Chapter Fourteen
LEONI
Warren drives us a short distance from the villa into town.
It’s nothing like London. The streets are narrower, sun-bleached, almost romantic, like someone carved them straight out of a film set. We park near a small square, and I slide out of the car, taking in the jumble of pastel buildings and hanging flowerpots.
He’s been quiet. Too quiet. Ever since he got back from his meeting an hour ago.
He woke me in his usual way, with slow kisses, dreamy sex that blurred my thoughts, followed by round two in the shower. But when he finally spoke, he only told me to dress for lunch.
And now here we are.
He guides me into a small restaurant bursting with locals, their voices filling the air in quick, musical Italian. A few look our way, curious but not lingering, and it’s oddly refreshing to see Warren just blending in. No whispers or stares. No London intensity.
We’re seated by a window overlooking the square, and before I’ve even opened the menu, Warren orders two steaks and a bottle of red.
Then we sit. Both staring out the window, locked in our separate thoughts. Eventually, I clear my throat. Warren flicks his eyes to me.
“How was your meeting?” I ask.
“Good.”
I wait for more. Nothing comes.
“Do you have more meetings today?”
“No.” He pauses before adding, “Yes. Sort of.” He sighs, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the table.
His brow furrows the way it does when something’s bothering him.
“I have dinner this evening,” he says, nodding toward the mountainside.
“Up there. The locals call it the rooftop. They all eat together. Drink.” He studies me, weighing something.
“The man I met today wants us to join him.”
Us.
“Okay,” I say lightly.
He clasps his hands together, leaning in. “This is really important, Leoni. The man I’m dealing with is… difficult. It’s best if you say as little as possible around him.”
My stomach sinks. It’s a warning. Behave. Don’t embarrass me. It drags me back to those early weeks working for him, when I couldn’t breathe without being told I was doing something wrong.
I give a stiff nod and look out the window.
The wine arrives. He pours for both of us, and even without looking, I can feel him watching me. Judging. Wondering what I’m thinking.
“I could just not come,” I offer quietly.
He sets his glass down with a soft thud. “That’s not an option.”
“Why?”
His jaw clenches; irritation flashes across his face. “Because I said so.”
Of course. His favourite answer when he doesn’t want to explain himself. I take a sip of wine and immediately regret it, tasting the vinegary, heavy tones. I hate red wine.
We eat in silence. Halfway through the steak, my appetite gives up.
When the plates are cleared, Warren settles the bill, takes my hand, and leads me back outside.
“I thought we could get you some underwear,” he says, crossing the street without slowing, still gripping my hand.
I stumble to keep up. “I have plenty.”
He ignores me completely, steering me into a boutique lined with silk and lace in every shade. Not one scrap of cotton in sight.
The shop assistant greets us warmly, and he exchanges a few words with her in fluent Italian. She nods and begins picking out pieces from around the shop.
I blink. “I didn’t know you could speak Italian.”
“My father is Italian,” he mutters, already fishing his phone from his pocket—his attention slipping away from me entirely.
The shop assistant returns and nods for me to follow. I glance at Warren for some kind of direction, but he’s still glued to his phone, brows drawn tight over whatever he’s reading.
I sigh and trail after her.
She ushers me into a huge changing room and immediately starts tugging at my top. Not a single word of English, just a flurry of hands and impatient sounds until I give up fighting and let her practically strip me.
When I’m left in cotton knickers and an unmatched bra, she steps back, horrified.She shakes her head, wags her finger, and lets out an exaggerated, “No, no, no.” She points aggressively at the hangers. “You try new?”
“Do I have a choice?” I mutter, reaching for the nearest bra.
She steps out, thank God, leaving me with a pile of lace and silk I don’t even want.
I’m in there for twenty minutes at least. And when I finally come out, Warren slips his phone into his pocket and gives me a small smile, like nothing’s wrong. “All good?”
I dump the pile onto the counter. “Yep.”
He watches me for a beat, wanting to ask if I’m alright, but probably deciding he can’t be bothered to deal with me, so he stays silent. The shop assistant rings up the items. He taps his card quickly with no hesitation.
Outside, he heads toward the car. I veer left, toward the market stalls that line the square.
He notices when he no longer feels me beside him. He turns. “Leoni?”
“I’ll find my own way back,” I call over my shoulder. “Have a good afternoon.”
