She motioned for me to follow her as she turned and disappeared down the hall. I followed, my footsteps echoing against the warped floorboards. The house had a dismal character, shadows lurking in every corner. Tessa’s light, however, pierced through the gloom, which was both a comfort and a torment.
Tessa stopped at the third door on the left and pushed it open. I shot her a glare that left no doubt in her mind: it better be clean. She met my glare head-on, unflinching. Most would have cowered or looked away, but not her. I couldn’t help a small flicker of respect—or something darker—stirring inside me.
The room was spotless. Not a speck of dust or clutter in sight, and the mildew smell was nearly gone. The old sheets on the bed had been washed and tucked perfectly, crisp and inviting. I had to give it to her; she’d done a damn good job. It looked like a completely different room.
But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that.
“And the bathroom?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and gestured towards the bathroom door. I trusted it was clean, but I wanted to make a show of checking. It was part of the fun.
“Is the mafia prince happy?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“It’s passable,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Now, how did you find out I’m in the mafia? I don’t recall mentioning it.”
“Those two goons who delivered my groceries talk a lot,” she said, shrugging. “Also, you never even introduced yourself. The only reason I know your name is because your clone said it.”
I had to stifle a laugh. Her calling Rocco my clone wasn’t wrong, exactly, but still. It made me want to remind her that I wasn’t him.
I could throw her on this bed and—
Goddammit, focus.
But my mind didn’t care. It was already running the scene in full color.
I let my eyes roam over her from head to toe, taking in every messy strand of hair, the pout of her lips, every curve. She shouldn’t have looked like this—she should have been ordinary, forgettable—but instead, she made my chest tighten and my blood roar.
The room was perfect, but she wasn’t. Wrinkled clothes, dirt on her hands, sweat on her brow… and somehow, every flaw only made her more tempting. I lifted her chin, letting my thumb brush her cheek. “A mess like this,” I said, leaning in, “and yet… I can’t look away.”
“I-I,” she she stammered, cheeks warming.
I let a slow, dark smile spread. “Nothing?”
“Quit messing with me,” she scowled, though the heat creeping up her cheeks betrayed her.
I leaned in, letting my fingers trace her jaw. “Messing? No,” I whispered. “Just making sure my payment knows exactly who it belongs to.”
I let go of her, stepping back before I lost control entirely. Fifteen minutes in this house, and I was already on the edge. Living with her wasn’t going to be easy.
It was going to be lethal.
Chapter 7
Tessa
Who did Felix think he was?
I flipped over on the lumpy sofa I had been sleeping on—a mild upgrade from the loveseat—and screamed into the pillow. The man had the audacity to stare at me like I was… what? Something to be claimed? I’d been cleaning for hours, scrubbing floors and wiping away decades of grime, and he waltzed in, all charm and dangerous intent, reminding me I was his payment for my dad’s gambling debt.
“Unbelievable,” I said into the cushion, and it came out muffled.
And yet, as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d looked at me. That slow, dark smile. Those fingers on my jaw.
Ugh. No. I wasn’t thinking about that. Not about Felix. Not ever.
I shoved the pillow off my face and sat up, rubbing my temples. How had I ended up in this situation? Suddenly, dancing naked on stage sounded a lot better than dealing with Felix. At least on stage, the rules were clear. I’d get tips and applause, and there’d be no dark, sexy men making my pulse race just by standing in the same room. Here, it was like living in a warzone where every glance could be a trap, and I was the prize he wasn’t afraid to claim.
I glanced around the room. The floorboards creaked ominously, the walls were peeling, and yet he’d somehow made me notice everything except the filth. The way he moved, the way he looked at me… ugh. I shook my head again, trying to banish the thought. Focus, Tessa. Focus.
