22. He Stayed
CHAPTER 22
HE STAYED
S erena
Shards of brilliant light pierce the translucent curtains, drawing me from a fitful sleep. Muttering a curse, I roll over and pull the comforter up over my head. Wait a second. Morning already?
My eyes snap open and I jolt straight up, a strangling fear squeezing my lungs. A familiar figure is sprawled across the foot of the bed, long legs dangling over the side. With those dark eyes finally closed and that intrusive gaze shuttered, I take a minute to allow myself to trace those dark lashes, defined jaw and masterfully sculpted cheekbones. Those damned Ferrara genes might be ruthless, but damn are they pretty to look at.
Antonio breathes slowly, the softness in his expression at such odds with the typically hard mask he wears. He looks younger, more like the boy in the picture. My heart pinches at the sight of him curled by the footboard, still in his clothes from last night.
He stayed. All night.
Shoving down the unexpected warm and fuzzies, I remind myself it’s this asshole’s fault that I was assaulted yesterday afternoon. Not to mention the sprained ankle, and the fact that he’s still keeping me prisoner.
With the irritation once again alive and burning, I toss a pillow at the slumbering mob boss.
He bolts straight up, reaching for the gun at his hip before his eyes meet mine, and he mutters a curse. “ Cazzo , Serena. I thought we were under attack.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“What?” he groans as he runs his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.
“You let me sleep all night and now I’ll never get over this damned jet lag.” I glance at the clock and point. “You see? It’s just six o’clock in the morning. No one should be up this early.”
“Agreed,” he grumbles around a yawn.
Judging by the dark circles lining the soft skin beneath his eyes, I doubt he got the more than fourteen hours of sleep I enjoyed.
Damn, I guess I really was exhausted.
Images of Otto’s hands crawling down my leg surge to the forefront of my mind, and a chill rushes up my spine. Blinking quickly, I chase away the disturbing memories. I’m fine. He tried but failed .
Thanks to the man who spent the night at my feet.
“I’m getting up,” I announce. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.” I motion to the top of the bed as I slide to the edge.
“So kind of you to allow me to sleep in my own bed.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t look so rested.”
“You certainly know how to make a man feel good, tesoro .” The hint of a smile kicks up the corner of his lips.
“You have no idea, amico .” For a second, I sound and feel like my old self again. I can do this. I can bury the unwanted tangle of fear, guilt and anger bloating my chest and focus on something more productive. I don’t need that single terrible moment to define me. “Did Papà call back last night?”
“No, but Tony did. We’ve begun the negotiations. He assures me that all will be settled in the next day or so.”
Again, I can’t help but wonder what has my father so tied up that he can’t even negotiate his only daughter’s release. Not that I’m ready to speak to him yet, but maybe by tomorrow…
Wrapping the robe more tightly around my middle, I place my feet on the floor and test out my ankle. Definite improvement. I push myself out of bed and head toward the bathroom before I remember I’m still not wearing any panties. The idea of going back into that room has nausea clawing up my throat.
Antonio still lies on the bed, watching me from the corner of his eye. It occurs to me that this robe only reaches about mid-thigh and from his angle, he just might be able to see— I move further away from the bed and yank on the hem, making sure it completely covers my ass. Then I turn back at the doorway of the bathroom, steeling my resolve. “Can you grab me some clothes?” I tick my head toward my old bedroom, praying he doesn’t question the favor.
Propping his head up on his palm, that piercing stare rakes over me, as if he can somehow read the truth I’m not ready to give. A long minute later, his head dips. Before I disappear into the bathroom, I call out over my shoulder, “Don’t forget a bra and panties.”
I catch the shock in his expression, his mouth parting, eyes widening, just before I close the door behind me, and it’s oddly satisfying. Clearly, this man has never had a live-in girlfriend. That too, I find oddly satisfying.
When I emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, faced wash and hair slightly less wild, Antonio stands beside the bed staring at a pile of clothes. “I didn’t know what you wanted to wear.”
“So you just dumped out the entire contents of the closet?”
He shrugs. “ Cazzo , what the hell do I know?”
Yeah, this man has never had a serious relationship.
On top of the pile is an assortment of lace panties and bras, courtesy of the lovely Mariuccia. He’s staring at them like they might attack if he dares look away. Walking slowly so the limp isn’t that obvious, I rifle through the pile. Normally, I’d go for the cute, flirty sundresses, but for some reason, today I search for cozy sweats. And come up empty. Understandable, since it’s only the first week of September and the chilly autumn weather hasn’t quite settled in yet.
