Chapter 6 Renato
She's potentially dangerous.
I watch Camilla through the security monitors in my study as she systematically searches her room for weapons. Most people would call her search pathetic. Nothing but a desperate woman grasping at straws. But I see something different in those calculated movements.
I see a potential predator learning her new territory.
The fountain pen disappears into her pocket.
Smart choice. It’s heavy enough to do damage, sharp enough to penetrate if modified.
Then the nail files from the vanity, tested against her thumb until they draw blood.
She even finds the hairpin I deliberately left in the jewelry box, though she doesn't know it's a test.
Everything in that room is a test.
The cameras are obvious enough for someone with her intelligence to spot eventually. The blind spot near the armoire is intentional. Even the weapons she's collecting, I placed them there to see what she'd choose, how she'd prioritize.
She's exceeded my expectations on every level.
I check my watch. Eleven PM. Late enough that she'll be tired, vulnerable.
Perfect timing for the real evaluation.
I pocket the camera remote and head upstairs. Matteo intercepts me in the hallway, his scarred face concerned.
"Boss? You sure about going in there alone? She's been busy."
"Busy how?"
"I’m not sure. I could hear her pacing back and forth. Opening drawers. Knocking on the window. She has the kind of weird energy that makes people do rash, stupid things."
I almost smile. "Like what? Attack me with a fountain pen?"
"Like try to take you hostage. Use you as leverage to get out."
The suggestion should concern me. Instead, it's oddly amusing to think about. "And go where? You think she'd consider trying something that crazy?"
"She's desperate. And desperate people with nothing to lose are the most dangerous kind."
I shake my head. “She’s not desperate. Far from it.”
He's not seeing what I'm seeing in those security feeds. The methodical way she catalogs information. The strategic thinking behind every choice. The way she's performing defeat for the cameras while her mind works furiously.
She's not desperate. She's calculating.
"I can handle one kidnapped socialite, Matteo."
"Don’t kid yourself, boss. This one's different. You know it and I know it."
“You’re right and that’s exactly why I'm going in there. If I'm not out in thirty minutes, you have permission to intervene."
"And if she tries to hurt you?"
I can’t help smiling at that. I pull back my suit jacket to show him the gun holstered there. "Then she'll learn why that's a very bad idea."
But as I walk down the hallway toward her room, I find myself halfway hoping she does try something. The verbal sparring, and the way she looked me in the eye and said 'fuck you' without flinching has awakened something I haven't felt in years.
The thrill of an actual challenge. And from a woman no less.
I unlock her door and step inside without knocking. She's sitting on the bed, shoulders slumped in fake defeat, playing her role perfectly. But when she turns to face me, those dark brown eyes are as perceptive as I expected them to be.
"You’ve done quite the thorough search," I say. "I particularly enjoyed watching you test the window locks. Very systematic."
"You've been watching." She stands slowly, and I catch the way her hand brushes against her pocket. Touching her makeshift weapons.
"Of course I've been watching. Did you think I'd leave six million euros worth of merchandise unsupervised?"
The words hit their mark. She flinches, but she doesn't break. "Did you find it entertaining?" she asks.
"Actually, yes." I move into the room, closing the door behind me. The soft click echoes in the silence. "Most women in your situation would spend their time crying or trying to negotiate. You've been planning."
"What do you possibly think I’ve been planning?"
I walk to the writing desk, trailing my fingers across the surface where the fountain pen used to be. "I don’t know and that's what makes it interesting."
She's watching me with the intensity of a cat tracking prey. Every micro-movement catalogued and analyzed.
"Missing a fountain pen, I see. And some nail files from the vanity. Strategically placed there of course. By me."
She goes perfectly still, but I catch the slight dilation of her pupils. Fear response, even though her expression remains controlled.
"Smart choices," I continue, genuinely impressed. "The pen especially. Remove the nib, sharpen it properly, aim for the right spot." I meet her eyes directly. "Could do some real damage with enough force behind it."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The lie comes out smooth. But her pulse is visible at her throat, faster than it should be.
"No?" I step closer, testing her reactions. She doesn't back away. "Empty your pockets. Show me what else you’ve got."
"No."
The word hangs between us like a challenge. She's pushing back, establishing boundaries, showing me exactly how far she's willing to go. It's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
I'm starting to think it's both.
"No? An interesting choice of word for someone in your position."
"You want to search me, do it yourself."
Her suggestion shocks me. Images flash through my mind. My hands on her body, searching for weapons, finding excuses to touch her. The way she'd tense under my fingers, the sharp intake of breath when I found what I was looking for.
Jesus Christ.
"Careful, Camilla. You're not in a position to make demands."
