Chapter 3
LUCIA
Principessa.
The arrogant nickname still burns in the air between us.
I force myself to break eye contact with Nick. I turn my back on the three security contractors and start walking toward the East Wing.
I grew up in the Cosa Nostra. I am a Costa. I eat Sunday dinners with cartel bosses, hitmen, and ruthless enforcers. I know exactly how to navigate monsters wearing tailored suits.
But turning my back on these three men goes against every primal survival instinct I possess. Exposing my spine to apex predators is a fatal error.
My bare feet slap frantically against the polished hardwood floors of the grand corridor, the cold wood biting into my soles.
Three distinct sets of footsteps follow immediately behind me.
Nick walks with a measured, inescapable rhythm. His heavy tactical boots hit the floorboards in perfectly spaced, deliberate intervals. It is the sound of a man who never rushes because he knows with absolute certainty his prey can’t escape.
Rafe’s steps are aggressive. Heavy. His boots slam into the wood with restless, violent energy. He walks like a caged animal looking for something to tear apart.
Then there is Jude.
I strain my ears, focusing past the roaring in my head, but I can’t hear him at all. He moves with a silent, predatory glide. It is terrifying. He is a massive man wrapped in Kevlar and weapons, yet he makes less noise than a shadow falling across the floor.
My senses are completely overwhelmed. The sterile, expensive scent of my brother’s mansion vanishes entirely.
The long corridor suddenly smells exactly like them. It is a potent, dizzying mix that makes my head spin.
I inhale the sharp, ozone scent of cold rain and the harsh, bitter tang of gun oil.
It’s a violent, suffocating mix, but it’s the layer beneath that wrecks me—the heavy, localized scent of aggressive male skin and the raw, salt-and-musk tang of their arousal.
It’s the smell of a pack closing in on a kill, making my pussy clench with a terrifying, liquid heat.
I cross my arms tightly over my chest. I try to suppress a sudden, violent shiver.
The hard metal edge of the stolen USB drive bites sharply into the sensitive skin between my breasts.
It is tucked deep into the lace of my bra. The jagged corner digs into my sternum with every shallow breath I take.
That tiny piece of metal holds Dominic’s offshore accounts. It holds the illegal shipping manifests. It holds the undeniable proof of everything bloody and broken my brother has done for the last five years.
If they search me, I am dead.
I reach the heavy oak double doors at the end of the corridor. My hands shake slightly as I push down on the ornate brass handles.
I step over the threshold into my private suite.
It is my personal sanctuary inside the compound. It consists of a cozy sitting room, a small kitchenette, my bedroom, and the nursery down the short hall. It is decorated in soft creams, blush pinks, and warm gold accents. It is the only place in the world I feel safe.
Until they follow me inside.
The second the three men enter the room, the walls instantly close in. The vaulted ceiling suddenly feels ten feet lower.
They suck absolutely every ounce of oxygen out of the air.
They are massive. They are impossibly wide across the shoulders, towering over my delicate furniture, and radiating pure, unadulterated violence. They don’t belong in a room with silk throw pillows and scented candles.
They begin mapping the space immediately. They don’t ask for permission.
Rafe breaks off from the group before the heavy doors even click shut. He stalks straight toward the back of the sitting room. His jaw is clenched so tight the muscles leap under his skin.
He grips the heavy silk drapes and shoves them aside with unnecessary force. His golden, predatory eyes scan the dark, sprawling grounds outside.
He checks the brass latches on the bay windows. He tests the reinforced glass, slamming the heel of his massive hand against the pane. He doesn’t trust the locks. He doesn’t trust the shadows. Every line of his body is rigid with restless, coiled aggression.
I walk past him to turn on a porcelain table lamp. The movement stirs the air.
The faint, rose and dark amber scent of my perfume drifts across the room.
Rafe freezes. His broad shoulders go completely rigid.
He inhales sharply. A low, vibrating growl rips directly from the center of his chest. It sounds rough. Animalistic.
He whips his head around. His golden eyes lock onto mine. The absolute hostility in his stare is suffocating. His chest heaves against his tactical rig. He looks like he is in genuine physical pain.
I break his blistering stare and look away.
Jude hasn’t moved toward the windows. He doesn’t aggressively clear the corners of the sitting room.
He glides down the short, dimly lit hallway.
I track his silent progress from the corner of my eye. My pulse spikes dangerously high.
He stops dead outside the nursery.
