Chapter 33
Lorenzo
I t doesn’t take long until my toy’s fast asleep again. Still at her back, I listen to the way her breath catches, then releases. I count the seconds between one, two, three. I brush my thumb across the blue vein mapping her wrist, timing her pulse against my own.
Even though I feel her skin against mine, I still have to remind myself that she’s safe now. The relief I feel is unfamiliar, almost caustic in its intensity. I don’t name it. Names have power, and I already know what this is.
I trace the edge of the bruise blooming on her arm where the IV punctured her skin. But as soon as I touch it, Piper’s face scrunches up, and she whimpers in her sleep and presses her body harder against mine.
“You’re safe, Toy,” I murmur, stroking her everywhere I can reach.
At my words, she relaxes again. Her face is slack in sleep, defenseless. The sight of it strikes something primal in me. Then, the corner of her mouth twitches, and I hope she’s dreaming about me.
I lie with her until I become too restless to remain still. As I get out of bed, I’m careful not to disturb her. Cold air hits my bare skin as I move to the bathroom where my clothes lie scattered across the tile.
When I dress, I do it slowly. Button by button. Cuff by cuff. The ritual of reclaiming control when everything around me threatened to unravel hours before. My reflection in her mirror is composed, but my eyes tell a different story. They’re black with purpose.
Before I leave the bathroom, I touch the sink. I can still feel her cunt squeeze me as I fucked her right here. Fuck, maybe I should dismantle the sink and keep each tile as a momento of our first time together.
Smirking, I leave the bathroom and retrieve the bag with everyt hing my toy had on her when I found her at Static. Even though she looked sexy as sin, I refuse to let her keep the clothes Ben touched.
My jaw locks so suddenly my molars ache, and in five furious steps, I’m at her kitchen trash, dumping every item of clothing without ceremony. They’ll never touch her skin again.
It’s far from the first time I’m in my toy’s home, but it feels like I’m seeing it with fresh eyes as I look around. Everything here screams her, and I take my time drinking it all in. This is her home, a place she loves.
In the past, I’ve heard people say that home is where your heart is. It never made sense to me until now. I thought my luxury apartment filled with items I don’t care about was home. But it’s not—this is.
Seeing my toy swaying at that club, eyes unfocused, and with Ben’s fucking hands on her, changed everything. I’m never leaving her alone again. That leaves two options; either she moves into my penthouse, or I move in here. I’m choosing the latter for us.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I fish it out, I have a few texts from Cy asking for an update. I ignore him for now and call Maria, who answers on the first ring despite the hour.
“Lorenzo?”
“I’m moving in with Piper,” I say without preamble. No space between the words for questions or concerns. “I need things brought over. And I need to replace some of her stuff.”
The silence stretches, and I know I’ve surprised her. But instead of letting it show, she asks, “How soon?”
“Now.”
She yawns loudly, and I pretend not to hear her cursing me for calling her like this with no notice.
“Oh, one more thing,” I grin. “Dr. Voss put us on bedrest for two weeks, so I need you to cancel my schedule. No face-to-face meetings with anyone but you and Cy.”
She huffs. “Dr. Voss put you on bedrest?”
“She put Piper on bedrest, which means I’m on bedrest. So, yes,” I clarify.
“I see.” There’s a faint tap of keys as she makes notes. “The usual selection of clothes, toiletries—”
“And food,” I interrupt. “And something comfortable for Piper to wear.”
While Maria takes notes, I explain the outfit Piper wore at Static, so we can replace it. Then I move on to listing off some options that she likes to wear when she’s at home. Yoga pants, oversized shirts and stuff.
“Nothing restrictive,” I finish.
“And what food would you like?” she asks, staying on task.
I remove my phone from my ear and look at the email from Voss explaining Piper’s do’s and don’ts. “Coconut water, herbal teas, and light food.” I go into more detail as I mention a few of the meal ideas Voss gave me.
“You know, I can arrange a private nurse,” she offers. “Someone discre et, with security clearance.”
I feel my body go rigid at the suggestion, a visceral no that surprises even me. “No nurse. No security team inside. I’ll handle her care myself.”
“Got it.” There’s a short pause before Maria speaks again. “And when you say you’re moving in, do you—”
“I mean that I’m moving in,” I state. “I’ll keep my place so you don’t need to fill out a change of address card.”
Of course she’s surprised, and I don’t blame her. In the years she’s worked for me, I’ve never moved into a woman’s space. I’ve never adjusted my schedule to accommodate someone else.
Before ending the call, Maria repeats what I’ve asked for, and assures me I’ll receive everything shortly. Being a Russo opens just about any door, so I know she’ll get it done.
With that out of the way, I double-check the bag doesn’t hold anything Piper will need. That’s when I find her phone. It’s dead, the black screen a void like the hours she’s just lost.
I plug it into the charger beside her bed, watch it vibrate to life with a spasm of notifications.
