“What happens now?” I ask, my voice carefully uncertain. “With Moretti?”
Nico’s body tenses. “Now I hunt him down. But that’s not for you to worry about.”
“Will I have to stay locked away?” I keep my tone casual, but my pulse quickens as I lay the groundwork.
His hand finds mine. “Your safety is my priority.”
I push myself up on one elbow, letting him see the feigned vulnerability in my eyes. “I know. And I’m grateful. But I can’tlive in a cage, Nico. I want to be part of your world, not hidden from it.”
Something shifts in his expression. “My world is dangerous,” he says, but I hear his conviction waver.
“I can be dangerous too,” I say, leaning down to kiss him lightly. “When can we go back to Purgatorio?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Purgatorio? Why there?”
This is the moment. I drop my gaze. “I want to feel it again... your world. But not as an observer.” I look up through my eyelashes. “I want to walk in on your arm, as yours, and feel the power in that room knowing I belong to you.”
The words are designed to appeal to his possessiveness. I watch his pupils dilate. The hook is set.
“You want to be displayed,” he says, his voice dropping. “Claimed.”
I nod. “Is that so wrong?”
He catches my wrist, bringing it to his lips. “It’s risky,” he repeats. “Moretti is still out there.”
“But you’ll protect me,” I counter.
He studies me for a long moment. Then his expression softens. “Tomorrow,” he says finally. “I need to make some moves against Moretti today. But tomorrow night, I’ll take you out.”
Relief floods me, quickly followed by dread. “Where?”
His smile holds a dangerous edge. “Dinner first. Then my club.” His hand slides into my hair, gripping gently at the nape of my neck. “And I’ll show you what power really feels like.”
A tremor that is not entirely feigned runs through me. “Tomorrow,” I agree, sealing his fate with a kiss.
I wander the lake house,restless. The plan for tomorrow presses down, making it hard to breathe. I need air, space away from Nico’s perceptive gaze.
Blake stands at his usual post near the main staircase, his expression impassive.
“I need some air,” I tell him. “Just a walk around the grounds.”
Blake studies me, then nods. “I’ll accompany you,” he says, reaching for his earpiece.
“You don’t have to,” I say quickly. Too quickly. His eyes narrow. I force a laugh. “I mean, the property is secure. I won’t go far.”
The look he gives me makes it clear he remembers my last “escape.” “Mr. Varela’s orders are that you’re not to be left alone outside,” he states flatly. “I’ll keep a respectful distance, but I will be watching.”
I nod, accepting. Arguing would only raise suspicion.
We step outside. The spring air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth from the surrounding woods. After days of confinement, it feels like freedom.
I set off down the path toward the private dock, Blake following about fifteen feet behind—close enough to intervene, far enough to give the illusion of privacy.
As I round a bend, I spot a man from the grounds crew kneeling by a flowerbed, weeding around a border of tulips. Something about his profile is familiar—the same man who was working near the eastern fence when I made my escape to Isabel. The mole.
I look around to see if Blake’s watching, but he’s nowhere in sight.
My pulse speeds up, but I keep my pace steady. As I draw nearer, he glances up, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before he returns to his work. Just as I pass, his hand moves in a swift, almost imperceptible motion, placing a small black object on the path a few feet ahead. A burner phone.