14
NICOLO
Istand there, hand on the doorknob, jaw locked tight. She doesn’t know when to quit. Doesn’t know the kind of fire she’s playing with.
I force my hand to drop, force myself back into my chair behind the desk. I have work to do. I won’t waste another second thinking about a reckless girl who doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.
Picking up my pen, I go back to annotating the contract for the new security detailing of some European royals, crossing out ridiculous demands and scribbling down corrections. But the damn smell of her perfume lingers in my office, in my nose. I ignore it, opting to bury myself in a different contract for the development of a security system for the mayor of New York. Minutes bleed into hours as I pour over multiple contracts and email my team back in New York when…darkness.
I move fast, not thinking of anything other than securing the responsibility that I have. Cocking my gun as I move down the hall and across to where Mara’s room is stationed, I make sure my to stay as silent as possible.
I don’t bother with knocking. Twisting the knob, I move toward where she’s sleeping in the bed and shake her. Mara stirs, her eyes fluttering awake. Panic flares across her features, and I quickly put my hand over her mouth.
“Keep quiet. There’s an outage. Can you do that for me?”
I remove my hand after she nods. Turning, I motion for her to follow me and to remain silent.
I freeze when there’s a tug on the back of my shirt. When I look back, she’s clutching it with her fingers, but she drops it when her gaze connects with mine. Sighing, I grab her wrist and tug her along, making sure to check the hallway before stepping out of her room.
Yanking my bedroom door open, I usher her in ahead of me before shutting it behind us. I quickly move across toward the walk-in closet and hit the switch—mechanical, not electrical—and the hidden wall slides aside on hydraulic pressure. Power outage or not, this room always opens. The safe room is all concrete and steel, stripped of anything unnecessary. No windows, no pictures, no softness. Just four walls built to keep death out. The only light comes from the monitors on the far wall, their glow painting her face in blue and gray. Too soft for this room.
Too soft for me.
She doesn’t belong in here. She’s quiet, her eyes wide, hair mussed from just being woken up. But there’s a layer of fear coating her features, fear so strong I can almost taste it.
“There’s food in that fridge, bottled water, and a landline,” My voice stays level, practiced. “This door will lock from the outside. Do not open it. I’m the only one who has the code.”
I don’t let myself think about how small she looks in this place. How fragile. That kind of thinking gets people killed. I don’t linger for too long, moving to get out of the room, but her voice stops me.
“Don’t leave,” she pleads, her voice trembling and laced with panic.
I force myself to swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat. Her footsteps ring out against the concrete as she moves closer when I don’t answer.
She tugs on the back of my shirt. “Please.”
Her fingers are still on my shirt, light as silk, but it feels like a shackle. I tell myself one word can’t undo me.
I’m wrong.
I should peel her fingers off me, lock the door, and secure the Castello. That’s the smart thing. The only thing. But her voice worms under my skin—too soft, too close. Dangerous in a way bullets and blades never were.
Instead of doing what’s right, I close the door, sealing us both in the safe room.
This is a mistake.
Pulling out my phone, I stand in front of the monitor’s screens as I send a text to the Castello’s head of security, Theo.
Me
What’s going on?
Theo
Breach confirmed. Three men inside. Armed.
Me
Status?
