Chapter 17

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Anya

S averio steps back into the house and shuts the door. He's donned a mask, not showing me anything, but the tense set of his shoulders tells me everything.

"That man," I say. "I know who he is."

"That man is Luigi Bianchi," Saverio says as he stalks up the stairs. "You'll stay far away from him, understand?"

I swallow and crane my neck to look at him as he stops in front of me. "Because he wants me dead?"

His jaw bunches. "I told you I'd keep you safe."

"He's a mafia boss." At the flare of his eyes, I say, "Yes, I did my homework. That means you work for him, and if you work for him, you have to do as he says."

He advances, forcing me a step back. "I'm not going to let anyone touch you."

"I'm not stupid," I say through dry lips. "As long as I'm a witness, I'm a threat."

"That's why it's vital that you do exactly as I say." He takes another two steps, backing me up against the wall. "You're strong-willed and stubborn, but you're going to have to learn to obey me."

"I trust no one but myself," I say, flattening my back against the wood panel to put space between us.

"You're no match for these men. You don't stand a chance. I'm your only hope. When I tell you to do something, you're going to do so without arguing or questioning me. You're going to learn to trust me, because I'm the only one who can keep you safe."

The sound of that rings both true and ominous. I can't put my life in the hands of a killer, but without his protection, I'm dead anyway. I saw who Luigi is. I saw what he does to people.

"He's your boss ," I say, trembling in the comfortable temperature of the house. "He calls the shots."

"I know how to handle him."

I jump when Saverio puts a hand on my shoulder.

" This ," he says, looking at where he's tightening his fingers on my flesh, "can't happen. You can't be jittery around me or jump out of your skin every time I touch you. That'll be a dead giveaway that we don't share an intimate relationship."

"I can't help it," I whisper.

"You'll get used to it. Start by being conscious of your reactions. Anyone looking on has to believe that you can't get enough of my hands on your body." His voice drops an octave. "Behave like a woman in love, and think of me as the only man in the world for you."

"How am I supposed to manage that?"

His lips quirk. "Is it that hard to imagine? I'm not as repulsive as that. Women are attracted to me. I know the effect I have on them." His gaze moves to my lower body as he adds, "You're not entirely immune either."

My face heats with shame. "This may be difficult for you to hear because it will make a dent in that inflated ego of yours, but I'm not attracted to your type."

"No?" He leans closer, bracing a hand on the wall next to my face. "What is your type?" His mouth twists with disdain. "Justice Kearney?"

How dare he use that against me after he forced me to tell him something that's still painful for me? Evan was a mistake I'm not proud about.

Clenching my teeth, I say, "I regret telling you that," before I twist away from his unsettling proximity and flee down the hallway with no idea where I'm going.

"Anya." He grabs my arm, breaking my stride, and spins me around. "I didn't mean to rub that in."

"Didn't you?" I ask with flaring nostrils, staring up at his angry features. "Then how did you mean it? You're no different than him. Evan gave me a shoulder to cry on. I told him about my mom, which was difficult for me, and he used it against me to accuse me of being just like her by trying to trap him by falling pregnant. If you tried to prove that you'll use anything I divulge against me, you succeeded." My smile is sarcastic. "Rest assured, that's the first and only piece of personal information you'll get from me."

His rage is so fierce it looks as if a demonic light burns in his eyes. "Do not fucking compare me to him."

"Then don't behave like him," I say, my voice cold.

He works his jaw, considering me for a moment before continuing in a calmer tone. "I'm not trying to demean you. I'm trying to make you understand how vital it is that you convince the world you are devoted to me."

"Don't worry. I got that the first time." I add with snide, "My life depends on it."

"Good." His smile is dark. "I'm glad we finally got that out of way."

I yank on his hold. "Let me go."

Instead of complying, he tightens his grip and reels me in, making me bump against his chest.

"My touch is not as disagreeable as you'd like to pretend, tesoro . I know what I did to your body." Making it sound like a warning, he says, "Don't worry. With a little more practice, you'll perform beautifully."

I jerk away, my face blazing with indignation.

