14. Victoria
VICTORIA
Rain slides down the windows behind Lorenzo, turning the garden lights into pale streaks.
Neither of us speaks.
I do not rush to explain. He knows how to use silence. I need to learn.
“Elena has been kind,” I say. “This is not about her.”
“Then what is it about?”
“The floor beneath me.”
He does not move.
“The lab is too close,” I continue. “I smell it when I wake. I hear the doors below me. Men passing. Carts moving. Machines running.”
I hold his stare.
“I am not sleeping down there. I am waiting for the next order.”
Lorenzo watches my face, not the towel.
That should make this easier.
It does not.
“You are protected there.”
“I am contained there.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
I let the words stand.
Outside, rain taps harder against the glass.
“I want a room in the main mansion,” I say.
The request lands between us.
Lorenzo says nothing for a moment. Then his hand leaves the chair, and he walks behind the desk.
He sits.
No invitation follows.
“The mansion is not a hotel,” he says.
“I did not ask for service.”
“It is not a refuge either.”
His gaze stays on mine.
I step closer to the desk.
“You want my mind useful tomorrow,” I say. “Then stop putting it beside fumes and locks. I need sleep. I need a door that closes without making me feel buried under the estate. The clinic wing is quieter. Cleaner.”
“The clinic wing?”
“Yes.”
“You have chosen your room already.”
“I have chosen where I can work best.”
A faint curve touches his mouth and disappears.
“You have had time.”
“I used it.”
“And nerve.”
“I am low on other resources.”
This time, his breath leaves through his nose.
Not quite laughter.
Close enough to tell me I have not lost him.
“Continue.”
I breathe once.
“The lab.”
His expression empties.
There he is.
Not the man who kissed me.
Not the man who entered my room without knocking.
The Don.
“What about it?”
“The final stage.”
His gaze stills.
“Careful.”
The word moves over my skin.
I nod once.
“I am not asking to move your equipment. I am not asking to change your floor. I am asking for privacy while I work.”
“Privacy,” he repeats.
“Over my station.”
His fingers rest flat on the desk.
“No camera on your work process.”
My mouth goes dry.
He understood before I reached the point.
“Yes.”
“No.”
I keep still.
He leans back, eyes on mine.
“You are asking me to blind myself in the most profitable section of my operation.”
“I am asking you not to give every man with screen access a lesson in what keeps me useful.”
“My men are loyal.”
“Until another man offers more.”
Rain fills the silence after that.
For one second, I think I have gone too far.
Lorenzo does not raise his voice. He does not slam his fist. He only looks at me, and I feel the edge of my mistake without needing it explained.
Then he stands slowly.
I do not step back.
“You believe the formula protects you,” he says.
“It does.”
“It buys time.” He comes around the desk. “Time can run out.”
My stomach tightens, but my face stays steady.
“Then help me make it last longer.”
His gaze lowers to my mouth.
The memory of his hand at my waist moves through me before I can stop it. I hold my ground, hating the heat rising under my skin.
He notices.
Of course he does.
“No one records your work,” he says. “No one enters the final section without my approval. Your station will be screened from the standard feed.”
My pulse kicks.
“But the room remains under security. Entries, time stamps, guards.” His voice lowers. “I will not leave an unseen corner in my house.”
“I can accept that.”
“You can do more than accept it.”
The answer rises to my tongue.
I swallow it.
Lorenzo’s eyes change.
“Good,” he murmurs. “You are learning when silence is useful.”
I hate that one sentence pleases me.
“I am not finished.”
“I did not think you were.”
“After each batch, I return to the mansion.”
“No.”
The answer arrives before mine has fully settled.
I tighten my fingers at my sides.
“You did not hear the condition.”
“I heard enough.”
“Lorenzo—”
His eyes cut to mine.
The name stills between us.
I should not have used it that way.
Too close to what happened before.
He steps nearer, and the air changes.
“You do not choose routes,” he says. “You do not choose timing. You do not tell my guards when to open doors.”
“I am not trying to command your security.”
“You are asking for a pattern.”
I stop.
He lets me understand it.
