I flutter my eyes open, turning my genuine contentment into a slow, faked languid stretch as I pretend to pull myself from a nap. I feel his hand cradle the back of my head, his thumb stroking my hair. He has been watching me.
"You need to get ready. Sofia will be here soon," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly vibration against my skin.
"Who?" I ask, playing the part of the drowsy lover perfectly.
"The hairdresser."
"Oh yeah. I haven’t decided what color yet," I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone.
"You’re right. No blonde. You look perfect with dark hair," he says, his grip on me tightening with that innate, suffocating possessiveness.
I tilt my head up and beam at him, offering a compliant smile, as if his comment just made me the happiest woman in the world.
But behind my eyes, the gears are turning.
I remember a director once told me,"Katarina, you have the face of a saint and the eyes of a sinner. Use them both, and you’ll never have to ask for anything twice."
I look at the man holding me. I am naked, pinned beneath the weight of his arm, locked in his bed, wearing his literal brand on my wrist.
If I try to ask him to let me in on the details of his life and the people who hurt me, he’ll build a wall just like he did in Argentina.
If I want to find out why the Mafia killed my brother, I can’t use the same tactics as before.
I have to be the lead actress in the most dangerous role of my life.
So I don't pull away. Instead, I slide closer.
I shift my bare leg over his hip, pressing my breasts flush against his chest. I trail my free hand slowly up his abdomen, my fingernails lightly scraping his skin until he lets out a quiet breath. I look up at him, letting my eyelids droop slightly, shadowing my eyes with a perfectly calibrated mix of seductive need and deep fear.
"Damiano..." I whisper, letting my voice go soft and breathless.
"What is it, Dolcezza?" His eyes darken instantly, his hand sliding down my bare spine to grip my hip.
"I know you told me it was Nicolo who ordered the attack that killed Mateo," I murmur, tracing the line of his jaw. "But Ican't stop thinking about it. Why? Why did he target us? Why Mateo? Why me?"
I see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
"You don’t need to worry about that, Kat. Let me handle it. The important thing is that you’re here with me and you’re safe.I’ll keep it that way." He says, his voice thick, already pushing me back the boundary. I swallow and push through.
I lean into his touch, turning my face to press a lingering, desperate kiss to the center of his palm.
"Not knowing doesn't make me feel safe," I whisper, letting a subtle tremor shake my body against his. "It terrifies me. I need to understand why my brother died, or it’s going to keep haunting me. I can’t even sleep without having a nightmare."
I blink my eyes and knit my eyebrows in a show of silent plea.
Damiano exhales a harsh breath, his defenses crumbling. He wraps his arms around me tightly, giving in to the protective instinct I triggered.
"I don't have all the answers yet," He admits, his voice reluctant. "But before the attack... Mateo came to me with a warning. He reported to me that Nicolo was in Argentina."
My breath hitches—and this time, it isn't acting.Mateo knew?
"I was surprised," Damiano continues, his hold on me firm. "I never asked him to look into the mafia, certainly not Nicolo. But somehow, he knew exactly who Nicolo was and that he was moving through Buenos Aires. I think your brother stumbled into something he shouldn't have."
Damiano shifts slightly, his eyes searching mine with a sudden, piercing intensity. I lay there unmoving, not really knowing what to say as my thoughts started to race.
"Andreas dug into your brother's background to find a connection," he says, his tone shifting slightly. "He looked intoyours, too—your childhood. But before you moved to Buenos Aires... there'snothing. Your records are nonexistent. It’s like the two of you never existed before Argentina."
The shock that ripples through me is entirely real, and my heart stutters against my chest.
