Page 25 of Claimed By the Silver Fox

“In what way?”

I swallow hard. Well, if he wants to know the answer to that question, then he should be prepared to hear it, right?

“You—you want to control me just like he did,” I reply, my voice trembling, willing myself to keep a handle on myself. But with the way he’s looking at me, it feels almost impossible. My voice is shaking, and I ball my hands into fists to keep from letting him see how freaked I am, how tense every muscle in my body feels right now.

“He controlled you?”

“He didn’t tell you?” I retort. “He told me to quit my job. Moved me in with him in a few weeks. Got me living under his roof and then starting bringing in all these rules about who I could see and spend time with, what I could do, where I could go.” I gesture around pointedly. “Seems kind of familiar, huh?”

He doesn’t reply. I can tell that I’ve gotten under his skin, though I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad one. I’m still trying to get a handle on that aspect of Antonio, what it means to set him off like this. I’m sure it could bring the walls crashing in around me with even more intensity than before, but I’m willing to spill it all to him if it means he’ll come to see that I am not just some prisoner he can keep locked away with no pushback.

“Anyway,” I finish up. “I should get back to my room. Since I’m not safe anywhere else, right?”

And with that, I turn on my heel, stalking off toward the corridor. I don’t even make eye contact with Paulo, who lowers his gaze to the floor as I pass. Every move I make, I’m being watched. I fire a look at the security camera staring down at me, narrowing my eyes at it as though it will make any difference.

I’m going to have to come up with a much better plan than that if I want to make it out of here once and for all.

12

ANTONIO

I stare at the screen in front of me, trying to keep my focus on what I know needs to be done. My gaze flicks back and forth between the various CCTV feeds, keeping track of every movement, every detail that unfolds while I’m watching.

But all I can think about, despite myself, is the conversation I had with Julia the other day. When I caught her trying to sweet-talk Paulo into letting her out, before I intervened and kept her from sneaking into the garden.

She might have claimed that it was nothing more than a bit of fresh air she was looking for, but I can tell when there’s something more going on, and I’m not about to let her wander the grounds without eyes on her at all times.

The way she reacted, though—it has been bothering me. She told me about Andreo, the way he would control her, comparing the two of us to one another. Nagging at the back of my mind is the question of just what her relationship with my son actually looked like—and whether or not I’m ready to hear the answer one way or another.

Because Andreo, at least until now, has surely not been the kind of man to hurt the women he’s with. Of course, I know nothing of his relationships, beyond what he tells me. But the hurt in her voice was real, and I know she could never have faked something like that. And if my own son has been causing trouble for the girls he’s with, I need to know about it.

I’m not even sure why I feel that way as strongly as I do. I mean, Julia’s not with him now, and that’s what matters. But I feel a sense of responsibility, for keeping track of everything Andreo does and making sure he doesn’t cause any hurt or pain to the people close to him. Everything he has learned about how to move through the world, he has learned from me, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I knew that it had left her scarred in some way.

I rise to my feet, giving up on trying to stay focused. I need to speak to her.

She’s in her quarters right now, finishing up the lunch that Irina, the cook, brought down for her a half hour ago.

I have the panel open at the side of my computer at all times, making certain to keep watch on her after what she tried to pull. I could tell myself that it’s just a matter of her safety, but I know there’s more to it than that. A craving to see her, know she’s there, know that it would take nothing more than a few minutes to get to her if I wanted to.

I had hoped that my session in the shower the other night would be enough to clear her from my mind, but it looks like I’m not going to get away with it that easily.

Paulo is on the door when I reach the corridor’s entrance, and he straightens up at once, no doubt still worried about how I see him after what I saw the other day. I haven’t fired him, because I know he will redouble his efforts to prove himself to me, but I have kept close watch on him.

“Is she in there?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

He nods.

I brush past him, and make my way toward her room, pausing for a moment outside the door before I knock. I have no idea if she’s going to be open to having this conversation with me, especially after what happened the last time we were alone together. She’s clearly starting to struggle with the feeling of being trapped here, and every time she looks at me, it seems, she’s reminded of everything I have done to keep her in this place.

But at the same time—fuck it, I need to know what Andreo did to her. Need to know what I might be responsible for. So I lift my knuckles to the door, and rap against it a couple of times.

It takes a moment for her to respond, and I can hear her moving around inside, letting out a long sigh as if she’s irritated at being disturbed.

“Irina, I told you, I would—” When she opens the door, she falls silent, staring at me in abject shock.

“Uh, Antonio,” she blurts out, wrapping her arms around herself. She’s wearing a cami and a pair of jeans, and even though she’s far from naked, there’s something about the way the soft baby-blue fabric clings to her body that makes it hard for me to remember what I came here for. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”