The question that acknowledges everything.That I was the one who drugged her.
“Not much longer.”
Voice tight, my brother grits out, “How much longer?”
“She’ll be awake any minute.”If my calculations are right.Which is why I’m anxious to get the fuck out of here.
Before Matteo can go on, the terrace door opens again.Nico steps inside, phone still in his hand.
“Dallas is aware.”His voice is calm.His eyes are not.
Matteo stiffens.“Terms?”
“They need a proof-of-life call before sunrise.”
Or the fires of hell will be unleashed.
The most dangerous phrase in our world.
Even though he doesn’t need to, Nico confirms what we’re all thinking.“If it doesn’t happen, Dallas will mobilize.”
Matteo drags a hand over his jaw as he levels his gaze on me.“She’ll call her father?”
“She will.”
The room goes still, carved out and hollow for a single suspended breath.
Then my phone vibrates.
I grab it from the pocket in my suit coat, and all of us look at it.
Adriano.My soldier.
I answer without hesitation.“Talk.”
“Boss.She’s stirring.”His voice is low, controlled.“She moved a minute ago.On her back now.Breathing steady.”
Heat coils low in my gut—tight, dangerous, and oh-so-fucking welcome.“Keep eyes on her.”
Then, after ending the call, I open another app.One that will show a feed of my bedroom.I shouldn’t do it.But damn it to hell, I can’t help myself.
Matteo and Nico move in closer, and we form a tense triangle around the glowing screen.
My bedroom appears, lit softly by the bedside lamps.
She’s there.
Before the fucking vultures can get a better look at her, I turn away.
She lies in the center of my bed in my shirt, the black fabric draped over her curves, sleeves rolled to her elbows.One knee is bent, and her thigh is pale against the dark.Her hair spills across my pillow like I arranged it that way.
Her beautiful pink lips are parted.Her breathing is slow.And color has started to return to her cheeks, leaving her soft and flushed.
My pulse kicks.
I remember everything—the delicate slide of the zipper parting beneath my fingers, the whisper of her dress falling, the warmth of her skin under my hands, the way her body felt against mine as I carried her to this exact place.The faint sigh when I brushed hair from her face.
The possessive thought I should never have allowed:
