Two #3
Royal chuckles. He’s walking with me—escorting me, really—with his arm around my waist. We’re heading in the opposite direction to his associates, towards a big black Escalade.
He opens the back car door and bundles me into his arms, lifting me right off my feet.
Inside the car the air is blissfully warm, and I half melt onto the heated leather seats.
The door slams and Royal’s scent fills the backseat. His big body crowds into my space. I’m scooting my butt back to make room when something cracks in the distance.
“Oh my god.” I flinch, my hands flying to cover my head. I don't live in a great neighborhood and the sound of gunshots is familiar. It’s different from the sound of a backfiring car.
Royal’s expression changes not a bit. With another rat-tat-tat round of bullets sounding off in the general area of office 1804, he shuts the door and nods to the driver—a big guy with a shaved head I didn’t even notice before now.
More gunfire pops as the Escalade glides from the curb.
“It’s okay, baby.” Royal puts his arm around me. “I'll take care of you.”
My teeth are chattering again.
“Let's get you out of these.” He strips off my mittens and starts rubbing my stiff fingers. “Where's your winter coat?” he chides.
“I don't have one.” The car’s heat vents are blowing full blast. The warmth makes my skin prickle, as if my body is waking up from being so numb. It hurts. I blink back sudden tears.
“My poor angel,” he says. “Principessa mia.” He tucks my hands against him.
The Escalade has rounded a corner. The snowy square, the fountain, office 1804—they’ve all disappeared. With every passing second, I’m growing warmer. Relief runs through me.
“What was that back there?” I ask before I can stop myself. “The gunshots.”
“Stefanos has owned this territory for a long time,” Royal answers without blinking. “He won't go down without a fight.”
I shrink back on the seat. Why is he telling me this?
“Don't be afraid, princess.”
“I should give you your coat back.” I start to squirm and shrug out of it but he stops me.
“You're still cold.” He tugs the coat back onto my shoulders and tucks me into his side. “You have snow on your cheeks. In your hair.” His voice rises and falls, lulling me closer. He brushes his hand over my head, and I can’t help but lean into his palm.
“Reminds me of sugar.” He leans in and his lips brush mine.
A jolt runs through me, and then a rush of heat that warms me better than the fancy heated seats.
Now I'm too hot. My heart’s beating faster, a flush spreading across my face like I've just been staring into an oven.
“Where are we going?” The driver has us whizzing down a road I don't recognize. The day has turned darker. Heavy gray clouds coat the sky.
“More snow is coming,” Royal says, not answering my question. “You shouldn't be out without a winter coat.”
The last of the adrenaline leaves my system, and my head droops. Something about his scent and the heat of his body makes me drowsy.
“I need to make sure that you're safe,” Royal’s murmuring above my head. “We're going to my place.”
My eyelids are heavy as I stare ahead. The windshield wipers work overtime, swiping away thick clumps of falling snow.
My head drops to his shoulder, and I wake out of my stupor with a jerk. I almost fell asleep on him. “I'm so sorry. I need to get back to Mr. Rossi.”
“I'm sending a doctor to his house.”
“Okay,” I say, even though I don't believe him. What real doctor would do a house call? “Did… Did Stefanos beat him up?”
“Yes.” Royal’s face turns to stone. “Or one of his men.”
I cuddle closer even though I should be terrified out of my mind. “I don't like this,” I whisper.
“I know, bella. But you needn't worry. I won’t allow any harm to come to you. Let me make sure that you're okay.”
“Okay.”
His dark eyes crinkle. “Okay,” he whispers back.
The sudden switch from cold to hot, the drain of adrenaline, Royal’s scent—it all combines, and I fall asleep leaning against his crisp Italian dress shirt.
When I wake, we’re in a hilly area outside of town.
There are mansions here. A lot of them. Giant mix and match monstrosities built with no rhyme or reason into the side of the hill.
We pass a Gothic Tudor style one with massive white marble statues dotting its lawn, then a Victorian style one covered in frantic gingerbread trim.
We leave the McMansions behind and head further up a mountain. Now the snowfall, which had thinned a bit, picks up speed. The driver must feel like he’s in a video game of some sort, with distracting white specks flying at his screen.
We turn down a long drive lined with a thick cedar hedge.
A private road, but it’s better plowed than the public road before it.
The SUV rolls between the hedges for what feels like a mile, and then we’re turning into a large circular driveway and pulling up in front of a real mansion built of solid brick.
“What is this place?” I breathe.
“This is my home. Come.” And he pulls me from the SUV.