This time, he lets me go. "In public, you'll tolerate my touch. Whether you enjoy that or not is up to you. I can make the experience very pleasant. The choice is yours. However, your obedience is non-negotiable. If I tell you to do something, you will do so without reservations. You will execute my orders without arguing. You will give me your compliance in everything I demand, am I clear?"

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'll make you, but I hope that won't be necessary."

"How?"

"Anyway I have to. You can fight me on this, but I will bend you to my will. I know how to treat a woman, but I also know how to break people."

I don't doubt that for a minute.

"Do you understand?" he asks.

I give a tight nod.

"Next point—obedience starts with respect. Under no circumstances will you disrespect me. You already owe me an apology."

"For what?" I cry out.

"For insulting me in the car."

"For telling you to go to hell?" I exclaim.

He narrows his eyes. "I told you that you wouldn't like the consequences. You can either apologize or bend over and pull up your dress."

Despite the anger and fear, a spark of heat ignites in my belly when I recall the memory of what he did in my kitchen. It should repel me, and a part of it does, but a part of it also perversely excites me. Not that I want to repeat the experience. I won't put myself at such risk willingly. To be honest, I'm more afraid of my reaction than the fact that he may really make it hurt this time. Still, giving him my apology when I did nothing wrong goes against every grain of my being.

My pride takes a huge knock when I open my mouth and say, "I shouldn't have said that."

He crosses his arms. "No, you shouldn't have. We both agree on that." His smile is evil. "But that's an agreement, not an apology."

Taking a deep breath to calm my flaring anger, I say with a hint of defiance I can't hide, "I'm sorry."

Approval flashes in his chilling blue eyes. "Apology accepted." Then, switching from predatory to almost a robotic mode, he checks his watch. "Are you hungry?"

I blink, thoroughly confused by the radical swing in his mood.

"It's past lunchtime," he says. "I'll fix you something to eat, and then you can rest. I have meetings in town, but I won't be home late."

"I can make myself something to eat."

"I don't mind." He turns in the opposite direction and heads down the hallway. "Come. I can show you around the kitchen and where to find everything."

His easy acceptance of my apology throws me off balance. Whenever I told my mom I was sorry for messing up when I was a child, she never simply let it slide. She held each of my mistakes against me indefinitely.

Not having a choice, I do as he ordered and follow him downstairs, pondering this characteristic. Even if I have to admit so grudgingly, I admire the trait.

When we pass the front door, I glance at the window. Two men wearing dark suits stand on the porch with their hands folded behind their backs.

I slow down. "Why are those men in front of the house?" Panic tightens my throat. "Am I a prisoner?"

He stops and turns to look at me. "You're not a prisoner. They're here to protect you."

"From what?" I ask in a hoarse voice.

A beat passes before he speaks. "From my enemies."

Dear God. I'll never be safe again. If I'm against Saverio, he'll kill me. If I'm with him, one of his enemies may, and doing what he does for a living, he must have plenty of rivals.

It didn't occur to me before that his life may be in danger constantly. The notion terrifies me. Because if something happens to him, I'm dead.

"You're free to come and go as you please," he says, cutting into my train of thought. "My driver will take you anywhere you want. His name is Kevin. I saved his number on your phone. A bodyguard will go with you."

It's not the bluntness of the declaration that gets to me as much as the reason behind it. I'll never be able to wake up carefree and breathe easily again. I'll never be able to walk down the street without looking over my shoulder. I thought bankruptcy was the worst thing that could happen to me, but I was so wrong. Compared to what I face now, money seems trivial. With every step I take from here on, my life hangs in the balance.

My days of freedom are over.

Forever.

Even when the months of living with Saverio come to an end.

Even when he lets me go.

Shit.

My step falters. My knees buckle under the weight of the realization.

In a wink, Saverio is next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to keep me upright. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just a little dizzy," I say, pushing him away. "It's nothing."

Frowning, he clenches his jaw. "Did you have breakfast?"

"Yes." I wipe a few stray curls from my face. "It will pass."

He studies me with an intense gaze. "You're pale."

"I'm not going to keel over and deprive you of your alibi if that's what you're worried about."

