“I didn’t get a name.” Scemo winced at Alfonso’s glare. “I was told ‘dine pretty,’ whatever that means. Want me to ask around?”
Alfonso had never killed a man but knew how to make one disappear. No one in the organization would lose sleep if Scemo vanished. Except for his mother, who was a fine cook.
“Take her to Sir Bennici’s quarters immediately. This poor woman will probably complain when she wakes.Babbu!“ Alfonso’s Sicilian rebuke carried up the steps behind Scemo.
Bianca wasn’t one of the women from Eden and was special enough for Sir Bennici to send for her. Alfonso’s employer never mistreated any of his companions, but he was…cold. Many assumed he was heartless, but Sir Bennici cared below the layers of steel to guard himself.
Alfonso made a mental note to call the physician, just to be safe. Sir Bennici was away handling business after another failed attempt to break into one of his facilities. The coincidence of Bianca showing up at the manor initially raised concern, but could it be fate at work?
Sir Bennici did not deserve to be so hardened after years of turning himself off to the world. Perhaps Bianca and her wild bonnet would temper the quiet beast that was just a man who needed love.
Thank you, Narrator! Bianca is waking up and can take it from here.
Chapter 10
Playing Pretty Woman in Somebody's Mansion
Bianca
My eyes roll under the weight of my lashes, struggling to open. They flutter, lifting slightly to the ceiling lined in the soft glow of light strips illuminating molding and a large mirror.
“Shit,” I groan through a deep breath.Did Claressa Shields punch my forehead just because?
My throat is on fire.
My stomach is farting.
Back up.
I pop an eye open at the silk sheets under my fingertips and recoil against a leather headboard. An ocean of black covers me in a bed that isn’t mine.
“What…where?”
The bedroom in my apartment is a palette of white walls and a queen bed facing a view of Naples between slate blue drapes tucked under a box valance.
Simple and warm. Not a dark lair.
Shadows creep across the room, sheathed in ebony and mirrors. The dim ceiling lights hum across the walls and downthe lacquered wall panels. Onyx marble veined in gold flares in the echo of mirrors around the windowless room.
What in the entire fuck?!
“Think.” I force the fog in my mind to part. I’ll pee if I strain any harder, but I didn’t put myself in this sea of a bed. At least, I don’t think I did.
My hands work over my bonnet, still holding my edges. They travel down the worn threads of my comfort pajama shirt and stop at the shorts, squeezing my coochie lips. I’d use an eggbeater to climax before I let a man catch me spreading my legs in this mismatched outfit.
“Okay,” I sigh. “No signs of pleasure or trauma that I remember or feel. Where am I?”
Based on the Dracula ambiance, nowhere I’d willingly clap my ankles. Whoever owns this bedroom is the kind of person who collects teeth in a jar or is into some wild shit. Black drapes hanging on the wall just because and a freak mirror over the bed are all I need to see.
The man who lives here is likely a pretentious dick, loaded out the ass, who gets off on torture. Let him play with a therapist.
“You’d have to kidnap me.Tuh!“ A shudder scrapes up my back at the hazy memory of a man following me to my apartment.
The menacing look in his eyes.
The prick to my neck as my fingertips brush it.
A scream curdling in my throat erupts.
