Chapter Six
Raya
I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S the outcome with the Russians.
Since that morning with Lorenzo two weeks ago, I’ve been shuffled around like a high-risk prisoner, kept safely out of Stefano’s sight. Apparently, he’s pissed about me, and Lorenzo is hell-bent on making sure we don’t cross paths until things “cool down.” Lest he “shoot me on sight.”
Typical. Stefano Castello is a narcissistic, egotistical miscreant. Of course he’d rather kill me than thank me. What a tantrum-throwing brat.
Lorenzo has officially labeled me his “office assistant.” Whatever that means.
Most of my time is split between his office at Black Gold and his game den at the house.
He keeps me busy with random tasks. Monitoring surveillance feeds, listening in on bugged conversations, hacking phones and tablets he’s lifted from his own men.
Sometimes, he just wants me to teach him tricks to get better at tech.
He’s a dark, brooding, menacing wannabe nerd. Such a strange criminal.
When I’m not with Lorenzo, I’m stuck with Luca. Babysat, escorted, watched.
But today, it seems I’m forgotten about. It’s well past noon, with no emails from Lorenzo and no signs of Luca.
When 5:40 PM rolls around, I seize the opportunity. Throw on my workout gear and cart straight to the gym.
Twenty minutes in, I’m bench-pressing dumbbells in the empty gym when the light above me is blocked out. Two tall, broad-shouldered figures loom over me, one on each side of the bench.
Two obscenely hot men.
Stefano Castello.
Gio Bellanti.
They both stare down at me.
Gio, at my breasts.
Stefano, at my face.
Neither says a word.
I don’t either. But keep my focus on the ceiling, finishing my reps. When I’m done, I carefully lower the fifty-five-pound dumbbells onto my thighs, then sit up.
Stefano grips both ends of the towel around his neck, watching me with dark, unreadable eyes.
“Hey.” I glance between them. “Come here often?”
At that, Stefano frowns. His expression shifting from darkly annoyed to quiet intrigue. “You’re Raya...”
Wait, does he not know what I look like?
For all Lorenzo’s effort to keep me hidden, I figured Stefano would recognize me on sight. But it seems he’s only placing me now because of my voice.
“That depends,” I say. “I hear this Raya girl is on your hit list. Is she still?”
Gio makes an “uh-oh” face then pries the dumbbells from my hands. “You shouldn’t bench without a spotter.”
“With a barbell, no. With dumbbells, I’m fine. As long as I don’t go too heavy.”
He examines the dumbbells. “One-ten pounds isn’t ‘too heavy’ for you?”
I lift my arms and kiss each bicep in turn. “I can bench you, Pretty Boy.”
Gio throws his head back, laughing, until he catches Stefano’s scowl.
“I’ll just, uh, put these away,” he mutters and promptly heads for the weight rack.
Stefano stares me down, expression blank now. “Did you receive the villa booklet with the rules?”
“I did.”
“Hm.” He nods once. “Then can you explain why you’re here right now?”
I feign a frown. “What do you mean?”
He lifts a brow. “The gym schedule. Are you deliberately disregarding it?”
“I—Oh my God, what time is it?” I glance around as if searching for a clock, then lift my wrist and check my fitness watch.
6:21 PM.
Of course I know the rules. No one is allowed in the gym between 6:00 PM and 9:00 PM. Those are his hours. But being left to my own devices today gave me the perfect opportunity to ‘accidentally’ overstay in the gym.
With the hope of exactly this. A run-in with him.
To see him up close.
To take in every inch of his devastating beauty. To get a whiff of him. Of his devilish, roguish aura.
Unlike his twin, his presence isn’t overtly threatening. It’s mesmeric. Intrinsically alluring.
Deep, dark brown eyes. Sharp, masculine features. Thick, midnight-black hair, finger-swept into a messy quiff. He’s an impeccably fine specimen, and he knows it.
It’s in the way he carries himself, the way his shoulders set, the way his chin elevates with imperious confidence.
Even in workout gear, he moves like he owns the world.
Stefano Castello. King of Vegas.
“I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t realize the time,” I lie. “Let me just grab my things and get out of your air.”
I spring up from the bench, but he stops me with two fingers to my shoulder. Just the barest touch. Like he’s scorning me.
Understandable. No one wants to be smeared in someone else’s sweat.
If only my body would register it for what it is. Scorn, not a caress.
Instead, it’s going haywire. Twisting in on itself with giddy betrayal. It’s been like this for a long time. My brain hears “Stefano Castello” and everything short-circuits. Turns into a full-blown mental institution.
This is the first time I’ve ever been in his presence. It almost feels like an illusion. Like a lie. A trick of the mind.
