Chapter 11 Simeone
Simeone
The gates sealed us inside the estate’s perimeter.
Loriana pressed closer to the window, her breath fogging the glass as she examined the mansion’s facade.
Her fingers traced patterns against her leg—nervous habit or mental mapping, I couldn’t tell.
Either way, she was already thinking three steps ahead.
“In the night, it’s bigger than I remembered,” she says quietly, her voice carrying a note of resignation that makes something dark and possessive unfurl in my chest.
“You’ll have the run of the estate during the day,” I tell her as Tiziano brings the car to a smooth stop in front of the main entrance. “The grounds, the library, the pool. Anything you need.”
“Except my freedom.”
The bitter edge to her words makes me want to pull her against me and show her exactly why she belongs here, why the protection I’m offering is worth whatever independence she thinks she’s sacrificing. But we have time for that—all the time in the world now that she’s under my roof.
“Freedom is an illusion, stellina. Safety is real.”
She turns to face me fully, and the fire in her brown eyes makes my blood heat despite the gravity of our situation. “Don’t call me that like everything’s normal between us. Like I chose to be here.”
“Didn’t you?” I trace the line of her jaw with one finger, feeling her pulse spike beneath my touch. “You could have run. Could have taken your chances with whoever’s hunting you instead of accepting my protection.”
“Protection,” she repeats, and there’s something almost mocking in her tone. “Is that what you call holding me prisoner in your fortress?”
“I call it keeping you alive.” The car door opens, and I climb out before turning to offer her my hand. “The rest is negotiable.”
She ignores my offered hand, sliding out of the car with fluid grace that makes my mouth water. Even in fear, even in anger, she moves like she was born to command attention. Like she was made to be claimed by a man strong enough to handle her fire.
The main foyer swallows us in marble and crystal, but Loriana barely glances at the opulence surrounding her. Her focus is entirely on me as I dismiss the staff with a subtle gesture, leaving us alone in the vast space.
“Where am I staying?” she asks, adjusting the overnight bag on her shoulder.
The question I’ve been expecting, the line in the sand I’m about to obliterate completely.
“My room.” The words drop between us like stones into still water, creating ripples of shock across her features.
“Like hell I am.”
“Like heaven you are.” I start toward the grand staircase, knowing she’ll follow because she has no choice. “My protection extends to every hour of every day, stellina. That includes the hours when you’re most vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable?” Her heels click against marble as she hurries to keep up with my longer stride. “What exactly do you think is going to happen to me in my sleep?”
“Nothing. Because you’ll be sleeping next to a man who kills people for a living.” I pause on the landing, turning to face her with a smile that’s equal parts promise and threat. “Unless you’d prefer to test your luck alone in a guest room with windows that face the woods?”
The color drains from her face as the reality of her situation sinks in. She’s not just staying in my house—she’s staying in my world, where every shadow could hide an enemy and every moment of carelessness could be her last.
“I won’t share a bed with you,” she says, but her voice lacks the conviction it held moments before.
“You will. Because the alternative is being dead, and I prefer my woman breathing.” I continue up the stairs, not bothering to look back. “Don’t worry, stellina. I won’t touch you until you ask me to.”
“I won’t ask.” The words come out sharp, defiant, absolutely delicious in their futile bravado.
“Keep telling yourself little lies if they help you sleep at night.”
My bedroom suite occupies the entire east wing; a sprawling space designed for a man who never intended to share it with anyone. The California king dominates the center of the room, while floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of grounds that stretch to the tree line.
Loriana stops in the doorway like she’s afraid crossing the threshold will damn her soul. Smart woman—it probably will.
“This is temporary,” she says, setting down her bag with careful precision. “Just until the threats stop.”
“Of course.” I move to the walk-in closet, already loosening my tie. “Purely practical.”
“And you’ll stay on your side of the bed.”
“I’ll sleep however I fucking want in my own bed.” I emerge from the closet in just my dress shirt and pants, noting how her eyes track the movement of my hands as I work the buttons. “But I won’t touch you without invitation.”
“Good.” The word barely makes it past her lips, and I don’t miss the way her breathing has changed, or how her attention keeps drifting to places it shouldn’t.
I continue undressing with deliberate slowness, letting her watch as I peel away the layers that separate the businessman from the predator beneath. The dress shirt hits the floor, followed by my belt, until I’m standing before her in nothing but my black briefs.
Her sharp intake of breath is music to my ears.
“Are you—” She swallows hard, her cheeks flushing pink. “Do you always sleep like that?”
“I sleep naked, actually.” I move toward the bed with predatory grace, enjoying the way she tracks my every movement. “The briefs are a courtesy to your delicate sensibilities.”
“My sensibilities are fine,” she protests, but her voice cracks on the last word.
“Are they?” I pull back the covers, noting how her eyes follow the play of muscle across my chest and shoulders. “Then why are you staring?”