"I'm not making demands." She stands up, straight into me, forcing me to step back slightly. The movement brings her close enough to smell her sweet shampoo. "If you think I have something hidden, prove it."
The challenge in her voice lights something inside me. She’s playing with fire and doesn’t even realize it.
"You know what I like about you?" I reach for the camera remote, needing something to do with my hands. "You've got balls hanging to the fucking ground."
I press the button, killing the surveillance cameras. "There, the cameras are off and we have privacy. Now empty your fucking pockets."
She doesn't move. Doesn't even flinch at my tone. Just stands there looking at me like I'm the one trapped in this room.
"Or," I continue, letting my voice drop to something threatening, "I do it myself. And trust me, you might not like my methods."
"Go to hell, Renato."
The words come out steady, defiant. No one talks to me like that. No one has the guts to look me straight in the eye and tell me to go to hell.
Except her.
Fuck if that doesn’t make my cock go rock hard in an instant.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." She crosses her arms, the movement emphasizing the curves beneath her silk blouse. "You want to know what's in my pockets? Go ahead and find out."
The invitation is clear. She's daring me to touch her, to search her, to cross a line that once crossed can't be uncrossed. The smart thing would be to back down, maintain professional distance, treat her like any other piece of collateral.
Instead, I step forward. "You're really going to make me do this?"
"Yes."
I move close enough to count her heartbeats at her throat. "Fine."
My hand slides into her right back pocket of the tight pants. Her ass is warm beneath the fabric, and I have to fight the urge to let my fingers linger. To cup her luscious ass in my hand and pull her tight against me.
“Why are you groping my ass in my back pocket when you can clearly see there’s nothing there?” she asks, staring up at me. “Do you enjoy putting your hands on me, Renato?”
I don’t answer and move to her right front pocket instead. I find the fountain pen and pull it out, setting it on the nightstand with a loud thump.
"Anything else hidden in your pockets?" I ask.
She doesn't answer, but I see her throat work as she swallows.
My hand moves to her left front pocket, and this time I'm not gentle about it. My fingers brush against her hip bone, her thigh, taking longer than necessary to extract the nail files. She's breathing faster now, though she's trying to hide it.
The small pocket at her waist yields the hairpin. When my fingers brush against her warm skin through the gap in her blouse, chill bumps pop up.
"Are you satisfied now?" she asks, her voice not quite as steady as before. "Did you find everything you’re looking for?"
I examine each item, though my mind is occupied with how warm her skin felt beneath my fingers. "Not bad choices. The pen was the best choice, good weight, sharp potential." I pick up one of the nail files. "These could work too, with the right technique."
"You’re making fun of me and it’s insulting. Are you going to take them?"
The question catches me off guard. Standard procedure would be to confiscate anything that could be used as a weapon. But looking at her standing there, chin raised in defiance, I find myself reluctant to take away what little power she's managed to claim.
"Should I?"
Her eyes widen slightly. She was expecting me to take them, not ask her opinion.
"What?"
"You heard me. Should I take your little arsenal of improvised weapons?" I lean against the nightstand, genuinely curious about her answer. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."
She studies my face, looking for the trap.
"Because you're curious to see what I'll do with them."
The honesty in her answer floors me. She's right. I am curious. More than curious. I want to see how far she'll push, how clever she can be, what she's capable of when backed into a corner.
I push the items toward her. "Go ahead and keep them. Consider it a professional courtesy."
"Professional courtesy of what?"
"One opponent to another." The words come out before I can stop them, and I see understanding flash in her eyes.
She knows what I just admitted. That this has become something more complex than captor and captive.
"Oh, and Camilla?" I move toward the door, needing distance before I do something irreversible. "Next time you want to test the blind spots, remember that just because the cameras can't see you doesn't mean I'm not watching. I’m always fucking watching and I miss nothing."
I leave before she can respond, locking the door behind me with hands that aren't quite steady.
Matteo is waiting in the hallway, his expression knowing.
"Everything alright, boss? You were in there a while."
"Fine." I straighten my jacket, trying to regain my composure. "She's manageable."
He nods slowly. "And the weapons we hid for her? Did she find them?"
"What weapons?" I reply.
His scarred face splits into a grin. "That's what I thought."
I head back to my study, needing another scotch and time to think. But as I pour the amber liquid, I can't stop thinking about the way she looked at me when I stepped close. The sharp intake of breath when my fingers brushed her skin.
She's supposed to be collateral. Temporary. A means to an end.
I drain my scotch and pour another, staring out at the lake that reflects the moon like scattered silver. Somewhere above me, Camilla Colombo is probably planning her next move, sharpening those tiny weapons, using her mind to find a way out of this situation.
Not realizing that in the end, I’ll be the only one who decides her fate.