I muffle my voice with the pillow, regaining control over my body. I grip its edges with both hands while my lower body—that soft, aching spot between my legs—rubs itself against the bed and the string of panties he created, riding the high.
It goes on forever, my breathing erratic by the time I come down. When I do, I don’t have the courage to turn onto my back. Because I know, even if he has disappeared in the meantime, that maybe I wasn’t dreaming.
That Mikhail might have been here somehow.
7
Cecilia
When I wake up—really wake up this time—I jolt upright, eyes wide as I look around the bedroom, searching for anything amiss. But everything looks the way it left it.
Even now, nearing five AM, the dream feels real: the voice, the touches, the scent of orange blossoms.
Orange blossoms.
I push the sheets aside, getting out of bed fully, brushing a hand through my hair as my breathing intensifies. Smells are rare in dreams, but they’re not unheard of. It shouldn’t rattle me like this, and yet…I can’t help but wonder if Mikhail made it into my room.
I don’t allow myself to ruminate any longer. I need the truth, and I need it now.
I rush down the stairs wearing my slippers, each step making my determination burn a little stronger. The sun is barely rising, the house bathed in silence and a bluish glow. Only the sound ofmy feet slapping against the marble floor and my agitated pulse ring in my ears.
My skin is still flushed, my hair in disarray, the apex of my thighs still a little damp from what happened. I couldn’t care less about any of that right now. All I need is to see that dark cell for myself and pray to God it isn’t empty. Because if it is, it means…he’s gone. That he paid me a visit before escaping.
I grip the banister, pushing into it to propel me down the hallway toward the basement door. But before I can reach it, a shadow cuts through the morning light. I crash into a hard chest, smelling of expensive, familiar cologne.
“What the fuck?—”
Cesare’s hands shoot out, catching me by the arms so I don’t fall.
“Sorry,” I say through ragged breaths. I try to twist, but he keeps me in place.
“What the hell happened? Where are you going?”
“Downstairs.”
He frowns, but he otherwise remains silent. He knows damn well what’s downstairs.
“Any reason for that?”
Notyou’re not allowed there.Interesting.
“I—” I rack my brain for a reason—any reason that doesn’t sayI may or may not have had a sex dream with our prisoner—but my mind goes blank. Why did Cesare have to be here at this exact time?
He lets out a sigh, pulling me into a corner before looking around. When he doesn’t see anyone lurking, he says quietly, “Listen, Cecilia. I have something to confess to you.”
I blink.
“A few days ago, when I left you with Enzo, I…did that on purpose.” He looks away, as if speaking the words hurts him. “Your father, he ordered me to keep you away from thatbasement, from the entire situation. If he even suspected I sent you, I’d be dead. Or worse.” He winces, as if he’s thinking of a very specific kind of punishment. “But Mikhail kept asking for you. And you deserved answers, so I…”
I squint, my eyes shifting across his face rapidly, needing to hear the rest.
“I gambled,” he adds. “I knew you wouldn’t let it go. I thought if I stepped out of the way, you’d find your own means to go down there. That way, it wasn’t me betraying the Don. It was just you doing what you had to. Getting information.”
I keep quiet, and his blue eyes hold mine, remorseful and genuine. Somehow, the secrecy stings more than if he had just argued with me about going there.
“It was the only way I could help you without putting a bullet in my head—or feeling like I deserved one.”
“You could’ve just told me…” I say.