“I’m not—” She turns away abruptly, fumbling for her overnight bag. “I need to change.”
“The bathroom is through that door. Take your time, stellina. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”
She flees toward the en suite with a haste that would be comical if it weren’t so revealing. The woman who faced down a mafia don in his own office, who walked into the Viper’s Den demanding an audience with the devil himself, is running from the sight of my half-naked body.
Because she wants what she sees. And she’s terrified of how much she wants it.
I settle against the headboard, arms crossed behind my head, and wait. The sound of running water carries from the bathroom, followed by the rustle of fabric and soft cursing that makes me smile. She’s taking her time, gathering courage or building walls—I’m not sure which.
When she finally emerges, my breath catches in my throat.
She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt that falls to mid-thigh, her legs bare and perfect. Her dark hair tumbles around her shoulders in waves, and without makeup, she looks younger, more vulnerable. More mine.
“Better?” she asks, hovering near the bathroom door like she might bolt back inside.
“Much.” I pat the mattress beside me. “Come to bed, stellina.”
She approaches like I’m a loaded weapon, which isn’t entirely inaccurate. Each step is measured, careful, like she’s afraid sudden movement might trigger something she’s not prepared to handle.
“Which side do you prefer?” she asks stiffly.
“Whichever side puts you closest to me.”
“Simeone—”
“Left or right, Loriana. The choice is yours, but you’re sleeping in this bed either way.”
She chooses the left side, as far from me as the mattress allows, and slips under the covers with her back turned. I can feel the tension radiating from her rigid form, see the careful way she grips the sheet like armor.
“Relax,” I murmur, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. “I gave you my word.”
“Your word.” There’s something bitter in her voice. “What exactly is that worth?”
“Everything.” The darkness makes honesty easier, strips away the games we play in daylight. “I’ve never broken a promise to a woman I’ve fucked, and I don’t intend to start now.”
She flinches at the crude language, but doesn’t protest. In the silence that follows, I hear her breathing gradually slow, feel some of the tension ease from her shoulders.
That’s when I notice the dark stains on the white sheet near her feet.
“Stellina.” I sit up, reaching for the lamp. “Your feet.”
“What about them?” But she’s already pulling her knees up, trying to hide the evidence.
“They’re still bleeding.” I throw back the covers, ignoring her protests as I examine the damage. “From the glass in your apartment. Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s not that bad—”
“It’s bad enough.” I swing out of bed, moving toward the bathroom. “Stay put.”
I return with medical supplies and a warm washcloth, kneeling beside the bed to tend to her wounds. Her feet are small, delicate, marked with several cuts from her desperate flight across the glass-strewn floor of her apartment.
“This might sting,” I warn, cleaning each cut with gentle precision.
She hisses at the contact, her hands fisting in the sheets, but doesn’t pull away. I work in silence, focusing on the task while trying to ignore how fucking perfect she looks spread across my bed, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and trust.
“Better?” I ask when I’m finished, securing the last bandage.
“Thank you.” The words are soft, vulnerable, cutting through my carefully maintained control like a blade.
I climb back into bed, and that’s when she makes her first mistake of the night. Instead of immediately turning away, she lies there watching me, her dark eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the windows.
“What?” she whispers.
“Nothing.” I reach for her, pulling her against my chest before she can protest. “Go to sleep.”
“Simeone, no—”
“This is how I’m going to be sleeping from now on.” I settle her against me, her back pressed to my chest, her ass nestled against my rapidly hardening cock.
“I can’t—this isn’t—”
“Breathe, stellina.” My arm tightens around her waist, holding her in place when she tries to squirm away. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you until you ask. This is sleeping, not touching.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You’ll know when I’m touching you.” I bury my face in her hair, inhaling the jasmine scent that’s been haunting my dreams. “Trust me on that.”
She goes rigid against me, every muscle locked in protest. But gradually, as minutes pass without me making any aggressive moves, she begins to relax. Her breathing deepens, her body melts against mine, and I feel the exact moment she surrenders to exhaustion.
“Simeone?” Her voice is drowsy, barely above a whisper.
“What?”
“Why are you being gentle with me?”
Her words unravel something inside me. I’ve spent so long being what everyone expects that I’d forgotten there might be another way. She makes me want to try, even when I’m not sure I remember how.
“Because you bring out a side of me I thought was dead,” I whisper against her hair. “
She doesn’t respond, but I feel her body sink deeper into sleep, feel the way she unconsciously presses closer to my warmth. In the morning, she’ll rebuild her walls, remind herself of all the reasons this can’t work. But tonight, she’s exactly where she belongs.
Sometime in the night, Loriana murmurs my name in her sleep and curls closer. My arms tighten around her automatically, possessively. She fits against me like she was made for this, for me.
But sleep won’t come, because one fear keeps circling back—I’ve never been able to keep anything good without breaking it.