Chapter 28
Katarina
My lids peel open, and I stare as the morning light seeps between the velvet curtains like an invasion. Pedro is barking up at me from the floor, waking up the rest of my senses.
“Good morning, my good boy,” I whisper, reaching out to scratch the top of his head until he rolls around, demanding a belly scratch. When he’s had enough, he runs to the far corner of the room to play with his toy.
I arch my back in a languid stretch and feel a satisfying pull of muscles. My body feels so much better now. The bruises are finally fading, while the constant ache in my shoulder has subsided into a dull throb.
I feel stronger, more grounded in my skin, even if my mind is a chaotic mess.
A loud knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
“Come in,” I say, pulling the silk duvet up to my chest.
A maid I haven’t seen before pushes a silver cart into the room, her movements quiet and careful.
“Bongiornu, Signorina,” she says. “Mr. Cotrini requested I bring you breakfast. He left early this morning, but he asked me to tell you he will be back before dinner.” She says with a thick accent.
I nod and offer her a grateful smile and say, “Grazie mille.”
He left? My shoulders slump in disappointment.
I pick at the fruits in the tray, feeding Pedro pieces of bread, while my mind replays the scenes from last night. Heat crawls up my neck and into my cheeks before I can stop it. I press the back of my hand to my face, willing the blush away like a teenager. It doesn’t work.
The way I submitted to him last night makes me think I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. In fact, I feel extremely powerful after being desired that way. Maybe I’m losing my mind.
God, I need to move, or else I’m going to burst into fire.
So I finish my food and dress in my workout gear. Black leggings and a fitted tank top that shows off the lean muscle starting to return to my arms. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I pull my hair up into a ponytail.
There are faint bruises on my hips, the shape of Damiano’s fingers, and a dark hickey just above my collarbone where his mouth had been. I stare at them for a second longer than I should, part of me extremely annoyed, but another feels satisfied by being marked and owned by him.
God, what are you doing to me, Damiano?
I grab a hoodie and put it on to cover the marks before I head for the door, needing to put distance between myself and the bed before I lose my mind entirely.
When I round the corner of the hallway, I stop in my tracks. A man is standing by the marble balustrade, staring at the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He turns slowly. He has high, razor-sharp cheekbones, a straight, aristocratic nose, and a jawline cut with deliberate intent.
He looks like he was born to wear that suit.
He possesses an intense elegance that mirrors Damiano’s but with a more polished, chilling edge.
His hair is dark and swept back, but it is his eyes, the same emerald as Damiano’s, that catch me.
“Katarina, right?” he says, his voice smooth and melodic.
“Ah—Si, yes,” I manage, clutching the sleeves of my hoodie tight. “You must be Damiano’s brother.”
“Lorenzo,” he replies, giving a slight, graceful bow of his head. “I’ve been so busy I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself.”
He looks at me with an expression that is unsettlingly concerned.
“You look well,” he says softly, his gaze raking over me with an excruciating scrutiny. “I’m glad you are recovering. Off to work out?”
“I feel better,” I admit, “The movement helps me clear my head.”
Lorenzo nods. “I’m sorry about your brother.” He says after a beat.
I nod, because saying ‘thank you’ feels wrong and saying ‘me too’ feels worse.
“I’ve been watching the two of you from afar. You and Damiano.” He mutters.
“Oh,” is all I could come up with.
“My brother is a difficult man, especially when he cares. And I can see he cares about you far too much for his own good—or yours. He thinks he can keep you in this bubble.”
He steps closer, and suddenly I can feel a chill in the air. When he speaks again, his voice is measured.
“But you must understand the extent of what is in store for you just by being in his protection. We don’t live a glamorous life.
Our enemies are patient, and the friends of those enemies are even more so.
They’ll use you as a pressure point to hurt him.
I worry that neither of you truly understands how loud the target on your back is screaming. ”
There is no cruelty nor sugarcoating in his words.
“I’m learning,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “But I can face them, those enemies.”
He gives a small, sad smile before reaching out and patting my shoulder in a friendly gesture.
“I hope you learn fast enough. Take it easy today, Katarina. It was a pleasure finally meeting you.”
He walks away, his stride long and fluid. I watch his back until he disappears, and only then do my shoulders relax. His words echo in my head. I’ve never been offered a warning so clear, and yet, the fear I was waiting to settle in my throat doesn’t come.
Am I finally numb?
