Five
DOREN
I told her about Corvus on day twelve. He was an associate from Italian intelligence, connected to the Crimson Chalice in Florence, and he needed somewhere to lie low.
That was the excuse.
The truth was darker. I wanted to see another man’s hands on her. To watch her fall apart for someone else while I controlled every second of it. Sharing her—with someone I chose, on my terms—wouldn’t make her less mine.
It would prove she was.
“Another man.” Lillet’s voice was flat. Guarded. “Staying here. With us.”
“For a few days.”
“And you trust him?”
“With my life.” I caught her chin, tilting her face toward mine. “The question is whether you trust me.”
She didn’t respond right away. Then, slowly, she nodded.
—Lillet—
Corvus arrived two days later. Dark curls, nearly black eyes, and a quick smile that reached his whole face. Everything about him was warm where Doren was cold, open where Doren was guarded.
“So this is her,” he said, circling me slowly while Doren watched. “The woman who finally caught my friend’s attention.” His smile was wolfish. “Bella.”
“Caught isn’t the word I’d use,” I said. “Captured is more accurate.”
Corvus’ laugh was rich and warm and filled the room. “I like her. How much trouble has she been?”
“Enough to keep things interesting.”
I should have been afraid. Two dangerous men, one remote cottage, no possibility of escape or rescue. Every true crime podcast I’d ever listened to was screaming warnings inside my head.
But when Doren’s hand settled on my lower back, I leaned into him instinctively.
Corvus grinned. “Don’t worry, tesoro. I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, actually.”
“What does that mean?”
“That depends,” Corvus said, turning back to me with glittering dark eyes, “on what you want.”