I smiled, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. “Thank you, sweetie. You look like a princess, too.”
Malik bent beside her, tapping her nose with a rare softness. “Don’t stay up past bedtime, okay?”
Rosie giggled. “I won’t, Eyan.”
I blinked. Eyan? No one called Malik by his first name. The tenderness in the exchange struck something deep inside me. Their bond—so unexpected, so inexplicable—continued to baffle me.
We hugged her goodbye before stepping outside, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around us.
A sleek black carriage waited at the entrance.
Without another word, we climbed inside.
***
Butterflies churned in my stomach as we approached Raul Costa’s villa—an opulent masterpiece, just as grand and imposing as Malik’s.
The horses trotted up a stone-strewn path, their hooves echoing off the carved archway ahead. Marble statues of entwined lovers flanked the entrance, their frozen bodies locked in passionate embraces.
But the fountain in the circular driveway made my breath catch.
It was obscene.
A towering sculpture of writhing, copulating figures, water spilling from parted lips, from jugs held high, from cupped hands—and in some cases, from places that made my face burn. A stream poured from male forms, arching over the bodies of their female counterparts in a shameless display of excess.
Malik glanced at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “That’s nothing, my love.” He pulled the horses to a smooth stop behind the carriage ahead of us. “Wait until we get inside.”
A fresh wave of nerves jolted through me.
The line of carriages crawled forward at a snail’s pace. When we finally reached the entrance, masked groomsmen took the reins and opened the door.
I stepped down carefully, only to find their gazes lingering on me, unapologetic, assessing.
Malik rounded the carriage, his presence an instant barrier. He seized my hand, fingers wrapping possessively around mine, and led me forward.
As we climbed the stone steps leading to the mansion, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of my ear.
“Be prepared to be eye-fucked all night,” he murmured. “Stay strong. Ignore the advances. You’re here for one thing and one thing alone.”
A shiver coursed down my spine.
The Sun Dagger.
I had to find it.
I sucked in a breath, acutely aware of the absence of my Glock, usually strapped between my thighs.
Tonight, I had only my blade.
And the sinking realization that I was walking straight into the lion’s den.
Would it be enough to defend me if needed?
With a sway of my hips, I sashayed through the grand entrance, the butler in his crisp suit holding the door open for me.
“Sei mozzafiato, bellezza mia,” he murmured, his voice smooth as aged wine. He reached for my hand, pressing his lips to my skin with practiced ease.
Before I could respond, Malik swept me away, his grip firm and possessive.
