I ran a hand through my hair, breathing heavily as the adrenaline from the confrontation still thrummed in my veins. “I can’t do this, Cesar. She was supposed to be a means to an end,but there is something about her that gets under my skin. I can’t explain it.”
Cesar watched me in silence for a moment, his gaze searching my face for cracks I didn’t want to show. “You’re letting her get to you,” he said quietly, almost like a warning.
I bristled at his words, but deep down I knew he was right. She wasn’t just in my head—she was under my skin, twisting everything I thought I could control. Every encounter left me more off balance, and the line between my charade and something real blurred with alarming speed. I dropped into a chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s not that simple. She’s not just a pawn in this game. She fights back—harder than anyone I’ve met.” My confession tasted like defeat, but I couldn’t deny it anymore. Every encounter with her left me raw and exposed, my defenses wearing thinner each time. “One minute she’s shy, reserved, afraid of her own shadow; the next she’s a warrior, refusing to back down. I can’t get a good read on her.”
Cesar leaned back, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I get it,” he said, voice low. “I’ve watched her since she got here. With the staff, she’s gentle and kind. When one of us walks in, she snaps shut like a trap—always bracing for a fight.” He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, a teasing light in his eyes. “Maybe that’s what draws you in.”
“I’m not drawn to anything,” I grumbled. “She’s a means to an end. Nothing more. When we have everything we need, I will cut her loose.”
Cesar’s eyes narrowed, studying me with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You keep telling yourself that, brother,” he said, voice edged with knowing skepticism. “But if she’s just a means to an end like you said, then explain that hole in my wall.”
I stared at the floor, searching for an answer that wouldn’t betray how deeply I was already in over my head.
The silence stretched, thick with tension, when he finally spoke again, voice softer than before. “Just don’t lose sight of what matters. People like her have a way of turning the tables when you least expect it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Miranda
I slammed the bedroom door behind me, the crack echoing through the house like a gunshot. It did nothing to slow my pounding heart. The pressure inside me threatened to split me open; my fists clenched so tightly my nails bit into my palms. Without thinking, I unleashed a guttural scream, the sound scraping my raw throat and filling the emptiness with proof that I was still here, still fighting—not just the world outside, but the war raging inside me.
My coat hit the far wall, a flash of navy and gold—Massimo’s idea of what I should wear, not mine. The boots that had fit like a cage all night joined the pile, each kick a small act of defiance. The taste of expensive wine still lingered on my tongue, bitter with resentment. He dressed me up to look like I belonged in his world, but no matter how hard he tried, I remained an outsider, shackled by his invisible chains.
Sliding down the door, I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. Anger still simmered, but fear coiled tighter inside me, cold and relentless. I wanted to reach for hope, but it felt so far away. I remembered the brief moment of Oliver’s hand—warm, steady—reaching for mine under the table, his thumb tracing small circles, his eyes promising,“I won’t let anything happen to you. Not while I’m here.”
I wanted to believe him.
I wanted to shout out the truth, to beg him to take me away, but Massimo’s grip on my hand throughout dinner had beenironclad, his silent warning clear:Don’t forget who holds the keys.
I hated myself for the helplessness twisting inside me. Massimo’s world was built on threats and shadows. Every kindness was a double-edged sword. He watched me with those unreadable eyes, and sometimes, I didn’t know if I was a guest, a prisoner, or a possession he refused to lose.
Tonight proved it.
After the shooting, his first instinct had been to control, not comfort. The memory of headlights slicing through the dark, the scream of gunfire, his body sheltering mine out of duty, not love—the terror of it all still trembled in my limbs.
I wasn’t stupid. I saw the looks exchanged over dinner—the way that man’s gaze never left Massimo, calculating, predatory. I felt like bait, a pawn in some game I didn’t understand.
But hope was dangerous. I had to survive this on my own, even if it meant wearing Massimo’s armor a little longer.
I would never forget this night.
I would never forgive him—for putting me in this kind of danger, for making me complicit in his world.
Still shaking, I forced myself to my feet and went to the bathroom, twisting the faucet until steam filled the air. I needed to wash the fear off, let the water scorch away the helplessness, if only for a moment.
Under the pounding spray, I let myself remember another night—my brother’s laughter, the way he held me tight and told me I was stronger than I thought. I clung to that memory, even as my fear threatened to swallow me whole. Because if I let go, if I accepted this cage as home, I’d lose myself completely.
When the tears finally came, I let them fall silently, my shoulders shaking under the weight of everything I could not say. Each drop felt like a confession, a surrender to the truth I’d been trying so hard to deny. After a while, I straightened,drawing a trembling breath and wiping my face, determined not to let despair win.
As the water finally cooled, I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, a mouth set in a line of stubborn defiance—there was someone I barely recognized looking back at me, but maybe that was the point. Survival demanded transformation; I could mourn the old version of myself later, when I was safe.
For now, all I had was grit and the promise of tomorrow.
As I stepped out of the steamy bathroom, the cool air prickled against my damp skin. The faint hum of the air conditioner mingled with the distant sounds of traffic outside, but inside the room, a charged silence pressed on my ears. My bare feet sank into the plush carpet, each step heavy. Massimo sat perched on the edge of the bed, his cold sapphire eyes fixed on me—a glare so intense I could almost feel it scraping across my nerves.
Refusing to be intimidated or play his game, I walked over to the chest of drawers. My heart pounded in my chest—fast, hard—but I forced my voice steady. “You are not sleeping here tonight.”
The sharp slam of the drawer echoed between us, louder than any words.
