I squint my eyes, taking in what I’m seeing and trying to understand it all at the same time.
Floor-to-ceiling TV monitors line the walls, all buzzing with live feeds. The estate gates. The perimeter. The hallways I just walked down. The bedroom I slept in.
This is a security room.
What the hell?
Who needs a security room?
The nephew of a Mafia boss, apparently.
Two armed guards sit at a long desk, eyes flicking between screens, hands near their comms.
Watching everything.
Including me?
I step back, heart hammering so loudly I hear it in my teeth.
And then a breath grazes my neck, and before I can see who’s there, a hand wraps slowly around my waist.
And I know.
I jolt so hard I hit his chest.
“What are you looking for, Little Bird?”
I don’t need to turn around to know Lorenzo stands behind me, towering over me. I still do, though.
He’s still in a crisp black shirt rolled up at the forearms. His eyes drag down me, slow and assessing, like he’s deciding what to do with me.
A smirk twists his mouth, lazy and lethal.
Shit.
I don’t like that look.
It’s sex. Pure and simple.
Or I should saysinful.
I don’t answer his question because I can’t. My tongue feels like it’s made of sandpaper.
He brushes my hair off my shoulder. His touch is gentle, but for some reason, his soft touch feels crueler than if he grabbed me. Lorenzo guides me out of the room with one hand pressed to the small of my back. Possessive. Cold.
When he closes the door behind us, the guards don’t even look our way. They don’t need to.
Everyone here already knows who owns me.
We head down a wide hallway toward the dining room, and the whole time, he never moves his hand. It’s pressed hard enough that it feels like a brand.
“Relax.” His tone drips with a mock concern that makes my skin crawl. “You look like you’re walking to your execution.”
“That’s certainly how it feels,” I answer quickly, trying to sound sharper than I feel.
He huffs a dark laugh. “If I wanted to kill you, Little Bird, I’d do it somewhere prettier.”
“Comforting,” I mutter.
