Chapter 16
“Care to tell me what happened?” Dimitri demanded the following morning, striding into her office and slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the picture frames on the wall.
Giselle flinched, her already frayed nerves on edge.
She looked up from the stack of files on her desk, her fingers instinctively tightening around the pen she’d been using.
The fear from last night still weighed on her, pressing down on her shoulders, making her feel sluggish.
Her apartment had been trashed. She’d only slept until she’d heard her brother sneaking out in the early hours of the morning.
And now, Dimitri was here, looking like an avenging angel sent to tear through whatever—or whoever—had dared to disturb his world.
“I’m…sorry?” she replied, blinking at him in confusion.
He stood in front of her, radiating dominance, his expression hard, his presence overwhelming.
He wore a French blue dress shirt today, the color making his dark eyes even more intense, his tanned skin glowing with an effortless power that was both unsettling and mesmerizing.
He looked… divine. Dangerous. The kind of man who commanded attention and got whatever the hell he wanted without having to ask.
“Your apartment was ransacked yesterday?” His voice was clipped, his fury barely leashed.
She sighed, leaning back in the plush leather chair, rubbing her forehead. That damn apartment. The chaos of last night still haunted her, but she had shoved it aside. What else could she do? It wasn’t like she had the luxury of falling apart.
“Oh, that,” she muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “It was nothing. Probably just one of the neighborhood kids looking to have some fun.”
Dimitri’s jaw clenched so hard she swore she heard his teeth grind. A muscle ticked in his cheek, his dark eyes flashing with something fierce and unforgiving.
“You don’t think it’s a coincidence that, on the same day you’re promoted to a private investigative position, your apartment is torn apart?”
Giselle held his gaze, exhaustion battling with frustration. He had a point, but what did he expect her to do about it? She was too damn tired for this. She shrugged, not wanting to get into it.
“I don’t live in the best neighborhood, Mr. De Luca,” she admitted, forcing a calm she didn’t feel.
The moment she said his last name—choosing it deliberately instead of calling him sir—his anger darkened into something more dangerous. His shoulders squared, his presence thickening, the weight of his attention pressing down on her.
“Why?” he bit out.
Her brows furrowed. “Why what?”
“Why do you live in such a horrible neighborhood?” His voice dropped to lethal.
“I know your salary. I know you don’t splurge on anything.
You never go out to eat. You have one credit card, and you pay off every cent every month.
All two hundred dollars of it. You don’t have a car payment, and your car insurance is negligible.
And yet, your bank account is empty at the end of every month because of large cash withdrawals. ”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
His voice dipped lower, rougher. “So tell me, Giselle—where is your money going?”
She felt exposed. As if he had stripped away every carefully built layer of her protection, leaving nothing between her and a truth she didn’t want to admit.
She hadn’t expected him to know so much.
Hadn’t expected him to care. And yet, here he was, staring at her like he was about to dig through every aspect of her life until he got the answer he wanted.
“You investigated me?” she gasped, her stomach twisting with a mix of horror and something dangerously close to… relief.
“Not me personally, but absolutely,” he answered without hesitation, his voice softer but no less intense.
His eyes pinned her in place, holding her captive.
“Of course I had you investigated. You are now an important member of my personal team, Giselle. Your background, including your financials, were examined.”
Her breath shuddered out, her fingers gripping the edge of her desk.
He moved closer, each step slow, measured, as if he were giving her time to bolt.
“Now,” he murmured, his voice like steel-wrapped velvet. “Tell me why you live in a crappy neighborhood when you could afford a nicer place.”
Giselle swallowed hard. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The exhaustion, the frustration, the fear—all of it tangled inside her, leaving her raw and exposed.
And yet, standing there, watching the barely leashed fury in his eyes, she had the strange, terrifying feeling that for the first time in her life… someone actually saw her.
Before she could formulate an answer that wasn’t a lie, but also wasn’t the humiliating truth, her phone chimed. The sound made her stomach twist. She barely glanced at the screen before recognition sent an unwanted wave of guilt washing over her.
The preview of the message from her mother was cut off, but she already knew what it would say. "Dear, I know you're busy, but could you…" The rest didn’t matter. She already knew the request, the same request she’d ignored yesterday when she hadn’t transferred the money.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she fought the automatic urge to pick up her phone, to respond, to promise she’d help.