“What’s wrong?” He eyes me from across the bed.
“I don’t know… I just wanted something else.”
“I brought you everything Mariuccia bought.”
My arms curl around my middle, a sudden chill prickling the tiny hairs on my flesh. “I know, and normally, I’d be all about it. I just don’t feel like wearing a dress today, okay?”
Antonio’s expression darkens, and something like understanding flashes across those bottomless midnight irises. He spins around and marches toward his closet, then tosses me a sweatshirt. “It’ll be a little big on you, but it’s warm.”
I hug the soft cotton to my chest and the musky scent of amber and fresh lavender fills my nostrils. It’s warm and comforting and just what I needed. How the hell did he know?
“I have the sweatpants too, but they’ll definitely be too big on you.”
“That’s okay, I can roll them up.”
He eyes me warily before turning back to his closet and pulling the navy sweats off the hangar.
“Bocconi?” I eye the insignia of the university on the sweatshirt.
“Yes. I moved to Milano when I was eighteen and got my business degree there before returning to Roma to learn the family business.”
“Impressive.” In my short time living in the city, I’ve already heard about the famous institution. It’s like the Harvard of Italy. “Too bad you didn’t use all those brains for good instead of evil.”
A chuckle pierces the air between us. “I had little choice, tesoro .”
“We always have a choice.” I shrug before shooing him away so I can change.
“You go in the bathroom, and I’ll change out here.” He motions toward the closet.
I’d almost forgotten he still wore his dress shirt from yesterday. “Sure,” I mumble before returning to the bathroom once more.
Antonio and I eat breakfast in a semi-comfortable silence with the cook, Fabi, already preparing this evening’s meal. I’ve barely eaten since I arrived, and I haven’t seen Antonio eat at all except for the night of my escape so I’m not sure why he even bothers having the personal chef here.
But as I shovel the eggs into my mouth, I can feel my appetite returning. It’s been too many days and not enough food.
“Eat up, piccola . You are too thin!” The middle-aged woman rounds the marble island and pinches my cheek. Then drops a basket of fresh homemade pastries still warm from the oven.
“If you keep feeding me like this, I’ll be rolling out of here in a few days.”
She laughs, sweeping back strands of silver-streaked hair. “Nonsense, a woman should have curves.” She winks, sliding her hands down her hips and sashaying back toward the stove.
Antonio sits across the table, smothering a smile.
Fabi wags a finger at him, the bright pink nail polish glittering beneath the pendant light. “You know it’s true, signore . Don’t you dare try to deny it.”
“I’m not denying anything. I love women of all shapes and sizes. I do not discriminate, but I’m also not looking right now. I find myself with more woman than I can handle at the moment.” A flirty grin pulls at his lips, and the relaxed look is completely unexpected. Apparently, the key to this man’s heart is a conversation around the kitchen table.
“So you set up that Tinder account just for me?” I can’t keep the words from spilling out. What is wrong with me? Am I flirting back?
Mariuccia barrels around the corner, her eyes widening as she takes in the weirdly domestic scene. “Good morning, signorina . It’s so wonderful to see you up and about. You look well.”
I scoop another big bite of eggs into my mouth and mumble a good morning to keep my tongue busy.
Mariuccia turns to the windows, glancing outside at the sun-soaked terrazzo overlooking the lake. I follow her gaze to the classic wooden boat which bobs on the current, its polished mahogany hull reflecting the gentle ripples of the lake. Puffy white clouds move slowly overhead, through the glistening sunlight. “It’s such a beautiful day, why don’t the two of you take the boat out on the lake?”
Antonio clears his throat, then reaches for his cup, drowning his nose in the espresso. He’s clearly trying to buy some time just like I had a second ago with the eggs. The woman stares at him expectantly, and I throw a guarded look in his direction.
“We should probably remain near the phone,” he finally hedges, “in case Tony or your father call.”
I’m about to nod my agreement, reminding myself this isn’t a romantic weekend getaway and a boat ride on the lake with my captor should not be on the to-do list, when Mariuccia shakes her head. “The cellular reception is just fine on the lake. I go all the time and have no problem.”
Antonio’s dark gaze flickers to mine, then back to his housekeeper. The conflict written across his face is undeniable as he looses a frustrated breath. “Serena would you like that?”
I can see the pleading in his eyes. He wants me to say no, to let him off the hook. And only to piss him off, I throw him a smile and my head dips. “Sure, that sounds like the perfect way to kill a few hours.”