Chapter 9 #2
"The Morozovs peddle flesh." He reaches out, tracing a line down my cheek. "And you are so lovely, Seraphina. You'd fetch a pretty penny."
"Absolutely not." I shake my head. "I know you're looking for some connection here, but honestly, I think it's just bad luck." Really fucking bad.
Adrian drops his hand from my cheek, and I miss his warmth. "He sold you to save his own ass."
"No." But the word lacks conviction.
Because it makes a horrible kind of sense. Gabe desperate. Gabe cornered. Gabe making one more bad deal to try to save himself.
I feel sick.
"Where is he?" I ask. "You said you know where he is."
"I do."
"Is he alive?"
"For now."
The words chill me. "What does that mean?"
"It means your brother is a problem. One I'm deciding how to handle." Adrian studies me. "But that's not our immediate concern."
"How is my brother not an immediate concern?"
"Because right now, we need to discuss the baby."
I inhale sharply.
"I'm assuming the baby is mine."
Offensiveness aside, I consider lying. This child ties me to Adrian in a way I'm not sure I want. And yet, I can't. "Yes." I close my eyes briefly. "I haven't been with anyone else in years."
"Good."
The possessiveness in his voice makes my skin prickle.
"We can discuss the baby when we get you somewhere more comfortable."
Fear spikes through me again. "And where is that?"
"My penthouse. You need to rest. You're injured and pregnant and you've been through trauma." His voice is reasonable. Calm. Which somehow makes it worse. "I have doctors who can check on you. Make sure the baby is safe."
"I can go home—"
"To your apartment above a bookshop with no security? Where the Morozovs know how to find you?" He shakes his head. "That's not happening."
"You can't just kidnap me."
"I'm not kidnapping you. I'm protecting you." He stands. "But to be clear, Seraphina, you're not going anywhere without me until we sort this out."
I try to stand, to push past him. My body screams in protest but I ignore it. "I'm not going anywhere with you. You killed someone—"
He catches my arm. Not hard. Just firm enough to stop me. His hand is warm against my skin, and I hate that I notice.
Hate that part of me remembers how those hands felt on me that night.
"I killed someone who was trying to kill you," he says quietly. "I'd do it again."
"That doesn't make it right."
"Right and wrong are more complicated than you think.
" He's still holding my arm. His thumb rubs soothing circles on my skin.
I want to melt. I'm so tired. So stressed.
I want him to take care of me. "You're in danger, Seraphina.
Your brother made sure of that. The Morozovs want their money, and you're the next best thing. "
"Then I'll go to the police—"
"And tell them what? That you witnessed a murder? That I'm the one who killed Dimitri Morozov?" His thumb strokes across my pulse point. Once. Twice. "They'd arrest me. Maybe. For a few hours. And then you'd be completely unprotected when the rest of the Morozov family came for you."
"You're saying I have no choice."
"I'm saying you have one choice. Come with me. Let me protect you. And tomorrow, we'll figure out the rest." He releases my arm. "One night, Seraphina. That's all I'm asking. You rest. Take care of the baby and yourself. Let me help you."
I'm melting.
"If I come with you," I say slowly, "you'll take me to Gabe tomorrow?"
"I'll take you to your brother when it's safe."
"That's not an answer." I notice that he didn't agree.
"It's the only answer you're getting tonight." He picks up my ruined clothes, tosses them in the trash. "I had clean clothes sent up. Get dressed. We're leaving."
Every instinct says to fight. To scream. To do anything except give in.
But I'm so tired, and everything hurts, and my eyes are heavy.
"Fine," I whisper. "One night."
He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Good girl."
The clothes are simple. Leggings, a soft sweater, flat shoes. Everything fits perfectly and I don't want to think about how he got my size.
Adrian waits outside while I change, giving me privacy that somehow feels like another form of control. Like he's so certain I can't escape that he doesn't need to watch me.
He's right. I've got nowhere to go, and apparently, a mob family after me.
When I emerge, he's on his phone. Sees me and ends the call immediately.
"Ready?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
The elevator ride down is silent. He stands close enough that I can smell his cologne. That same dark, expensive scent from the gala. It brings back memories I've been trying to forget. His hands on me. His mouth. The way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world.
The way he's looking at me now.
The parking garage is mostly empty. His car is black and sleek and probably costs more than I'll make in five years. He opens the passenger door for me like we're on a date.