My anger has nowhere clean to go.
“I do not want to stay down there after the work is done.”
“That I will review.”
“Review.”
His silence answers.
I look toward the window. Autumn rain rattles against the glass before sliding downward in crooked trails.
“I don’t want to feel trapped.”
For a while, he says nothing.
Then, “Trapped and guarded can feel close.”
I look back at him.
His face gives nothing away.
“But they are not the same,” he says.
I hate that he is right.
I hate that in this house, right and cruel often wear the same suit.
I move on before my voice betrays me.
“The uniform.”
His gaze drops to the grey clothes folded over the chair near the bed. Clothes chosen for use, not dignity.
“What about it?”
“I want proper clothes.”
“Done.”
I blink.
He turns slightly, already finished with the matter.
“That is all?”
“You expected an argument over fabric?”
“I expected an argument over anything.”
“Then you misunderstand me.”
A laugh almost escapes me.
I trap it behind my teeth.
“No,” I say. “You are expensive in far worse ways.”
His eyes return to me.
For half a second, the room is too warm again.
“Careful, Professor.”
The title reaches places it has no right to reach.
I look away first, angry at myself for doing it.
“Privacy,” I say.
His faint amusement vanishes.
“You already asked.”
“Not for the lab. For me.”
He waits.
“I don’t want cameras in the bathroom. I don’t want men watching me dress. I don’t want to wonder which corner I missed.”
His face remains calm.
“You checked.”
I go still.
He tilts his head slightly.
“Fourteen minutes in the bathroom. Seven near the vents. Three behind the mirror.”
My throat tightens.
“You watched me?”
“I watched you search.”
“That is not better.”
“There are no cameras in the bathroom.”
I stare at him.
He does not blink.
“There were none. There will be none.”
“I need your word.”
The room changes, though nothing moves.
He steps closer.
“You may ask me many things, Victoria. Do not ask for my word unless you understand the cost of receiving it.”
My heartbeat moves into my throat.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
His voice remains low.
“If I give my word, even men who hate me believe it. Not because they trust me. Because they know what happens when my name is doubted.”
I say nothing.
He watches me for another moment.
Then, finally, he says, “There are no cameras in your bathroom. There will be none.”
The breath leaves me slowly.
“Thank you.”
He gives a slight nod.
I almost stop.
I almost take what I have and retreat before he changes his mind.
But the last condition waits between us, and if I do not say it now, it will follow me into every room he enters.
“What else?” he asks.
He sees too much.
I meet his eyes.
“Earlier.”
The word is enough.
His face closes.
Rain moves down the windows.
The clock in the corridor ticks once.
Then again.
I force my hands to stay still.
“That cannot happen again.”
He says nothing.
“My room is mine. You knock. You wait. You don’t enter because you can.”
His jaw moves once.
“My room is my room,” I continue, my voice shaking before I force it steady. “You knock. You do not touch me because you are angry, bored, curious, or because I work for you and have nowhere else to go.”
The last words come quieter.
Lorenzo’s eyes stay on mine.
No anger.
No apology either.
Only attention, enough to make me regret every word.
“I am not part of the bargain,” I say.
My heartbeat climbs into my throat.
Then he speaks.
“If I wanted a woman tonight, I would not take one from a locked room.”
No pride.
Only fact.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He studies me until the lie and truth inside my answer separate.
“I don’t have to call for women,” he says quietly. “They find their own way to me.”
Elena’s warning slips back into my mind.
Every woman here wants him, babe. They’d give him anything for a glance. The worst part? He doesn’t give a single damn about any of us.
A stupid ache moves through me.
It has no right to exist.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
The room turns painfully still.
He does not smile or touch me.
I look away before he sees too much.
“You want a boundary,” he says.
“I need one.”
“Then hear mine.”
My eyes return to him.
“You will not throw that kiss between us every time you want to win an argument.”
“That is not what I’m doing.”
He watches me.
I hate the heat in my face.
“I don’t take women by force, Victoria.”
The certainty in his voice catches me.
He sees it and lets the corner of his mouth move.
“You look surprised.”