He stands perfectly still, staring at the closed white door. His gaze drops to the small, hand-painted wooden letters hanging at eye level.
T-Y-R-A.
My heart stalls completely in my chest.
Tyra is safely tucked away in the staff playroom with her nanny this afternoon. The nursery is physically empty, but it still holds her scent. It holds her toys. It is the undeniable proof of the secret I keep hidden from the entire criminal underworld.
Jude doesn’t reach for the brass handle. He just stares at it. He tilts his dark head slightly to the left.
His posture goes totally rigid. He takes a tiny, unconscious half-step toward the painted wood. He stares at the letters like they are a complex code he is absolutely desperate to break.
I have to distract them. I have to pull their attention back to me.
I need to get the drive out of my bra before it slices my skin open and bleeds through the emerald silk of my dress.
I bolt for the kitchenette.
I drop my heavy designer clutch on the small marble counter. I grip the smooth edge of the sink, trying desperately to control my erratic breathing.
A massive shadow falls over me instantly.
Nick steps into the tiny, confined space of the kitchenette. He doesn’t stop until his solid chest is inches from my back.
He is using his imposing height to dominate the room. He is looming deliberately.
The absolute, unwavering certainty rolling off him is suffocating. He watches me with the dark, unblinking focus of a man who has already claimed everything in his line of sight.
“You’re running,” Nick observes softly. His deep, commanding voice vibrates right down my spine.
“I am getting a glass of water,” I lie smoothly.
I reach up for a heavy crystal tumbler in the open cabinet.
Nick reaches over my shoulder. His large, calloused hand closes directly over mine.
His skin is blazing hot. Sparks shoot up my arm at the contact.
He gently but firmly pries the glass from my trembling fingers. He lowers it to the counter. He doesn’t just set it down. He places it perfectly in the dead center of a leather coaster.
I watch in stunned silence as his hand moves toward my day planner sitting on the edge of the island.
He picks up the small leather book. He shifts it exactly two inches to the right, aligning it perfectly parallel to the edge of the marble counter.
He is rearranging my belongings. He is systematically altering my environment to fit his exact preferences. He is claiming my space.
“You’re tense, Principessa.”
I spin around. I bump hard against the heavy Kevlar plating of his tactical vest.
“Do not call me that,” I snap.
“Why?” Nick tilts his dark head, his gaze tracking the frantic pulse hammering in my neck. “Because you’re already picturing your knees on this cold marble, Principessa. You’re wondering if my thick cock will stretch your mouth as wide as that text message promised.”
Heat floods my cheeks in a violent rush, pooling into a desperate, heavy ache between my thighs. I hate that he brings it up. I hate that he can see the exact moment my pussy begins to drip for him.
“That text was a joke.” I lift my chin, though my voice is a thin, betrayed thread. “A moment of temporary insanity.”
“It didn’t read like a joke.” Nick leans closer, the heavy, demanding ridge of his erection pressing through his tactical pants and into my stomach. He crowds me back against the sink until the cold metal bites into my spine. “It read like an invitation. And I always accept a challenge.”
“You are delusional.”
“I’m thorough.” His dark gaze drops heavily to my mouth. “I read every single word. Twice. You wanted us to know exactly what you were doing alone in the dark.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“You know enough.” Nick shifts his weight. He presses his hard thigh directly against mine. “You know we’re dangerous. You know your brother brought us here because things in the city are getting bloody.”
“I am a Costa. I am not afraid of Dominic’s business.”
“You should be.” Nick’s smirk vanishes entirely. His expression turns completely feral. “You’re standing in a glass house, Lucia. And the wolves are already inside.”
The air in the kitchenette grows dangerously thick. The sexual tension is a living, breathing entity in the tiny space between our bodies.
I don’t back down. I can’t afford to show weakness. Not to a man who looks at me like I am his next meal.
I lift my right hand. I press my thumb against my lower lip. I drag the pad of my thumb slowly across the full, bottom curve in a calculated, soothing swipe.
Nick’s eyes flare violently.
His pupils blow wide open, instantly swallowing the dark color of his irises.
He tracks the slow movement of my thumb like a starving man watching a feast. His jaw clenches so hard a thick muscle ticks fiercely in his cheek. His breathing hitches, turning ragged and uneven.
“Stop that,” Nick orders. His voice is a harsh, agonizing rasp.
“Stop what?” I challenge softly. I drop my hand back to my side.