But scorn or not, that touch is very real.
I resist the urge to lean in, breathe him in, touch him…
With my fingertips.
With the tip of my tongue.
“Do—” Stefano tilts his head slightly, a faint crease between his brows. “Do I know you from somewhere? Your eyes...” He shakes his head, as if clearing a thought. “Have we met before?”
The eyes. It’s always the eyes.
“Is that your best pickup line?” I deflect with a mocking smirk. “Unoriginal, don’t you think?”
He steps back, sweeps me up and down, then lets out a dismissive snort.
No words needed. That look said it all.
This is nothing new. I’m an acquired taste, and I know it. Not my fault my selfish, conceited mother didn’t pass down her luscious feminine genes. Where she turns heads, I fade into the background.
But it never bothered me. I’ve never wanted to turn heads or be seen as sexually appealing right off the bat. It’s kept me hidden. Kept me safe. Shielded me from the unwanted male gaze.
Until now.
But this man’s instant dismissal stings. More than I expected.
Feeling inexplicably dejected, I grab my water bottle. “No, we’ve never met before. If we had, only one of us would still be breathing.”
His chuckle is dark, curt, and humorless. “You’ve got a lot of lip for a desperate runaway living on my property and needing my protection.”
“You’re right. Forgive my manners.”
With that, I bite the tip of my tongue and walk off.
I’m almost at the door when his voice stops me. “Are you done?”
I stop and glance over my shoulder. Goodness gracious, look at him. Obnoxiously hot in that all-black gym fit. “Pardon?”
“Were you done working out?”
“No, but…” I wave a hand around the empty gym. “It’s restricted hours for me...as you’ve pointed out.”
“It’s fine. You can stay. Carry on.”
With that, he strides off toward Gio, who’s warming up on a treadmill.
Up until two minutes ago, I didn’t know I had an ego. And now? That surprise ego is sorely bruised. I feel like a wilted rose, sapped of life and energy.
Still, I suck it up and turn back. Flouncing out in a mood would only make me seem easily wounded. And that’s not the image I want.
“Never let people see what wounds you. Or it will forever be used against you,” my dad always said.
For the next thirty minutes, I throw all my indignation into my workout. Stefano and I move around the gym like opposing magnets, always on opposite sides, always maintaining distance. Like we both have viruses neither wants to catch.
I ask Gio for help with the cable machine. He’s kind and easygoing, quick with a smile so we gab and joke while he assists me.
But Stefano seems annoyed by this. Like a playground bully who doesn’t want anyone else to play with his friends.
Five minutes later, I bother Gio again to spot me on barbell squats. Just to rankle Stefano some more.
Stefano watches us in the mirror as he pumps weights. And not in a good way. He watches me like I’m a threat. Like he doesn’t trust a single follicle on my head.
My own fault.
I never should have exposed my knowledge of field work during the Russian ordeal.
Should have just translated the conversations and left it at that.
But it was either play dumb to protect myself, or take the risk and help.
And between them getting screwed over and attacked or me stepping in? I’ll choose the latter every time.
Because Stefano Castello needs to live for me to live.
After ten minutes on the StairMaster, I head to the pull-up bar to finish things off. But the step-up bench that’s usually beneath it is missing.
Gio notices me glancing around. “Need a hand?”
His shirt has mysteriously disappeared.
“Uh, yeah.” I scratch my neck. “There’s usually a step-up bench here…”
“It’s alright, I got you.”
He strides over, his defined chest gleaming with a sheen of sweat, and grips me by the waist, lifting me with ease.
Once I have a solid grip on the bar, he lets go. “Want me to wait?”
“Yeah. I’m going to failure.”
He waits, watching as I power through rep after rep. Until my muscles burn, my grip weakens, and I fail at another rep and have to give up, let go.
He catches me by the waist, easing me to the ground.
“Thanks,” I pant.
“You’re pretty strong,” he says, his gaze lingering on my heaving cleavage. “You work out like you’re training for something.”
Ah. He’s a breast man. And judging by the way mine are holding his attention…
Good. That’ll make him easy.
“I am.” I dip into my sports bra for the inhaler nestled between my breasts. “Someone has to survive to tell the tale after the zombie apocalypse.” I jab a thumb at my chest and sing, “And it’s gonna be meee.”
He laughs. Full bodied, deep, with his entire well-defined chest.
I take a hit from my inhaler.
Gio frowns, nodding at it. “Why do you go so hard if you’re asthmatic?”
“If you can’t beat them, join them.” I shrug. “I choose to work with my flaws instead of letting them limit me. Trust me, I could go even harder, but my body and I have a deal. As long as I don’t push past my limits, it behaves.”