5. Roman #2
He’s quick to comply, and I place the gun on the table, watching him unfold in terror.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me where Marco Ricci is.
And before you deny it, know that I don’t have any problem putting the bullet between your eyes.
In fact, it’ll bring me much pleasure to do so. ”
“I don’t know,” he says, his hands visibly shaking on the table. “The last time I saw him was a week ago. He said he needed some money. A big amount. I told him it would raise flags, but he said he would hurt my kids.”
I shrug, my hand sitting lightly on the gun. “Save your sob story for someone who cares. Tell me where he is, or you might really start worrying about the safety of your children.”
As he fidgets, I reach for my phone and send a message to Leo. A minute later, a video pops up. I press play and slide my phone across to him.
His hand flies to his mouth in a horrified gasp. “My—” He looks at me, eyes wide. “Where did you—where?—”
“I’ll ask one more time. Where is Ricci?”
“I don’t know! I promise you, I don’t know! He said he was going to contact me because he had something to do out of town, but I haven’t received any calls from him.”
I see.
He’s telling the truth, that much I know. “You get to keep your head on your shoulders, Billie. However, you’re going to listen to my next words carefully…”
“What are you doing here?” I ask when I head down hours later—the sun set a while ago—and see Leo standing by the car.
He shrugs. “I felt you needed some company.” He opens the back door, but I ignore it, reaching for the front passenger door. “I also gave your driver the day off, so you have me for the rest of the day.”
I wait until he comes around, gets in, and closes the door to call him out. “Spill.”
Leo hesitates, then sighs. “Nope. You don’t want to know what I think. So I’m going to pretend like I agree with your plan. When’s the wedding?”
My lips press into a thin line as my forehead furrows. “Wedding?”
“You’re getting married to Isabella Ricci, aren’t you?
” He starts the car, slowly pulling away from the parking spot.
“I only have one question—what if he never comes for her? Your main goal is to use her to get Marco, right? What if he abandons his daughter? From what I’ve heard, he treated her more like an employee than his only child. ”
On a different day, I’d ignore Leo’s skepticism, but after Billie… The pool of people who know about Marco Ricci’s whereabouts is getting smaller, and with no rumors of a plan to retrieve Isabella, I am getting worried.
If he manages to slip further away, my plan has failed. For the most part.
The pulse in my temple is so loud from my seething anger that it drowns out everything, including Leo’s voice. It rises through my chest, coiling around my throat until it’s the only thing I can see and hear.
Fucking bastard.
He won’t get away with it. No matter what I have to do—I’ll find him. I swear.
I’m out of the car the moment it stops, kicking the door open and striding through the house and to the stairs without so much as a pause. Leo calls after me, but I don’t break stride. His voice fades the further I go, drowned out by the storm in my chest.
I reach Isabella’s door. No hesitation this time. No knocking. I shove it open?—
And freeze.
She’s just stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel clinging low to her hips. Steam curls around her like smoke, and water drips from her hair, sliding down her bare shoulders and gliding along the curve of her collarbone.
She stops when she sees me, her lips parting slightly, breath catching. And for one long, burning second, everything else disappears.
The words that sat on my tongue, the anger raging in my chest…everything has turned to smoke. Because all I can think about is how goddamn good she looks like this—dripping, flushed, and half-naked in the middle of her room.
And how easy it would be to reach for her towel, tossing it away. Naked. Olive skin glistening from the shower, and at my mercy.
My eyes rake over her body without subtlety, and my jaw ticks as her face flushes, the warm pink spreading to her chest. How far does it go? I wonder as my gaze sinks lower, to the point where her towel stops on her thighs and the rest of her legs go on forever.
They’d look better over my shoulders, her thighs spread wide and her pussy quivering against my tongue.
And wrapped around me as I fuck her, my cock sliding in and out of her tight, wet?—
“Get out!” she shrieks, and I duck just in time for her to grab a pillow and chuck it at my head. Surprisingly, her towel stays in place despite all the movement. “What are you doing here?!”
“What do you think?” I rasp. My voice is thick with lust, and a large part of my brain isn’t thinking anymore. Somehow, my thirst for revenge and the rush of desire have blended into one ticking bomb.
Isabella’s eyes widen as I take a step forward, and I see a flash of fear, mingled with uncertainty. It doesn’t slow me down, and I cross the room, keeping my gaze trained on her until she backs herself into the wall.
Earl gray. Cream.
I inhale sharply as the smell of her bodywash hits my nostrils. She smells like warmth. Slightly nostalgic, like a luxurious tea break in a steam-filled spa.
“Wh—what are you doing?” she breathes, her voice barely holding steady.
I feel her shiver as my thumb brushes her cheek, slow and deliberate. “What do you think?” I murmur, leaning in, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. Her breath hitches.
My fingers drift lower, trailing the edge of her jaw until they rest lightly at the base of her neck—right over the fluttering pulse that gives her away.
My other hand finds her waist, sliding down her curves with practiced ease until it settles on her hip, gripping her just enough to make her gasp. She’s soft. So fucking soft, even with the towel between her skin and mine.
My fingers dig into the cotton, and I take a second to think about ripping it off her body. “You’re shaking,” I whisper, tightening my hold. “Are you scared…or excited?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Why?” I mutter as my fingers skim the end of the towel, barely touching her thigh. “Are you scared of how much you want this? How much you want me to touch you?”
She gulps heavily and turns her head away.
“No,” I say. I shake my head, cupping her chin and forcing her face back to mine. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re going to be my wife. And you’ll warm my bed.”
If I can’t get Marco, I’ll use his daughter as I please.
“Please.”
Something about the way she says the single word, like a broken plea, breaks through the fog in my mind. I see the single tear that falls down her face and the scared look in her eyes—like a rabbit caught in a trap, desperately gnawing at his leg to escape.
My hands fall away like they touched a live wire, and I step back. She falls to the ground as I let go, curling into a ball and shaking all over.
What the hell did I just do?
What was I doing?
“Isabella—” My voice sounds like it’s coming from someone else.
“Don’t.” Her voice cracks around the word. She won’t even look at me. “Please…go away. I beg you.”
The breath leaves my lungs like a punch. I stare for a second longer, unsure if I’m more furious at her for making me feel this way or at myself for what I’ve done.
I don’t speak again. With one last look at her, I spin on my heel and storm out, slamming the door behind me hard enough to rattle the walls.
She was the one taunting me yesterday, wasn’t she? The starfish. “I’m sure you can work something out. You’re big and strong , after all.” So why the hell do I feel like the monster now?
My fist curls as I walk into the kitchen, heading mindlessly for the sink as if water will somehow wash away my guilt.
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself as I stand in front of the running water. I don’t care if she’s terrified. Isabella Ricci is nothing more than a means to an end. I shouldn’t care how she feels, if she hasn’t served her purpose for being here.
Being my wife and giving me an heir. I won’t touch her. Not yet.
But she’ll be my wife. Today.