He catches up within seconds. “Leoni.”
“I want to look around. Explore.”
“You can’t be out here alone,” he mutters, scanning the street like it’s full of snipers.
I frown. “In case a tiny Italian grandmother overpowers me with a baguette?”
He doesn’t smile. He actually looks around, as if checking for danger, before sighing. “Fine. Where do you want to go? I’ll take you.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh no. Definitely not. Please go back to the villa. I’ll make my own way.”
“Leoni,” he hisses, his voice tight with frustration. “I don’t have time for this.”
I stop dead and spin, glaring at him. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I wanted you with me,” he mutters, eyes skirting away. “And because you’re my secretary.”
“And because you didn’t want me left in London with your brother sniffing around?” He stiffens. “I’m not here to dress up in fancy underwear and fuck you whenever you demand like you’re own personal whore,” I say sharply. “And I’m not spending the entire day in that villa while you ignore me.”
His expression softens instantly. “I’m not ignoring you.”
“Warren, you’ve barely said two words since you got back. Except to remind me not to mess up your precious meeting.”
I turn on my heel and walk toward the market.
I hear him fall into step behind me but don’t bother arguing. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of another scene.
I browse the stalls slowly. Fresh fruit, handmade jewellery, a fish stand that smells aggressively authentic, colourful dresses blowing in the warm breeze—and it would be lovely.
If not for the six-foot brooding shadow trailing me everywhere I go. But I continue to move from stall to stall, pretending I’m alone, pretending I don’t feel his glare burning between my shoulder blades every time a man so much as looks in my direction.
He stays a few steps behind, close enough to be protective, far enough to pretend he’s giving me space.
I reach a little stall draped in soft pastel scarves and delicate jewellery, all handmade pieces in different shapes and colours. It’s the first thing I’ve seen that's me. Simple. Cute. Probably within a normal price bracket.
I pause to look at a delicate silver bracelet, a few tiny charms dangling from it.
Before I can pick it up, Warren’s large hand reaches past me and closes over it.
He studies it for half a second, then glances at the seller.
They exchange a few words in Italian. The seller nods, taking it from me and bagging it.
I blink. “You don’t even know if I like it.”
He hands over some cash. “You looked at it for longer than three seconds. That usually means you like it.”
“That’s not how it works.”
His jaw shifts. “It is with you.” There’s a softness there as he hands me the little paper bag. I hesitate. “Take it, Leoni.” His voice is quieter now. Less clipped. “Please.”
The please does something to me, and so I take the bag and open it slightly. The bracelet is simple, pretty, not too flashy and nothing like the lace underwear he just bought me.
I slip it onto my wrist, admiring it as it glints in the sun.
“It suits you,” he says, still not meeting my eyes.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He nods, his hands sliding into his pockets. The wind lifts his shirt slightly, and he takes a small step closer. For a few seconds, the tension between us loosens as he stares down at me. And then, as if he senses something, he steps back, smiling tightly. “We should head back.”
WARREN
Anthony is waiting for me when we get back to the villa. Leoni walks straight past us, no eye contact, and no hesitation as she heads upstairs.
We both watch her go.
Anthony folds his arms. “She okay?”
“Not really.” I rub a hand over my jaw. “I’m distracted, pissed off, and apparently doing a shit job of hiding it.”
I move onto the balcony and shut the door behind us. Anthony swept the villa twice, found nothing, but I still can’t shake the feeling of being watched in every room.
“She’s confused about why I brought her here,” I mutter. “And I can’t exactly tell her she’s in danger back home. But I also can’t take her on romantic dinners or stroll around the market holding hands when Toni’s men are everywhere, watching and reporting back.”
Anthony shrugs. “It’s not unusual for a man to screw his secretary. Toni wouldn’t blink.”
“Or,” I shoot back, “he’ll see what she means to me in about two seconds and use her to keep me in line. I need to get this over with so I can stop looking over my damn shoulder.” I exhale sharply. “Did you get the reports together?”
He hands me a file. “Profit projections, margins, timelines. Everything he needs to say yes. And honestly? He’d be an idiot to turn this down.
Your father was the one who ruined the deal the first time, not Toni.
That actually plays in your favour.” He claps a hand on my shoulder.
“And you’ve got a few hours before dinner.
Spend them with Leoni. You do not want to take her up that mountain tonight if she’s pissed. ”
He’s right.