Her vulnerable, bright green eyes reach deep into my soul and beg for mercy. I long to cup her face and kiss the fear and misery from her, but she blinks and looks away, breaking the unexpected eye contact with me.
She isn’t Julieta, but that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. She could be just as deceitful and conniving as her stepsister.
Except, even as I think it, I know it isn’t true. None of her reactions hold the artifice of a liar, not even one as practiced as Julieta Giordano. Her moan when I touched her nearly brought me to my knees. The fear in her clear green eyes holds a desperation no amount of acting can create.
She’s terrified of me, but she still fights with a fortitude most men only wish they could possess.
I stand. She swings her glare up at my face.
No matter how hard she tries to mask her emotions, she can’t completely erase her thoughts from her expression. By the tightness around her eyes and the muscle ticking in her jaw, she expects the worst from me.
As she should.
I need answers. She’s connected to the attack on the Russo family somehow, and I’ll do whatever it takes to figure it out.
Blue tinges her lips and her entire body shakes as water drips onto the floor from her soaked body. Even with her scrubs clinging to her delectable frame, she paints a pathetic figure with her soggy shoes and mussed hair.
I long to strip her bare, explore her curves with my teeth and tongue and warm her with my cock. Instead, I strip the comforter off the bed, drape it around her shoulders, and wrap it around her front until she sits in a mini tent of thick fabric.
I pinch her chin between my thumb and forefinger and lift it even though her eyes never left my face.
“Be still, gattina. Don’t waste my hospitality,” I warn.
She lifts a brow, but the chattering of her teeth destroys her attempt to appear fierce.
“Yell all you want; no one but me will hear you,” I say with a nod to the corner behind me.
Her focus shifts to the camera mounted on the ceiling. I watch in fascination as her pupils shrink, revealing the pure perfection in her mesmerizing green irises.
I need to put distance between us before I wax poetic and discover all the wicked ways her body can pleasure mine, so I drop my hand and turn away.
When I step into the hallway and turn to grab the door handle, our eyes meet. She swallows and glances at my hand on the door before searching the room with frantic eyes. The edge of panic fades from her expression when she notices the lamp on the bedside table.
Shame and worry flitter through me as I recall her cowering in the fetal position in the shower. I never left the room, but she gave no hint of her mental anguish until she was nearly catatonic.
I should relish the power I have over her, but bitterness coats my tongue as I replay how dull and lifeless her eyes had been when I took my belt off her face.
Julieta earned way worse, but this woman has not. Not yet. I can’t put her through more trauma until I know how she’s involved with the mafia scene in New York.
Even if she’s innocent—which is highly unlikely, but I’ll never forgive myself if I cause unnecessary harm to this stunning woman—I can’t let her go.
It can’t be a coincidence that she’s working at the clinic the Dorian clan shot up.
I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when my family’s safety is at stake.
When mia gattina hides her relief under a glare and aims her gorgeous green eyes at me, I smirk and shut the door between us, reveling in the worry and surprise twisting her features as she realizes I saw and understood her moment of weakness.
I pull out my phone and bring up the camera app as I stride down the hall and through the living room to the front door. The dimly lit room results in a grainy image, but her wide eyes flash as she studies the room. I swap to a different camera and check the parking lot and entrance before opening the door and retrieving my duffel from my trunk.
After sending a few texts, I close myself in the second bedroom and change into a dry t-shirt, jogging pants, and sneakers before hanging up my wet, dirty suit—sans the coat—and heading back to the car. When I check on my captive again and the blanket remains firmly around her shoulders, the kernel of respect lodged behind my sternum grows.
Most men would’ve lost their composure and fought against their bonds hard enough to lose the blanket as soon as I left the room, even with the camera blinking in the corner.
I lock the front door and ensure the security notifications are active on my phone before settling into my car and heading toward the clinic. When I drive by the police car at the corner, the last rays of evening sun streak across the officer’s face. His eyes meet mine. We nod.
