He hums a disagreeing murmur before he tells me it’s getting late, so I should head home. “It’s not safe near the river at this time of night.”
“Who said I was by the river?”
I never knew you could hear a man’s cheeks rise until now. “Do you hear that bird in the background? That’s a Sicilian Rock Patridge. Though not exclusive, its habitat depends heavily on wetlands. When nesting, it selects marshy, riparian environments, such as a river mouth.”
An unexpected giggle tumbles up my throat when he makes snoring noises. It’s followed by an oomph and a stern warning of the consequences someone named Nico will face if he hits him again.
After a handful of grunts from an impromptu scuffle, he adds, “So, yeah, sweetheart, you should head home.”
Over people telling me what to do, I poke out my tongue, then end our call.
Although the heat of Dante’s worry that my threats aren’t idle could melt ice caps, I can’t shake the chills rolling down my spine. Eventually, the cold wins. Furthermore, the weight of my disappointment is too heavy to keep wandering. I won’t mention the aftermath of back-to-back orgasms.
After a final appreciative glance at the scenery, I commence my long walk back to my apartment. By the time I reach my building, my hands are so frozen that it takes three attempts to slot the key into the lock keeping the homeless out of the lobby.
It’s cold enough to snow, so after checking that the coast is clear, I brace the door so it doesn’t fully close. The homeless are harmless. I know this from experience. I snuck into many buildings during the first year of my metamorphosis.
When I unlock the door of my studio, I expect the familiar echo of emptiness when I swing it open. Instead, it opens to dust and a gaping hole where my living room wall once was.
I freeze in the doorway, blinking hard. The air is choked with plaster shavings and sawdust, and a power drill whines somewhereinside. My eyes dance from left to right when men in high-visibility vests move around the space, constructing a new wing for my studio.
In my exhaustion, I must have climbed too many floors—or maybe not enough?
I look at the number on the door.
12B.
Cautiously, I step inside, my boots crunching on debris. My mattress is shoved into a corner and covered with a plastic sheet. The kitchenette is taped off, and a tarp that flaps in the breeze half covers the sole window.
“Um… excuse me.”
The workers ignore me, but a head pops through the opening in the once-solid wall. My greeter’s panty-wetting face and wolfish smirk launches my heart into my throat.
Dante.
He’s infuriatingly calm, like he’s not standing in what used to bemyapartment.
“You’re home.” He folds his arms over his chest and then balances his shoulder on framework that didn’t exist hours ago. “Finally.”
I stare at him incredulously when his eyes narrow at the completion of his reply.
Why is he angry?I’m the one who had her life torn apart today.
Our stare-off, which is brimming with more than annoyance, is interrupted by a man with a hard hat and a fearful expression. I’d also be scared if I had to shout at a man who emits authority. He isn’t being rude. He’s simply endeavoring to be heard over the industrial vacuum cleaner that’s removing plaster dust from the floorboards.
“If the construction is to your standards, we’ll finalize cleanup, then call it a night.” When Dante’s eyes fall over the workmanship, the supervisor quickly stumbles out, “Paint and touch-ups will be done first thing tomorrow. We need to let the plaster dry before we can paint it.”
“Very well.” Dante signs a single slip of paper on a clipboard before nudging his head to the apartment now attached to mine.
When he pushes off his feet, I fall in step behind him only secondslater, too stunned by the hefty figure on the invoice he signed to remember I’ll never win an argument with a man as dominant and possessive as him.
It was well into six figures.
I’m taken aback when I enter an apartment a trillion times bigger than mine. It’s still on the twelfth floor, but the views from this side of the building stretch for miles, and there are several living areas. It’s a luxury I didn’t know you could find in this half of Carlisle.
My eyes snap to Dante when he says, “It’s amazing what money can achieve when placed in the right hands.”
There’s no denying the truth of his statement, so I start where any woman should when her privacy is so invasively violated. “What did you do?”
