“Wow. Thank you, coach. I feel so motivated.”
His gaze sharpens. “Attack me.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Come at me.”
I snort, lowering my hands. “Right. Because I’m really in the mood to throw myself at a wall of muscle and watch my bones snap in half.”
In a blink, he moves. His hand snakes around my wrist, twisting gently but firmly, and suddenly my back hits the mat. My breath whooshes out of me as he pins me there, one knee braced beside my hip, his grip locking me down like iron.
I freeze, staring up at him. His face is expressionless, his weight a cage I can’t wriggle out of. Heat coils low in my stomach.
“Lesson one,” he says, voice low, lethal. “Hesitation will get you killed.”
My heart slams against my ribs while my mouth works before my brain can catch up. “You could at least buy me dinner first.”
His eyes narrow, and for one dangerous second, I think he might snap.
Instead, he leans close until his shadow swallows me whole. “You think this is a game. It’s not.”
My breath hitches. His gaze lingers on mine—heavy, unblinking. Then, abruptly, he pushes off me and stands, leaving me sprawled on the mat, my skin buzzing with something I don’t want to name.
“Again.” His tone is clipped, final.
I sit up, pride stinging, pulse racing. And for the first time, I realize this “training” isn’t about self-defense. It’s about control. His. Mine. Each of us daring the other to break first.
16
NICOLO
The Castello is quiet again. Too quiet. My men swept the halls, flushed out the breach, confirmed every inch of this place was clear. But silence after chaos is never peace. It’s a question mark. A weakness waiting to be exploited.
I should be focused. The Mancinis have been circling too close, and three armed men slipping past my walls isn’t just an insult. It’s a declaration.
They’ll pay for it. I’m already drafting the terms—and if they won’t back down, I’ll bleed them out one brother at a time.
But instead of seeing their faces, I see hers. The way her hands shook in the safe room. The sound of her voice when she whisperedplease. The weight of her against me when sleep finally dragged her under.
Pathetic.
I drag my hand down my jaw and force my attention back to the laptop in front of me. Contracts. Numbers. Strategy. Things that matter. Things that aren’t her.
My phone buzzes with a message from Theo confirming the Mancini men are being “persuaded” to talk. It won’t be enough.I need leverage, something to keep them out of my territory and away from my Castello. Away fromher.
I push to my feet, pacing the length of my office, every muscle wound tight. Training would have eased the tension had I not dragged the person causing the tension into my morning routine. I don’t have the luxury of distractions. And yet when my gaze slides to the window, I find myself looking for her.
And there she is. Out in the gardens, in the sunlight, dressed in pale blue that doesn’t belong in my world. Too soft. Too bright.
I need to keep her at arm’s length at all times. She’s reckless and doesn’t understand who she’s provoking.
She laughs at something the gardener says. I tell myself to turn away. I don’t.
The gardener says something else, and she tilts her head back, sunlight catching her hair as she laughs again. I don’t hear the words, don’t care. What I hear is the vulnerability she tries to hide under all the snark and sass. A softness the Mancinis would carve into pieces if they could get their hands on her. They don’t care if she isn’t involved. If they think I care about her, they will use her.
My hand tightens on the glass of scotch I don’t remember pouring. It burns down my throat, but the fire does nothing to cauterize the thought slashing through me.
She shouldn’t be out there. Not without guards flanking her. Not without me knowing exactly who’s close enough to touch her.
