He left?My shoulders slump in disappointment.
I pick at the fruits in the tray, feeding Pedro pieces of bread, while my mind replays the scenes from last night. Heat crawls up my neck and into my cheeks before I can stop it. I press the back of my hand to my face, willing the blush away like a teenager. It doesn’t work.
The way I submitted to him last night makes me think I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. In fact, I feel extremely powerful after being desired that way. Maybe I’m losing my mind.
God, I need to move, or else I’m going to burst into fire.
So I finish my food and dress in my workout gear. Black leggings and a fitted tank top that shows off the lean muscle starting to return to my arms. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I pull my hair up into a ponytail.
There are faint bruises on my hips, the shape of Damiano’s fingers, and a dark hickey just above my collarbone where his mouth had been. I stare at them for a second longer than I should, part of me extremely annoyed, but another feelssatisfiedby being marked and owned by him.
God, what are you doing to me, Damiano?
I grab a hoodie and put it on to cover the marks before I head for the door, needing to put distance between myself and the bed before I lose my mind entirely.
When I round the corner of the hallway, I stop in my tracks. A man is standing by the marble balustrade, staring at the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He turns slowly. He has high, razor-sharp cheekbones, a straight, aristocratic nose, and a jawline cut with deliberate intent. He looks like he was born to wear that suit. He possesses an intense elegance that mirrors Damiano’s but with a more polished,chillingedge. His hair is dark and swept back, but it is his eyes, the same emerald as Damiano’s, that catch me.
“Katarina, right?” he says, his voice smooth and melodic.
“Ah—Si, yes,” I manage, clutching the sleeves of my hoodie tight. “You must be Damiano’s brother.”
“Lorenzo,” he replies, giving a slight, graceful bow of his head. “I’ve been so busy I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself.”
He looks at me with an expression that is unsettlinglyconcerned.
“You look well,” he says softly, his gaze raking over me with an excruciating scrutiny. “I’m glad you are recovering. Off to work out?”
“I feel better,” I admit, “The movement helps me clear my head.”
Lorenzo nods. “I’m sorry about your brother.” He says after a beat.
I nod, because saying‘thank you’feels wrong and saying‘me too’feels worse.
“I’ve been watching the two of you from afar. You and Damiano.” He mutters.
“Oh,” is all I could come up with.
“My brother is a difficult man, especially when he cares. And I can see he cares about you far too much for his own good—or yours. He thinks he can keep you in this bubble.”
He steps closer, and suddenly I can feel a chill in the air. When he speaks again, his voice is measured.
“But you must understand the extent of what is in store for you just by being in his protection. We don’t live aglamorouslife. Our enemies are patient, and the friends of those enemies are even more so. They’lluse you as a pressure point to hurt him. I worry that neither of you truly understands how loud the target on your back is screaming.”
There is no cruelty nor sugarcoating in his words.
“I’m learning,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “But I can face them, thoseenemies.”
He gives a small,sadsmile before reaching out and patting my shoulder in a friendly gesture.
“I hope you learn fast enough. Take it easy today, Katarina. It was a pleasure finally meeting you.”
He walks away, his stride long and fluid. I watch his back until he disappears, and only then do my shoulders relax. His words echo in my head. I’ve never been offered a warning so clear, and yet, the fear I was waiting to settle in my throat doesn’t come.
Am I finally numb?
When I finally make it to the gym, I find Julian on the mats, his left eye and jaw bruised from yesterday’s brawl. He is wrapping his hands, mouth set in a hard line.
