
And I knew neither of us would be the same.
Out of nowhere, Gianina sat up, her body tensing. Her eyes were wide, her expression panicked.
“What?” I asked as I got up and moved toward her.
“Something’s out there,” she whispered, pointing toward the treeline.
My stomach sank. I thought we had more time. Following her hand, I squinted through the frosty glass. At first, all I saw was snow. Then, movement. Subtle, but wrong. A figure breaking cover, crouching low, a flash of metal catching what little light was left as the sun set.
My pulse ramped up. I didn’t need binoculars to know what I was looking at.
“Get away from the window,” I instructed, voice low, pulling her out of the chair.
She hesitated. “What is it?”
“Probably a scout.”