Lena’s name appears five, seven, twelve times.
Each message is more desperate than the last. A digital panic that came too late to prevent anything.
The slew of where are you, I’m worried, and are you okays are useless.
Lena’s guilt won’t undo shit. She failed. She let my toy get poisoned and pawed at in a room full of strangers. Piper could’ve died—and Lena was too busy. The thought hits like a hammer. This is what happens when I allow others to protect what’s mine.
With a scoff, I silence the phone without reading the rest. What good is guilt now? What use are Lena’s concerns when the damage is done? The phone keeps lighting up, persistent as a wound that won’t close. I place it screen-down on the nightstand and turn away.
Behind me, Piper stirs—a small noise, a shift of her leg against the sheets—but doesn’t wake. I check her breathing again. It’s still steady. But I don’t like how deep she’s sleeping, or that she’s sleeping this long. I haven’t had time to feed her, which can’t be good.
Something dark flickers in my chest. It’s been hours. She should have shown some sign of waking by now. Not willing to leave anything to chance, I call Voss.
“She hasn’t moved,” I say when she answers, my voice a growl of accusation. I proceed to explain how long my toy’s been asleep, expecting it to worry the doctor like it’s doing to me.
“That’s to be expected,” Voss replies, her tone steady despite being woken.
“How long?” I demand.
“It could be…” She pauses, calculating. “… four to six more hours, perhaps. Maybe longer. Her body is recovering from multiple traumas, Lorenzo.”
I p ace to the window, watching the deserted street outside. “And if she doesn’t wake?”
“She will.” Voss’s certainty is professional, detached. “Her vitals were strong when I left. Unless you’re noticing labored breathing or extreme pallor—”
“No.”
“Then let her rest. It’s the best medicine right now.”
After ending the call, I process her words. She said as much to me before I took Piper home, and I trust Voss implicitly. It just doesn’t feel like enough. I’m not built for situations where there’s nothing to do but fucking wait. There’s no way I’ll be at peace until Piper’s eyes are open.
Three soft knocks on the door jerk me from my thoughts, and when I go to open it, Maria and Cy are there. While my assistant looks as put together as always, Cy’s scowling.
“This one dragged me out of fucking bed,” he seethes.
Maria rolls her eyes, pointing toward Piper’s living room. “Stop whining and carry the things in there.”
It’s only now I notice Cy’s arms are loaded with garment bags while Maria’s balancing a box on her hip.
Noticing my gaze, she straightens. “Some food,” she explains, already walking into the kitchen. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some soup that can be reheated once Piper’s up for it.”
While she talks, Cy empties Maria’s car, carrying in more boxes than I know what to do with. But considering they’re both here in the middle of the night, I’m not going to question them.
Once we’re done, I turn to Maria. “You should buy yourself something—”
“Pretty,” she finishes for me, smiling slyly. “You bought me a new car only last week, so I’m fine. But Christmas is coming up, and you could always show your generosity then.”
I chuckle while I usher them out. Maria always buys her own presents. If I’m honest, I don’t even know how much she spends, but whatever she deems generous, she’ll get.
“Oh, wait. One more thing,” Maria says, coming to a stop. “I wasn’t able to move the Morrison meeting. However, I changed it to video call. Everything else has been moved.”
“Thank you.” I look at Cy over her shoulder. “Both of you.”
He nods. “The perimeter is secure so if you don’t need anything else, I’m getting my ass back to bed.”
After mumbling my thanks, I lock the door behind her and Cy. Then I begin the methodical process of unpacking. I hang suits next to Piper’s dresses in her closet, place my razor on the sink, and my toothbrush next to hers.
With everything put into their new space, and food stored in the fridge, I walk back into the bedroom. I frown, not liking that she’s still practi cally comatose. Right now, I’m longing for her to wake up even if it means she’s going to fight me. Anything would be better than this silence.
Sighing, I strip, methodically removing each piece of clothing. Then I slide back between the sheets. My toy’s body radiates heat like a furnace, and I quickly check her forehead to see if she’s running a fever. I don’t think she is.
Lifting the sheet, I check her body, needing to see for myself that she’s okay. There’s a bruise forming on her hip that I don’t recognize—not from my hands, not from my mouth.
It could be from the club, perhaps. A collision with something as innocent as a table corner or a doorframe. Yet, it makes me angry. Because if she stumbled, it could be because of Ben. Which means she’s wearing a bruise from another man.
I brush my thumb across it, feeling the subtle heat of damaged capillaries beneath her skin. By morning, it will be purple. By next week, green. By the end of the month, gone. But that’s not soon enough.
My touch tightens, and I dig my fingers in firmer.
I stop when she groans in her sleep, deciding that now isn’t the time.
I need to let her sleep, and I can replace the bruise tomorrow.
The ownership I feel isn’t abstract. It’s visceral, physical, as real as bone.
The games are over. No more blindfold. No more manipulation from the shadows.