Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
MAKSIM
At my words, Camilla goes into another immediate fit of rage. Her jaw drops, her eyes widening into disks of pure, unadulterated shock. The ladylike composure she has been fighting so hard to maintain finally cracks.
“Your wife?" she gasps, her voice taking on a high pitch. "Are you entirely out of your mind? I would rather marry a stray dog in the gutters of Manhattan! You think because you threw a briefcase full of blood money at an auctioneer, you get to drag me to an altar?"
Under any other circumstances, her fiery indignation would make me laugh right in her face.
But I am tired. I am completely exhausted from the night’s firefight, and having her pinned here in nothing but her lace bra and panties is a dangerous game.
Her breasts are practically right in my face, and they are quite easily the most beautiful mounds I have ever seen.
She is wearing a delicate diamond pendant that rests perfectly in the shallow valley between them, rising and falling rapidly with her furious breaths. It takes everything in me not to yank the jewelry off and bury my face right into her skin.
"You are a criminal, a brute, and a kidnapper!" she yells, her face flushing a deep, pretty pink as she glares into my eyes. " My family will tear your entire syndicate to pieces for this. You cannot just lock me in a room and tell me I am your wife!"
Now, I am no gentleman—hell no—but even a man like me can recognize she has had a horribly rough night and needs to be allowed to rest. Her own father sold her off like cattle, she is wounded and stitched up, and now she is spending the night with a Russian she barely knows. Of course, she is blowing up at me.
She is still mid-tirade, her hands gesturing wildly as she spits out elegant, biting insults about my lineage, when I simply cut her off.
"Shower," I tell her flatly, my voice dropping an octave, leaving absolutely no room for argument.
Without waiting to hear whatever insult she has lined up next, I turn on my heel and walk out of the bathroom.
I stride over to the bedroom closet, grabbing one of my clean black t-shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants.
I return to the bathroom and toss the pile of oversized clothes directly onto the counter, right next to her bare thigh.
She is still there, completely silent now, her mouth slightly open as she glares at the clothes like they've insulted her. I don't give her the satisfaction of looking at her again. I just turn around, walk back into the bedroom, and close the heavy door behind me.
A few moments later, the hiss of running water echoes from behind the wood. I lean my back against the wall, listening to the shower, and shake my head. This woman is going to be a beautiful, exhausting nightmare.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, pulling my phone from my pocket to text Dmitri.
Find out who started the firefight at the auction. I need a full brief on the fallout. As soon as possible.
I set the phone down on the nightstand and rub my face with both hands, trying to map out my next move.
I need to get back to the United States. That is where my home is, and that is where the most critical arm of my business operates. I am not entirely sure of the timeline yet, but it has to be soon. Sicily is officially a hornets' nest, and it is no longer safe for me to linger here.
I also need to make a call to Massimo, Camilla’s father. Contrary to the scathing little speech she just gave me, I am no kidnapper. The transaction was legal by our world's standards, and her father needs to know exactly where things stand.
The click of the bathroom door interrupts my thoughts.
Camilla walks out into the bedroom, and I instantly freeze.
My clothes are absurdly oversized on her petite frame.
The gray sweatpants drag heavily along the hardwood floor, and the black t-shirt hangs well past her knees, swallowing her up.
Yet, she looks completely breathtaking. The soft fabric of the shirt clings just enough to reveal the subtle outline of her nipples poking through the cotton, making my jaw tighten instantly.
We hold each other's gaze for a long, heavy moment. The silence stretching between us is thick with a strange, undeniable tension.
"You've had a long night," I say, my voice rough as I gesture to the mattress. "Come lie down."
Camilla doesn't move. She crosses her arms over her chest, her chin tilting up defensively. "And where exactly are you sleeping?"
I look at her like she's lost her mind. "Where else? It's my bed."
"Then I suggest you enjoy it," she replies coldly.
Despite the sheer exhaustion rolling off her in waves and the visible wince she tries to hide as she moves, she turns on her heel and walks straight toward the sofa near the window. She sits down, carefully pulling her legs up onto the cushions and tucking the oversized shirt around her knees.
It is loud and clear: she is not going to make a single second of this easy for me.
I stare at her for a moment, weighing my options. I could easily order her into the bed, but I am too damn tired to fight her, and she has pushed her body enough for one night. I decide to let her have this small, stubborn victory.
I lie back against the pillows, keeping my eyes fixed on her silhouette against the dim light of the room as she settles onto the couch. I reach over and turn off the light, plunging the room into absolute darkness.
But I stay wide awake, tracking the steady rhythm of her breathing, watching the shadows in the room, and listening intently for any sign of a threat outside.
Hours later, the low buzz of my phone vibrates against the nightstand. I grab it, the screen illuminating the dark. It’s a text from Dmitri.
Downstairs. I have news.
I slip silently from the bed, my bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. When I glance over at the sofa, Camilla has finally crashed from pure exhaustion, but she is twisted into a horribly uncomfortable position, her brow furrowed even in her sleep.
Moving without a sound, I walk over and slide my arms beneath her.
She stirs slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but stays under as I lift her easily and carry her to the bed.
I lay her down gently on the soft mattress, pulling the covers up to her shoulders.
She immediately relaxes into the pillows.
I don't linger; I turn and slip out of the bedroom before she can wake up.
I walk downstairs to find Dmitri waiting in the dimly lit foyer. The second he sees me, he steps forward, his expression grim.
"What do we have?" I ask, my voice a low rumble.
"Viktor is completely losing his mind," Dmitri says, keeping his voice down. "The fallout from the auction is already spreading through the syndicates. Viktor is treating this as an act of war and he’s currently mobilizing his people to hunt you down. Sicily is about to crawl with his soldiers."
Dmitri takes a step closer, his eyes sharp.
"We cannot stay here and fight a war. We need to return to the United States immediately.
We have the numbers, the logistics, and the home-ground advantage there.
Besides, I already got word from the Caruso camp.
Massimo has agreed to meet with you, but he wants the meeting on American soil. "
The pieces click into place, and I make up my mind right then and there.
I look at Dmitri and give him a sharp nod. "Get the private jet ready. Call the crew and clear the flight path. We are flying back to the States in two hours."