Chapter 6
“I’ll come with you,” I blurt, shooting up from the couch at the possibility of joining Cillian to collect some of my things from our father’s penthouse.
I’ve only been locked in this apartment for a day, but even in this vast space, I’m already claustrophobic.
At least with my father, I had bodyguards and could leave to shop or grab a coffee.
A tiny falsehood of freedom. “I can grab my stuff quicker than you can. I know what I need and where to find it.”
From where he’s sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase, Cillian doesn’t so much as look up from lacing his boots. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?” I sass, annoyed that he isn’t even considering my request. “You just said you’re going to my apartment to get my things.”
Ignoring me until he finishes tying his boot, he stands and finally meets my gaze. “I mean no, Eav. No one can know you’re with me. Not until it’s safe. You need to stay here.”
I stare at him, blinking slowly and trying to process his words.
“You mean… with them ?” I ask, my voice a lot louder than the whisper I was intending.
My eyes dart to Enzo and Nikolai, playing pool at the far side of the room, and from their narrowed eyes and disapproving scowls, I’m quite certain they both heard me.
Cillian blows out a heavy exhale, expelling his frustration.
“I can’t exactly take them with me. I’m pretty sure it would raise some suspicions if I brought Enzo Roseti and Nikolai Romanov to Father’s place to pack a suitcase.
” I roll my eyes at his unnecessarily sarcastic tone.
“And we aren’t at the point where we plan to let everyone know about the three of us yet. ”
“Relax, princess. I don’t bite,” Enzo quips, bending over the table to line up his shot. He stares down the pool stick—his eyes focused on me instead of the cue ball at the end—as he takes his shot. “Unless you want me to.”
Shaking my head, I stare at him in disbelief. He’s absolutely incorrigible . “For fuck’s sake.” Cillian pinches the bridge of his nose and groans like he’s aged a decade in the past few hours. “Enough already. ”
“I want my things, Cillian,” I push again, ignoring Enzo’s overt flirting.
Again . “I want my clothes. My stuff. My life .” As shitty as it was, at least I could leave occasionally.
At least, after I got permission with several bodyguards tailing me.
“I didn’t ask to be dumped in this damn apartment under house arrest.”
“I know,” he mutters. “In time, you’ll get your life back. A better one than Father ever would’ve let you have. But we need time, and I have to know it’s safe out there for you.”
Cillian pulls on his jacket and walks toward the front door. My stomach twisting in knots, I follow him. As he swipes his phone to unlock the door, I grab his wrist and whisper, “You really trust them enough to leave me here alone?”
“Yes,” he answers without a second of hesitation. “I wouldn’t leave if I had even a sliver of doubt about them. I trust them with my life. And I know that they would give theirs to protect you. You have absolutely nothing to fear with either of them.”
I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. I’ve never thought about anyone—even my bodyguards—being willing to die for me… Or that anything could happen where that scenario would be a reality.
“I’ll be back soon,” Cillian promises. The door clicks shut behind him, and then it’s just me.
And them. Stepping back from the door, I tentatively walk back into the living room.
I glance toward Enzo and catch him watching me.
His head is tilted slightly, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
I quickly look away and settle into the corner of the couch .
“That’s game,” Enzo boasts and racks his pool cue before stretching, which pulls his shirt tight over his chest. “I’m gonna head upstairs and take a shower,” he announces, walking past me.
“Try to behave for Nikolai.” I try not to look too relieved—or maybe it’s disappointed.
I actually can’t figure out what I feel around him, and I fucking hate it.
Enzo heads up the spiral staircase two steps at a time, disappearing from view.
And I’m left with Nikolai. He’s leaning against the kitchen island now, so stoic that he’s practically part of the furniture—sharp, cold, and completely unreadable.
Without moving, he asks, “You plan to be this sassy the whole time you’re here? ”
I blink, his question catching me off-guard. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He pushes from the counter with a smirk—the first actual emotion I’ve seen from him since I got here. “It hasn’t been a day, and I’m pretty sure Enzo is ready to throttle you.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry. Am I supposed to be grateful to be locked in a penthouse with two mafia killers I’ve known for a collective five minutes? Forgive me for not parading around the apartment singing Kumbaya.”
Nikolai snorts— actually snorts— the smirk at the corner of his mouth spreading into a full smile. “Got it. Sassy as fuck the whole time.”
If I’m going to be stuck here, I might as well enjoy myself.
“Probably,” I brat, leaving him in the kitchen and heading upstairs.
My hand on the knob for Cillian’s room, something catches my eye, and I glance down the hall.
Oh… The door to Enzo’s room is open, and he’s standing in view with his back turned to me.
Still wet from his shower, water trickles from his hair and runs down his spine.
His back is all muscle—every inch of him taut and carved like a Roman statue.
A white towel hangs low on his hips— really low— and as he turns slightly, my mouth gapes open at the sight before me.
My eyes follow the deep V running along his hips and beneath his towel—a gasp escaping my lips before I can stop it.
He turns—ungodly slowly—to face me. Shit! Did he hear me? Our eyes meet, and I freeze, the burn of being caught gawking slowly creeping over my neck and face. He stares at me with that damn smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “See something you like, princess?”
Yes.
My mouth opens, and I struggle to say something. Anything. “Uh… I… Um…” Nope. No words. Just complete mortifying embarrassment.
Turning the knob still in my hand, I dart into Cillian’s room and slam the door behind me. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I press my back against the door. “Shit,” I mutter to myself, covering my burning face with both hands.
Why is he so… infuriating? So smug. So… unbelievably hot.
Shoving myself from the door and flopping onto Cillian’s bed, I bury my face in the sheets.
I try to shake the image of him from my mind, but the harder I push it away, the tighter it clings.
That smirk. His perfect body. The way he looked at me, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
He probably did. Hell, he probably enjoyed it.
I hate how his constant flirting makes me feel—like a giddy schoolgirl again.
Nearly as much as I hate how my body reacts to seeing him—the heated flush on my face he can see and the flutters in my stomach he can’t.
And how I can’t stop myself from enjoying either.
If this is an act to get a rise out of me, it’s fucking working.
Better than he could’ve planned… Pulling the pillow tight to my face, I scream my frustrations into it.
“Enzo Roseti,” I mutter to myself, pulling my face off the pillow. “Why the hell are you even thinking about this, Eavan?” About him…
When I finally gather enough mental strength to get off the bed, I slip into the bathroom to shower.
The water is hot, but not hot enough to cleanse me of the inappropriate thoughts running through my mind.
I wash my hair, not twice but three times, trying to scrub Enzo from my brain.
Yet, when I step under the steamy spray and close my eyes, all I can see is that smug fucking grin and his chocolate-brown eyes staring back at me.
God help me. Living here— with him— is going to be a challenge.