I park in a nearby lot and leave everything except my car keys in the glove box. Although the setting sun casts long shadows across the concrete, the streets prove empty of foot traffic since most businesses have already closed for the evening, but a curtain moves in the upper window across the street.
After the drama of the day, no one wants to be caught scoping out the scene of the crime, but the shopkeepers living above their stores can’t help but peek.
I lock my car and zip my keys into my pants pocket before rolling my shoulders and stalking across the parking lot.
The scars on my chest pinch as I stretch and warm up as though I intend to run a few miles in the crisp evening air.
I start toward the police officer and make eye contact with him in the rearview mirror as I approach. He rolls down his passenger window and tosses a set of keys onto the sidewalk. I stoop down and pick them up on my way past.
With the lights at the front of the clinic shattered and the awning casting the entrance in shadow, I unlock the door using the keys I bought off the corrupt cop and slip inside. I pick my way through the lobby in darkness and continue down the hall to the break room with relative ease. Once inside, I check for windows before closing the door and turning on the light.
With a kitchenette, a small table, two chairs, and a loveseat on the left and two doors on the right, the break room is small but furnished with name brand furniture and appliances. The first door leads to a bathroom complete with toilet, sink, and shower, while the second sports two rows of floor-to-ceiling lockers with a bench in the middle.
Two name tags on the lockers catch my attention. Livia and Loretta. The names of the Giordano twins.
I toss the keys into the air and catch them as I step forward.
With Livia’s locker halfway open, I know it doesn’t belong to the woman I left tied to a chair from the floral scent wafting from within, but I check every shelf and rummage through the clothes pockets before turning to the locker with Loretta’s name tag on the front.
Unable to resist the primitive urge, I open the door, stick my nose to the crack, and inhale. Delight barrels through me and my cock tents my joggers. I release my breath on a groan and torture myself with another delectable whiff of sweet vanilla and woman.
After savoring her unique blend, I swing the door wide open and study the contents. Her phone and purse sit front and center, a small duffel fills the bottom, and a clean set of streets clothes hangs off the bar. A quick check of her purse reveals her wallet, a few typical items, and a small first-aid kit. The address on her driver’s license is a few blocks away and one of the nicer apartment complexes in the area.
I quirk a brow at the discrepancy between the issue date and the expiration date. New York licenses last eight years, but her issue date was only four years ago and the expiration date is in a few months. Which means she originally applied for—or renewed—a New York license eight years ago but changed her address four years ago.
According to her birthdate, she’s turning thirty-five in a few months. Theoretically, she could have been here since she was eighteen if she renewed instead of applied.
Whether she’s lived in New York for eight or sixteen years is important, but neither option is acceptable.
Either way, she’s had too much time to grow roots in my backyard. I’ll pluck every single strand out, including the ones with her twin, and find her motives for moving to New York City.
I slip her license back into her wallet and drop it into her purse.
Her phone requires a pin. No notifications display on the lock screen. I unzip my empty pocket and drop it inside before searching her clothes and duffel. When I find nothing else of interest, I fold her clothes and place them in the bag before adding her purse and closing it. After loosening the strap all the way and fitting it over my shoulder like a cross body bag, I erase all signs of my presence and lock the building behind me.
The cop nods when I toss the keys onto his passenger seat through his open window as I saunter past.
As soon as I settle behind the wheel of my car, I pull my phone out of the glove box and check on my captive.
She somehow bunched the blanket between her head and the backrest while keeping it wrapped around her front. A flash of worry stutters through my heart until she opens her eyes, glances around, and leans her head back against her makeshift pillow again. Even with the grainy image, her shivering is obvious.
I sigh and head straight back to the apartment complex but drive a quick loop around the building to ensure I don’t have someone tailing me before parking. After dropping her duffel on the bed in the second room, I stalk down the hallway on silent feet and bang open the bedroom door.
