18. CHAPTER 17—ANTONIO
CHAPTER 17—ANTONIO
H er taste is still on my lips—sweet and maddening, like a challenge I’m not ready to lose. But the noise outside snaps me back, and every instinct I have gears up for trouble.
“Stay,” I command. The word comes out as a guttural growl.
"I’m not a dog,” she whispers, her voice tremulous but steady.
Even in the dim light, I can see the shadows of anxiety in her eyes, the rapid flutter of her lashes as she tries to scan our surroundings without appearing overtly terrified.
And the fact she’s not crumbling or losing her shit because she’s scared has me more tense than before. She needs to be aware of the danger that lurks everywhere.
I give her one of those looks that has her raising her eyebrow but deep within her gaze, there’s a hint of panic that has me brushing my lips against hers. Quick. Forbidden.
Something I can pretend is still part of the playbook. Make her trust me. “You’re also not a cat with seven lives, mia cara. Just stay.” I pause. “Please.”
And she nods.
Pausing, I scan the opulent room, from the large windows draped in heavy curtains, to the antique dresser that’s likely a false front for a hidden passage. Shadows stretch, offering too many hiding spots. Every luxury in this room suddenly feels like a threat. Shit. There could be a thousand ways for someone to get into this place, grab her, kidnap her. I should know. After all, I have back-up plans if this tournament is another front for her father to manipulate everything. There could be a possible hidden exit or maybe an entrance. She's vulnerable. Leaving her behind, even briefly, could be my most foolish move yet. Every fiber of my being wants her in my line of sight.
"I changed my mind. Hold onto me," I bark.
She hesitates, probably taken aback. "What?"
"Just do it. Now."
I'm bracing for a fight, an objection, maybe one of those defiant glares that used to make me want to kiss her senseless even before everything burned. But she doesn't resist. Her arms encircle me, delicate yet firm, and fuck—I feel every inch of her. That intoxicating honeysuckle scent cuts through the tension, through my carefully constructed walls, through years of cultivating hatred. Goddamn it. I'm harder than granite, an instant reaction that makes it clear just how badly I want her. Even now, with danger so close, with revenge so near, my body betrays me like it always did around her.
My phone's dead silent. No signal. Perfect.
Throwing the door open, I half expect a dozen of her family’s bodyguards to be there, waiting to bring her to safety but there’s no one.
We step into the hallway—slowly, in sync.
No gun shots. Just shouting. My men have been instructed to leave and implement Plan B if something like this were to happen—meaning securing our compound and one of them to stay behind to help. If he’s not here, I’m not in danger.
One more step and her father's henchman nearly collides with me. “I hated to interrupt that watch party. But you won’t be the one to touch her like that again.”
Georgio.
The asshole who made sure to hold me down as her father burned me.
I ignore him.
She clings to me, her grip firm, as if she thinks I’m her goddamn lifeline. And it does something twisted to my head. Protector? Avenger? Lover? I scoff at that last one. No, I’m none of those things—just the man who’s going to make sure she understands that safety isn’t real, and trust is for fools. But hell, with her this close, even I have to admit that the boundaries I set are starting to fracture.
Right now, I need focus, not this chaos she brings.
The weight of Lefevre's words sink in. Isabella's more lethal than a bullet.
Because I don’t want her to let go.
“Where were you?” I finally seethe.
“Getting her father to safety.”
The words shouldn’t bother me as much as they do. “Her father? How about her? Isn’t she the grand prize of this bullshit tournament where her father already thinks he has everything in place?”
Georgio scowls. But if he thinks that scares me, he’s more of an idiot than I thought.
“What happened?” My tone is demanding.
“Turns out Ms. Lefevre made more enemies than allies.” Georgio sneers, clearly rattled. “Her son’s bleeding out somewhere, on his way to the hospital. One less bastard for tomorrow's bloodbath.”
I rub the back of my neck and my fingers involuntarily tighten around Isabella's where they rest against my chest. Holding on to her. Steadying me. The sensation of her, the rhythmic pattern of her breathing, it's both a grounding force and a turbulent storm in my mind. Like muscle memory from before the fire, before betrayal, before I learned that trust burns as easily as flesh.
I have to break away.
What the hell am I doing?
I drop her hand and move away so fast she almost stumbles. But I don't help her. I don't even look at her. I can't. Because if I do, I might remember how she felt against that wall minutes ago, how she tasted, how she fucking trembled when I kissed her, when she touched me. I need to make the boundaries known. Need to remember why I'm here.
She's not innocent. She's not a bystander. She's not... the hope I once held close. She's the match that lit my world on fire.
“Security breach, you say?” I let a deadly half-grin form. “Hardly the first. Little miss perfect here seems to have a knack for wandering where she shouldn’t. Maybe she should enlighten us on what she was up to yesterday, playing spy before the auction.”
Isabella stiffens, and the small, twisted part of me that's been nursing this vendetta for years savors her reaction.
But this isn't about protecting her. This isn't one of those fairytales she used to love reading in the library, while we secured her world.
She's no damsel, and I've long stopped playing the knight. We both burned those roles years ago.
"Get her to safety." My tone is cold now. Calculated. Detached. Like I'm discussing a shipment rather than the woman whose taste still lingers on my tongue. "And make sure someone takes care of that nasty wound on her face. I don't want my prize to be broken before I can claim it."
I hear her sharp intake of breath, and a part of me wants to turn around, wants to see if my words landed their intended blow.
Wants to see if she's hurting as much as I am.
I turn on my heel and walk away, forcing myself not to look back.
The tournament is coming, and I need to win. Not for her—never for her. For revenge. For the promises I made to the dead and the score I have to settle.
But damn it, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe vengeance won’t be the clean break I thought it would be.