My driver is waiting with the town car, but Cesare stops me before I can reach it.
“Serena.”He turns me to face him, both hands on my arms now.“I want you to know how pleased I am with this arrangement.You’re everything I hoped for.Beautiful, intelligent, well-bred.You’ll make an excellent wife.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
“And I promise,” he leans in, his breath hot against my ear, “I’ll teach you everything you need to know about being a Dellamare.You’ll learn to anticipate my needs, to please me in every way.It will be my pleasure to train you.”
Train me.Like I’m a dog.
He kisses me before I can pull away.He’s demanding, forcing his tongue into my mouth.His hands grip my arms tight enough to bruise, and I taste wine and possession and threat.
When he finally releases me, I’m shaking with barely contained rage.
“Goodnight,cara mia,” he murmurs, with a satisfied smile.Obviously misreading my reaction to his assault, he runs a thumb over my lower lip.“I’ll see you soon.Very soon.”
Fighting a new wave of nausea, I get into the car without responding.The moment the door closes, and he can’t see through the tinted glass, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Home, Miss DiLorenzo?”Georgio, my driver, asks through the intercom.
“No.”I fish my phone out of my clutch and pull up Shelby’s contact.My hands are still shaking, but my resolve is iron.“Take me to Shelby Boyle’s penthouse in the Financial District.”
I type quickly:I’m on my way.We need to talk.Now.
His response is immediate:I’ll be waiting.
The drive takes twenty minutes.Twenty minutes I spend building my case, anticipating objections, constructing the argument that will either save me or destroy my chances at happiness.
Because what I’m about to propose is insane.
But it’s also my only way out.
The car pulls up to his building, and he buzzes me up before I reach the door.I raise my eyes to the heavens and send a little prayer for surveillance cameras.
When the elevator opens on his floor, he’s waiting in the doorway.He’s changed since this morning.Now, he’s wearing dark jeans, a fitted black T-shirt that shows off the body I’ve spent years admiring.The beard is trimmed now, and his hair is slightly damp, like he recently showered.
Those blue eyes track over me as he assesses my body language, evidencing his training as an enforcer.And he’s one of the best at it.
“What happened?”He pulls me inside and closes the door.“You’re not okay.”
And just like that, standing in the state-of-the-art kitchen in his penthouse with genuine concern in his eyes, I know I’m making the right choice.
Even if it’s downright reckless.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, setting my clutch down on his counter.“But first, I need to tell you something.And then I need to ask you to do something crazy for me.”
He leans against the counter, propping himself on his powerful arms, those intelligent blue eyes never leaving my face.“I’m listening.”
So I start talking.
4
Shelby
Serena DiLorenzo stands in my kitchen, and she looks like she’s been to war.
The emerald dress is elegant, her makeup is flawless, her hair is still perfectly styled.But I see past the armor she’s wearing, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands aren’t quite steady.Most of all, the carefully controlled fury in her eyes betrays her real state of mind.
Someone hurt her.
