The rain had completely stopped by the time I came out of L'Ombra, though the surrounding air was still laden with resounding dampness, clinging uncomfortably to both skin and hair. The Maserati was waiting like a shadow at the curb, glistening, and silent, like a car of another world-a world where I had no choice anymore.
But Lorenzo didn't speak when the driver opened the door. Silences were more threatening than whatever threats he might dream up against me until I slid into the back seat.
"The space between us felt suddenly smaller," he followed, and it was charged.
"You played your part well tonight," he said finally, toneless.
A blur of city lights went past as I stared out the window. "I wasn't playing."
That got me a low chuckle, though it didn't sound amused. "Maybe you're learning faster than I thought."
I faced him, unable to keep my irritation from spilling into my tone. "If you think sitting there and smiling while a bunch of men talk about me like I'm some kind of property is a skill I want to learn, you're dead wrong."
His eyes met mine, steady and unfailing. "In my world, appearances are everything. You smile, they underestimate you. They underestimate you, you survive."
"I'm not looking to survive in your world," I snapped.
He leant close, almost too close, the air filled with dark, smoky, expensive cologne wrapping around me. "You are in my world, bella mia. Whether you like it or not."
I swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how shaking it was to be this close. "And what happens if I just decide I'm going to walk out of this thing?"
His lips curled in something dangerous. "You won't."
More than just knowing he was correct, it drove me nuts. The pull toward him also did not spring entirely from fear.
The car slowed, and I realized this was not en route to my apartment. "Where are we going?" I asked. "Where is this taking us?"
"Somewhere you need to see," he answered simply.
We stopped before what must have been a tall, narrow building set back from a side street. Judging from the outside, the building could be easily mistaken for another upscale apartment complex, yet somehow, the moment we stepped inside, it became clear that it truly was not. The lobby was just too quiet, too private.
Without a word, Lorenzo directed me through the elevator, pressing the button for the penthouse. The ride up was quiet, but it was not the kind of calm that made one feel at ease-the sort that crackled with things left unsaid.
This is the place, a space that makes L'Ombra look modest. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the marble floors with silvery moonlight cast over the skyline of the city. Minimal and sleek was the furniture; each piece looked as though it had been selected carefully.
This is yours," I asked, knowing very well what the answer would be.
He nodded once and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. "For now."
"For now?"
"Things change. People change." His gaze lingered on me as he said it, and I couldn't tell if it was a warning or something else entirely.
I walked to the windows, clicking my heels against marble. "What am I doing here?"
He didn't answer at once. Instead, I heard the soft sound of ice dropping into a glass, the splash of amber liquid. "Because I don't like leaving things unfinished. And last night, our conversation ended too soon."
I turned my arms across my body. "You mean your threats."
A half-smile. "I don't make threats, Isabella. I make promises."
Something in his tone sent a shiver down my spine. I tried to mask it with sarcasm. "Right. So what's tonight's promise?"
He walked toward me slowly, drink still in hand, eyes locked on mine. "That sooner or later, you'll stop seeing me as the devil in your life...and start seeing me as the man who keeps you alive."
I scoffed, but my heart was going double time. "You assume I want to be kept."
He stood so close that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "No. I'm assuming you want to survive."
For a moment, both of us were standing exactly where the other person wanted him to be. In the quiet war between us, city lights glimmered behind him. Then, that free hand came up, fingers brushing along my jaw. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rough either-just firm enough to make me aware of the choice I didn't have.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice lower than I intended.
He didn't answer. His thumb traced my lower lip, slow and deliberate. "I'm deciding," he murmured.
"About what?"
His eyes turned dark. "Whether kissing you is a mistake...or the only way to make you listen."
His lips were immediately on mine-hot and steadfast-articulating power and refusal. There were no gentleness or sweetness in it. It cast a warning by a kiss, and laid a claim in the language of danger.
I should have pushed him away. I should have reminded myself exactly who he was. But for a heartbeat, maybe two, I kissed him back. And it scared me more than anything else.
When he finally broke away, his gaze lingered on my lips for a moment before lifting to catch my eye. "Mistaken or not, bella mia, you'll remember that."
Taking a step back to breathe was needed. "You think you can just-."
"I don't think," he interrupted, his voice suddenly harder. "I know. And I know you're already in deeper than you realize."
Hate it. I hated that he was right, but even more, I hated the pull I felt toward him.
He didn't drop me off there that night, instead walking me to a guest room down the hall. "Sleep here," was all he said. "It's safer."
"Safer from what?" I demanded.
"From me. From them. From yourself." The look in his eyes didn't change.
I was left in too murky darkness to decipher them, just as dark so that I was muddied with too many questions, thus denying me the touch of his kiss on my mouth.
Sleep did not come easily. Every creak in the penthouse walked like footsteps, every shadow shifted like a threat. But above everything, one thought kept me awake: Lorenzo Valenti was the kind of man who got everything he wanted. And for reasons not yet understood to me, what he wanted was me.