Chiara glared at him hard enough to start a fire. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“No,” he smirked. “Not unless my boss tells me to.”
I leaned back slowly in my chair, watching the way her thumb brushed unconsciously over the diamond. Mine. The thought hit hard enough to almost concern me. I set my napkin beside my untouched plate.
“You earned your reward,” I told my fiancée. Suspicion crossed her face. Sharp. Automatic. Beautiful.
“What reward?” she asked carefully.
“A phone call,” I explained. The transformation in her expression hit me harder than it should have. Hope exploded across her face so suddenly it almost looked painful. Her lips parted softly. Her shoulders loosened. Her entire body lit up like someone had breathed life back into her.
“Really?” she whispered. Something tightened low in my chest. Sergio noticed too. I caught the look he shot me from across the table.
“Yes,” I replied evenly. “One call. Supervised.”
Chiara pushed back from the table so quickly her chair scraped sharply across marble. “I don’t care if it’s supervised. I just… I just want to hear my siblings’ voices again.”
Excitement flooded her voice, bright and breathless and genuine. Not the sharp sarcasm she constantly threw at me like knives. This was real. I reached into my pocket and unlocked my phone before holding it out toward her.
“Five minutes,” I warned her. She took it, our fingers brushing briefly. Soft, warm, inviting skin.
“Thank you,” she breathed. The words settled inside me like whiskey poured over fire. Chiara froze too, probably realizing too late she’d thanked me at all. Then she turned quickly and disappeared toward the windows before I could answer.
The second she was out of earshot, Sergio leaned back heavily in his chair. “You’re fucked.”
I poured myself more espresso. “Interesting observation.”
“You’re getting soft over a girl who threatens to kill you every twenty minutes,” he reminded me.
“She’s not a girl,” I hissed.
“She’s eighteen.” Sergio chuckled. “Much younger than your usual flings.”
“And smarter than most men working for me,” I reminded him.
Sergio grunted reluctantly. “Unfortunately true.”
Then his eyes slid toward the windows where Chiara stood clutching my phone.
“She kept the ring on,” he pointed out casually. My jaw tightened slightly.
“She forgot,” I said flatly.
“Sure she did,” Sergio winked. I ignored him, but satisfaction still curled hot and slow beneath my ribs. Because the truth was, Chiara hated me. But some submissive part of her had still chosen to wear my ring.
Across the penthouse, sunlight wrapped around her body while her pale blue dress clung softly to her curves. Her blonde braid slid over one shoulder like silk rope. She was so fucking tiny.
I could throw her over my shoulder without effort. Pin both her wrists above her head with one hand. Spread those pretty thighs apart and… take what I’d wanted from the first night I’d met her and saved her life.
“Aurora?” Her voice cracked softly through the room, dragging me violently out of my thoughts. Everything inside me went still. Gone was the sharp tongue. Gone was the fury and sarcasm and claws she constantly sharpened against me.
This voice was softer. Younger. Fragile in a way I hadn’t heard before. And fuck, I liked it. Too much.
Sergio followed my stare and groaned dramatically. “Jesus Christ.”
“Say whatever stupid thing you’re thinking,” I challenged him.
“You’re attached already.” Sergio’s tone was accusatory. No other man would get away with speaking to me like that, but Sergio did. We went way back. “I’ve never seen you like this. She makes you soft. Too soft.”