She jerks upright and blinks hazy eyes at me. I flip on the overhead lights and stride into the room as she grimaces at the sudden brightness. Her irises shrink as she glares up at me. I grab the back of the chair and lean over her. She squints and clenches her teeth together without leaning away despite my closeness. Excitement thrums through me as she challenges me instead of cowering.
Even with exhaustion lining her brow, nightmares haunting her eyes, and her lips pale from the cold, she’s stunning.
Unable to resist, I bury my hand in her hair and pull her head back. Her glare intensifies as I ghost my knuckle down her exposed throat. I pull the blanket off her and toss it onto the floor a few feet away before running my hand down her arm and weaving my fingers into hers. My cock stiffens as she growls and tries to tug her hands away despite the cuffs holding her to the chair, but I tsk and shake my head in mock disapproval.
“Don’t be so skittish, gattina. I can’t have you hiding anything in your fists, now can I?”
A blush steals over her cheeks. I smirk and run my fingers over her palm as goosebumps rise on her arm before opening the fingers of her other hand and weaving my digits within. The inherent intimacy of the act nearly shreds my control, but I fortify my defenses with memories of my don and his queen fighting for their lives in the warehouse eight months ago.
Loretta shivers as I smooth my fingertips over her sensitive palm.
Her wet clothes cling to her curves, and I know I’ll take it too far if I put my hands anywhere near her body, so I stand and loom over her as I unzip my pocket.
Her beautiful eyes widen at the tent in my pants, but when she looks away, I grab her jaw and force her face back toward me as I sink my hand into my pocket.
She grits her teeth, swallows, and hardens her expression as though she might hide her emotions from me.
I pull her phone out of my pocket and hold it up in front of her.
She rattles off her pin before I open my mouth to ask. I rub my thumb along her jawline and purr.
“There’s my good little gattina.”
Her eyes glaze over and nostrils flare, but she gives a sharp inhale through her nose and lowers her lashes for a few seconds before lifting them and revealing green orbs with renewed anger. I smirk and glance down at her hard nipples poking through her wet shirt.
Needing a moment to calm down, I turn away and sense her glare on my back as I unlock her phone and remove the security measures in the settings.
I turn and lean back against the wall underneath the camera and cross my arm over my chest as I check her notifications.
She has half a dozen emails pertaining to the medical field and a handful of athletic companies trying to sell her gear and supplements. I pause with my thumb over the screen as I realize she only has two text messages. One from a group chat labeled gym and the other from Livia.
I click on Livia’s and stare at the message for a moment, uncertain what to make of it.
Samantha called me. I told her you came home a wreck. Don’t go to work tomorrow.
I scroll through the message thread with growing discomfort. The cold, impersonal tone in each of Livia’s responses condenses into a rock in my stomach, and I can’t help the suspicion forming in my mind.
Between the scars on Loretta’s stomach, her willingness to pretend to be Julieta despite my fury, and her sister’s lack of concern over her disappearance, Loretta seems more of a pawn than a player.
An overwhelming urge to protect her rises in me. I blink and mentally shove the reaction away, but I scowl in annoyance when my heart does a one-eighty and lumps her in with my family.
It’s too soon. She hasn’t earned my trust. There are still a million ways she could try to hurt the people I love.
But her throaty moans and visceral reactions when I touched her replay in my mind and echo in my soul.
Loretta Giordano is dangerous. I must reveal her secrets as quickly as possible.
My balls ache and my cock stiffens as I imagine taming my fierce little gattina. I can’t wait to have her purring under my hands.
I curse as I realize my instincts have already accepted her as mine. No hardened killer would ignore the instincts he honed through decades of sharpening, nor would he push aside the hard-won calculations learned through a lifetime of avoiding knives in his back. But I still have so many unanswered questions.
I fill my lungs until my ribs ache and turn off her phone screen.
When she meets my stare head on, I’m a goner.
There’s no escape for her now. If she’s a threat to the Russo family, I’ll fix the issue along the way.
Loretta Giordano is mine.