When I finally make it to the gym, I find Julian on the mats, his left eye and jaw bruised from yesterday’s brawl. He is wrapping his hands, mouth set in a hard line.
“Hey,” I say, and his head whips towards me.
“Hey.” He answers, then goes back to what he was doing.
“Are you training with someone?” I ask.
“Gio was supposed to be here, but he’s late.”
I walk into the mat, removing my hoodie and my shoes.
“How’s the face?” I ask, reaching out to touch him, but he catches my wrist. Clearly, still upset with me.
“It’s nothing,” he says.
“I’m sorry—”
“C’mon, let’s work on grappling since you’re here,” he cuts me off and proceeds to walk in the middle of the mat.
I pause for a moment but follow him eventually, accepting that he doesn’t want to speak about it.
I sink low, bending my knees to drop my center of gravity, and keep my weight balanced on the balls of my feet.
I tuck my elbows tight against my ribs, refusing him any easy leverage, and raise my open hands.
My gaze locks onto him, waiting for the exact second he decides to strike.
“If someone gets you on the ground, your strength won’t matter as much as your strategy.”
For the next hour, we grapple on the mat. I feel the power in my legs come back as I practice escapes, my body becoming more fluid and responsive.
Until Julian manages to sweep my legs and pin me to the mat, he locks my wrists above my head, his weight centered over my hips. I wait for him to release me as he usually does after a few seconds to show me my mistake, but he doesn’t reset.
He stays, his chest heaving.
I look up, waiting for the critique, but his eyes are dark, unfocused. His breathing suddenly turns ragged. He is no longer watching my technique. Instead, he’s just staring. At me. And how I lie powerless beneath him.
The intensity in his gaze makes my skin crawl.
“Julian,” I whisper, trying to wiggle my body away. “You’re heavy.”
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he leans down, his face inches from mine, and fear cuts through me. I freeze.
His gaze drags over my face slowly. My eyes. My cheek. My lips. Then lower, down to my neck, to the sleeves of my tank top. To the dark mark Damiano left above my collarbone. His jaw tightens when he sees it.
“Let go,” I say, my heart hammering against my chest.
He doesn’t hear me. His grip on my wrists tenses by degrees, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
“Julian,” I yell, the careful composure finally breaking. “You’re making me uncomfortable. Move!”
“Kat.” He blinks and scrambles off me.
He stands and reaches for my arm before I can pull away, his grip tighter than it needs to be as he hauls me to my feet. When I’m up, he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s still holding my arm.
“I need to get you out of here,” he says, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the gym.
“Julian, stop.” I yank my arm back, but he holds on, his desperation bleeding into something physical and frightening. “Let go of me!”
“Listen,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “This place is no good for you.”
“I can’t just leave!” I snap.
“Don’t you understand? Everything I had before is gone. Everything! My life, my brother, all of it! There is nothing to go back to. Where would I even go, Julian?” I shout, my anger getting the best of me, making my eyes well up.
“Anywhere but here!” His voice bellows.
“This isn’t what I need from you.” My voice breaks on the last word, the exhaustion, anger, and grief all crashing together at once. “Get away from me.”
I grab my hoodie and shoes and run out, my bare feet pounding on the concrete as I take the stairs two at a time.
His face inches from mine. My wrists locked in his grip. The way his breathing changed—the way his eyes raked over me. He wasn’t just concerned. No. It wasn’t just friendship. It wasn’t about the job for him.
God, Damiano was right.
Now I get why he was always trying so hard to keep me away from other men. The way he went above and beyond caring for me in Argentina, when his job was only to ensure my safety from the paparazzi.
Fuck, I’m so stupid!
I flee to the suite, lock the doors, and strip off my sweat-soaked clothes. I step into the shower, twist the knob past cold, and let the freezing water erase the memory of his body on top of me.
The guilt and anger start warring in my stomach, and tears blur my vision before I can stop them. I can’t believe that just happened.
What have I done? Did I string him along? Is this my fault?
He showed up, stayed when he had every reason to leave, and never once asked me for anything in return.
Now he’s unraveling.
Every bruise on his face is my fault. Every sleepless night, he spent standing outside my door. I put him through all of it without ever once looking close enough to see what it was doing to him. I never once considered that it might mean something entirely different for him.
I press my palms flat against the cold tile and let the water run over me until I stop shaking, my heart caught between heartbreak and anger.
Why, Julian?