Instead, she pressed the side button and let the screen go black, pretending the message didn’t exist. But the pressure didn’t disappear.
It sat like a weight on her chest, as heavy as the exhaustion that clung to her bones after another night of stress and worry.
Would she have enough to cover rent if she sent the money?
What if—just this once—she didn’t send it? What if she said no?
She sucked in a breath at the thought, heart racing at the utterly foreign idea. No one in her family had ever heard her say no. She wasn’t sure she even knew how.
“Giselle.” Dimitri’s deep voice sliced through the fog of her thoughts, pulling her back into the moment.
She blinked and inhaled deeply, shoving her mother’s message to the back of her mind as she focused on the man standing in front of her. He was watching her, his sharp eyes narrowing in that way that made her feel seen. Really seen.
He knew something was wrong.
She tucked her phone away and pushed a hand through her hair, forcing herself to concentrate. To do her job. To be useful instead of drowning in her own mess.
“I found something this morning,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremble in her voice. “I don’t know exactly what it is yet, but I think if I pull this thread, I can determine who’s stealing from you.” She said it quickly, eager to steer the conversation away from her.
Dimitri didn’t look impressed. If anything, he looked more annoyed.
“Now that you’re on my personal team,” he said, his voice dipping into something rougher, more intimate, more possessive, “you’re going to have to call me Dimitri.”
She swallowed hard, pressing her lips together, resisting the urge to argue. Her instinct was to keep things professional, to keep him at arm’s length. But when had she ever won an argument with a man like him? He wasn’t the type to take no for an answer.
He exhaled sharply, his next words sending a bolt of something cold and hot down her spine.
“You’re going to move into my house, so that I can protect you properly. Until I find out who ransacked your apartment, you’ll need to stay with me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Live with him? She barely had the capacity to process the idea, let alone argue about it. Before she could even react, he had already turned away, moving with that lethal grace that sent shivers through her.
At the door, he stopped, one hand resting on the steel frame, his eyes pinning her in place.
“Don’t leave the office without me or your new bodyguard, Giselle,” he ordered, his voice firm, final, undeniable.
And then he was gone.
Giselle sat frozen, staring at the space where he had stood, her thoughts spinning wildly. She had thought yesterday had been overwhelming. But today… today was turning out to be an entirely different kind of storm.
"Huh?" she squeaked profoundly, one hand instinctively covering the front of her white blouse.
The blouse was a simple faux-silk shell, paired with sleek black slacks—one of the five pairs that had arrived at her house last night.
She loved every one of them. Slipping into these perfectly tailored clothes this morning had made her feel powerful and in control, like she belonged in her new role.
Unfortunately, Dimitri had completely unraveled that illusion.
He made her head spin. Not just with his demands, but with lust. So much damn lust. She let her eyes drift over his broad shoulders, the smooth expanse of muscle wrapped in that French blue dress shirt.
The man should never wear blue—it was unfair.
How was she supposed to focus on work when he looked like that?
Then her phone chimed again, and reality crashed down again. She glanced at the screen, already knowing what was waiting for her. Another message from her mother. Of course.
"Dear, I know you're busy but could you—"
She turned the phone face down, refusing to read the rest. Not now. She was done being her mother’s personal bank. At least for today.
Instead of spiraling into guilt, she focused on the numbers. Numbers never guilt-tripped her. They didn’t manipulate, beg, or demand explanations. Numbers made sense.
She spent the rest of the morning hunched over spreadsheets and invoices, manually cross-referencing shipments against intake logs.
The process was tedious, but methodical.
And that was what she needed right now—a system, logic, something predictable to focus on while the rest of her life spun out of control.
Hours passed, the data guiding her into a rhythm that soothed her frayed nerves. One discrepancy led to another, forming a thread she could follow. A pattern. Someone was skimming. Not just here and there, but with deliberate precision.
She pulled out another set of records, running a quick calculation. There. Her pulse kicked up as she saw it—small, seemingly insignificant variances across multiple shipments. Individually, they could be dismissed as clerical errors. But combined?
Giselle sat back, rubbing her temples. She was onto something. Something big.