“I am.”
“If all I wanted was a body in my bed, I would not be standing here discussing terms with a half-dressed woman who thinks she can negotiate with me.”
I should not smile.
I do not.
But he sees the fight in my mouth.
The air shifts again.
He looks at me too long.
“If I touch you again,” he says, “it will be because you ask.”
My pulse stumbles.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I don’t.”
No bargain hidden beneath it.
I believe him.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
He lifts one hand.
Not to touch me.
Only to take the edge of the towel that has loosened near my shoulder and set it back into place with two fingers. His knuckles do not graze my skin.
It is worse than touching.
My breath catches anyway.
His eyes meet mine.
“Do not make me guilty because I frighten you,” he says. “I have enough sins. I do not need yours added to the list.”
The words hit clean.
I have no answer.
So I choose the only subject that can save me from this one.
“My mother.”
Lorenzo lets the change stand.
“She is alive.”
Relief hits so hard I reach for the desk.
The wood is cold beneath my palm.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
His eyes do not soften.
“I checked.”
“That is all?”
“That is all you get.”
I swallow.
“Is she safe?”
“She is being watched.”
“By your men.”
“Yes.”
“Does she know?”
“No.”
I close my eyes for one second.
My mother in her little kitchen.
Her tea cooling by the window.
Her hands smoothing the edge of a tablecloth when she is worried.
Her not knowing danger has men posted near her street.
“No one gets near her without me knowing.”
That is not a promise.
It is close enough that I hate how grateful I feel.
“My phone,” I say.
“With me.”
“I want it back.”
“When it is clean.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”
“I need to call her.”
“No. You will not have access to it now.”
I grip the desk harder.
“So I wait.”
“Yes.”
I look at him, wanting to hate him cleanly.
He makes that difficult.
Lorenzo returns behind the desk and picks up the badge. He turns it once in his hand, looking at my name instead of me.
“You came in here with demands.”
“Conditions.”
“Better dressed demands.”
Despite myself, my mouth almost moves.
He places the badge down.
“I will consider the clinic wing,” he says. “You will have proper clothes. Your final station will be screened from the standard feed, while security remains mine. Movement after each batch is mine to approve.”
I nod once.
“The bathroom stays private. Your phone stays with me until it is safe. Your mother remains watched from a distance.”
“And the last condition?”
His eyes lift.
For a second, I think he will refuse to repeat it.
Then he walks around the desk.
He stops in front of me again, close enough for me to smell rain, smoke, and the faint trace of soap beneath both.
“You will not be used for my pleasure,” he says. “You will not be touched unless you invite it.”
A faint smile touches his mouth.
“What?”
“It means there may come a day when you stop lying to yourself.”
My pulse stumbles.
“And if that day comes?”
His gaze drops to my lips.
“Come find me.”
My breath catches as his eyes meet mine.
“Then I’ll make you regret waiting so damn long.”
My throat tightens.
“And anyone else?”
His face changes.
A cold pause.
“Anyone else who forgets,” he says, “will have a very short memory and a shorter future.”
I believe him.
The comfort of that frightens me more than the threat.
The clock ticks down the corridor.
Lorenzo steps back.
“I’ll consider the rest.”
“All of it?”
His hand closes around the door handle.
“I said I’ll consider it.”
The words leave no room for argument.
“No one makes rules in my house, Victoria.”
I straighten.
He notices.
The faintest approval crosses his face and disappears.
“But I listen,” he adds, “when the person speaking is worth hearing.”
The door opens. Cold air moves in from the corridor.
He steps out, then stops.
“Professor.”
I look at him.
That title should not reach beneath my ribs.
It does.
His gaze moves to the badge on the desk, then back to me.
“If you are worth the trouble you are causing me, prove it tomorrow.”
Then he leaves.
The door closes with a soft click.
For a long moment, I stay where I am.
Rain trails down the window. The desk lamp burns low. My badge waits where he left it, pale beneath the light.
I asked for freedom.
I got better terms.
That should feel like a victory.
It doesn’t.
Tomorrow, I will have to prove my value.
To him.
And to myself.