I slide in, my body protesting every movement.
He notices. Of course he does. "You should have let Dr. Reeves give you pain medication."
"I don't like drugs."
"You're going to be in pain all night."
"I'll survive." I place my hands on my stomach.
"He said they wouldn't hurt the baby."
I remain silent. He doesn't need to know every secret I have. Luckily, he lets it go, closing the door and walking to the driver's side of the car.
We pull out onto Manhattan streets, and I try to pay attention. Try to mark where we are. But the pain and exhaustion are making everything fuzzy. The engine is lulling me to sleep even as I fight against it.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"The Palazzo."
The hotel. Where we first met. Where I woke up in his bed and ran.
"You live there?"
"Yes."
I watch the city slide past. People going about their normal lives. Completely unaware that somewhere in this car is a woman who watched a man die today. Who's pregnant by a stranger. Whose brother might have sold her out.
"Tell me about yourself," Adrian says suddenly.
I glance at him. "What?"
"We're having a baby. I should know more than your name and that you work with books."
The surreal nature of this conversation makes me want to laugh. Or cry. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"That's not specific."
"Start with the basics. Family. Education. How you ended up at that gala."
I don't want to talk. Don't want to give him anything. But the silence feels worse somehow.
"My parents are dead," I say. "Dad died of a heart attack six years ago.
Mom got cancer a year later. I have a degree from NYU in library science.
I work at Antiquarian Rare Books doing restoration.
" I pause. "My boss gave me the dress for the gala.
It was a networking opportunity. I'm trying to become a curator. "
"At the New York Public Library."
I turn to stare at him. "How do you know that?"
"I told you. I make it my business to know things." He glances at me. "You bombed the interview."
My face heats. "I was sick."
"Because you were pregnant."
"I didn't know that then."
"But you know it now." He turns onto a familiar street. We're getting close. "What about friends? Other family besides Gabriel?"
"No." The word comes out small. "It's just been Gabe and me since our parents died."
"No boyfriend? No one who'll report you missing?"
The question feels loaded. I almost lie, but I remember how he seems to know everything, and I don't see the point. "My boss, but otherwise, no."
"Good."
Something about the way he says it makes my skin prickle. "Why is that good?"
He doesn't answer. Just pulls into a private garage beneath The Palazzo.
The building is exactly as I remember it. All marble and gold and luxury that feels alien. Adrian uses a keycard to access a private elevator.
We ride up in silence. I watch the numbers climb. Higher than the guest floors. Higher than should be possible.
The doors open directly into his penthouse.
I remember this space. The floor-to-ceiling windows. The sleek furniture. The place where I stopped being Seraphina Romano and became someone else for one night.
Someone reckless and free and stupid.
If I could go back, I'd slap myself.
The parking garage is silent except for our footsteps. Adrian's hand stays on my lower back as we walk to the private elevator—not guiding, just claiming. Reminding me I'm his now.
"This way," Adrian says, his hand on the small of my back.
I expect him to show me to a guest room. Somewhere I can lock the door and try to process everything.
Instead, he leads me to his bedroom.
"I'm not sleeping with you," I say immediately.
"You're injured. You need to be monitored." He pushes open the door. The bed is enormous. Black silk sheets. "This is non-negotiable."
"I can sleep on the couch—"
"You're not sleeping on the couch." He guides me into the room with that same careful pressure. Not forcing. Just making it clear he won't be argued with. "Sit."
I perch on the edge of the bed, ready to bolt if he tries anything.
He doesn't. Just moves to a dresser, pulls out a t-shirt. "You can sleep in this."
"I'm fine in what I'm wearing."
"You'll be more comfortable in this."
"Adrian—"
"Change, Seraphina. Or I'll change you myself."
The threat hangs between us. I grab the shirt, disappear into the bathroom.
The space is all black marble and chrome. I avoid looking in the mirror as I strip off the borrowed clothes and pull on his t-shirt. It hangs to mid-thigh, smells like him. I hate that it makes me feel safer.
When I come out, he's sitting on the edge of the bed. Waiting.
"Good," he says. "Now come here."
I don't move. "Why?"
"Because I need to check your injuries."
"Dr. Reeves already—"
"Dr. Reeves didn't see you change clothes. I want to make sure nothing's gotten worse." When I still don't move, he sighs. "I'm not going to hurt you, Seraphina. Just let me look."
Slowly, I walk over. Stand in front of him.