She rolls her eyes. “How about you stop barking at me like I’m some soldier?”
“How about you show me some respect and stop provoking me? I’m old enough to be your dad,” I grit out, voice flat, warning.
She leans in, smirk wicked. “Should I call you Daddy, then?”
My pulse slams once, hard enough to shake me.
She knows what she’s doing. Pushing. Testing. And for one second, I want to show her just how dangerous that game is.
Instead, I move. My hand snakes around her wrist, twisting gently but firmly until her balance tips. She goes down hard against the mat, breath rushing out of her lungs. I pin her with my weight, knee braced between her thighs, wrist locked above her head. Her chest heaves under me, eyes blazing.
“Lesson two,” I say, gravely. “Run your mouth like that in the wrong place, to the wrong man, and you’ll find how quickly words can get you killed.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Her lips part, and for a fleeting moment, I think she’ll make another joke. But she doesn’t. She just stares back at me, silent, defiant, eyes wide.
The silence is worse than whatever she had to say. Because I notice too much: the heat of her body beneath mine, the wayher breath fans against my jaw, the line of her throat bared and vulnerable.
One slip. One move. And I wouldn’t be teaching her how to fight anymore.
I shove off her like she burned me, standing fast, my jaw locked so tight it aches. “Again. This time without the jokes.”
I shouldn’t notice the way her chest rises, the flush on her throat, the fire in her eyes. I shouldn’t want her to fight back.
But I do. And that’s the most dangerous truth of all.
17
MARA
Every inch of me aches. My shoulders burn, my wrists feel bruised, and there’s a dull throb in my lower back from where Nicolo slammed me onto the mat. It’s not the kind of soreness I had in mind when it comes to him, but it will do for now.
I should feel humiliated. Normal people would feel humiliated. But all I can think about is the way his chest pressed down on mine, his knee braced between my thighs, the lethal calm in his voice when he told me words could get me killed.
Pathetic. I’m pathetic.
I roll onto my side with a groan, glaring at the ceiling like it personally offended me. The man is infuriating. Cold as steel one second, pinning me to the floor like I weigh nothing the next…and still somehow acting like it didn’t affect him at all.
Meanwhile, I haven’t been able to stop replaying it in my head. His eyes. The weight of him. The way he shoved off me like I burned him.
Good. Let him burn.
I push up to sit, wincing when my muscles scream in protest. Whatever. Pain fades. Pride doesn’t. And if Nicolo Espositothinks he can win every round of this little war between us, he’s wrong.
He might own the Castello. He might make the rules. But I know how to break people too. And I’ll break him.
I drag myself out of bed. Muscles I didn’t even know I had ache. The bastard didn’t just pin me; he rearranged me. And not in the good way. Ugh.
And for what? To prove a point? To remind me he’s stronger? Please. I already knew that.
But the worst part isn’t the soreness. It’s the silence. He hasn’t said a word to me since he left me sprawled on the mat like roadkill. Not a glance, not an order, not even one of his grunted insults.
It should be a blessing. Instead, it’s infuriating. Because if he thinks ignoring me means he’s won, he’s dumber than I thought.
I go to grab my phone out of habit before remembering…it’s still gone. Still hostage to his stupid rules.
My lips press into a thin line. Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it, I’ll just have to find another way to remind him I don’t break easy.
Every step down the hall is a reminder of yesterday’s “lesson.” By the time I make it down to breakfast, the Castello is buzzing. The guards move sharper than usual, their radios clipped tight at their belts. A low hum of tension threads the air, thick enough to taste.