Ignoring my snarky comment, he lifts me into his arms and carries to me the kitchen. Knowing my protest will fall on deaf ears, I wrap my arms around his neck for balance. His chest is hard and warm against me, and the arms around my body are strong. For a fleeting moment, I have a warped urge to burrow into that cocoon of safety if only to hide for a few seconds from the dangers lurking in this new, strange world. It's a bizarre notion, seeing that the very wall of muscle I want to use as a shield is the cause of my problems and anxiety, but my senses are lulled by the temporary illusion, seduced into a false notion of security.

He deposits me on a stool by an island counter and tests my balance with a hand on my lower back before stepping away. "Maybe I should let someone stay with you when I'm not here, a housekeeper or a cook."

"That's absurd." I look away from his invasive gaze. "I'll be fine."

"I don't want to risk you fainting and falling down the stairs."

"I won't," I say with more force. "I'm not fragile."

Gripping my chin, he turns my face back to him. "Right now, you are, and that's not something to be ashamed about. You're pregnant. Your body is going through a lot of changes. It'll go through a lot more before the nine months are over."

"How come you know so much about pregnancy?"

A shutter drops in front of his eyes. He lets me go and walks to a cupboard that he opens to show me the contents. "I got ginger tea and biscuits. Nicole told me they help for nausea. I stocked the fridge with fresh food. If you crave anything, I have a delivery service that can drop off an order within an hour. The number is on the fridge."

"I have to give Livy notice."

"Why don't we invite her for dinner? You can tell her the happy news tonight."

"No." At the dark look that comes over his features, I quickly think up an excuse. "I better have an early night. I'll go over there in the afternoon to tell her."

His eyes soften. "Are you tired?"

"A little." It's not a lie. "I didn't sleep well last night."

He nods. "Fine, but if we want to make this look normal, we're going to have to entertain our friends at some point."

" Our friends?" I ask, feeling sick at the thought of him befriending Livy.

"Yours and mine," he says with a tight smile as he removes his jacket and folds it over the back of a chair.

I only nod, stalling for now.

He takes a set of keys from his pocket and puts them in front of me. "These are for the front and the back doors. They're yours. Whenever you're ready to go to Livy's place, just call Kevin or tell one of the men outside to summon him."

He shows me the alarm panel on the wall by the back door and how to activate as well as deactivate the alarm with a code.

Just as he's done, a man wearing an ear mike enters with a paper bag in his hand that he puts on the counter. "Your order, sir."

"Thank you," Saverio says.

The man nods at me before leaving.

Saverio opens the bag and removes two bottles. "Your vitamins." He shakes a capsule from each and gives them to me with a glass of water.

"Thanks," I mumble as I pop them in my mouth, my pride still bruised about my inadequate funds.

We're quiet while he prepares a lunch of grilled chicken breasts, sautéed baby potatoes, and a Greek salad. When the food is ready, he sets the dishes on cork plates on the counter and puts a plate and eating utensils in front of me. The chicken is sprinkled with rosemary and thyme, and the potatoes are drizzled with olive oil and perfectly browned in garlic and parsley. He's obviously had practice in the kitchen.

Unable to squash my curiosity, I ask, "Have you always cooked?"

He stills for a moment before getting a plate for himself and sitting down opposite me.

"My mother was sick when I was young," he starts as he dishes up for us. "My father always worked overtime." He shrugs. "I guess I learned early."

"I'm sorry," I offer, sensing his profound sadness despite his nonchalant demeanor. "I hope your mother is okay now."

"She passed away a few years ago." He continues in an emotionless tone as he digs into his food, "I don't have contact with my father."

"Oh." I hook my hair behind my ear. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's no secret," he says, catching my gaze. "When my father found out I'd gotten involved with the business, he kicked me out. Luigi took me in and treated me like one of his own."

I swallow down the bite of chicken I've taken, my appetite gone. "That's why you work for him. You feel that you owe him."

His smile is cool. "If I work for Luigi, it's because I want to. I would've been fine on my own. I didn't need him to get me into the business, but having his backing doesn't hurt."

"What about your father?"

He puts down his fork. "What about him?"

"Don't you want to mend things between the two of you?"

Pushing back his empty plate, he says, "As long as I am who I am, I'm dead to him, and I'm not going to change."

My chest tightens with unexpected sympathy. He may appear blasé about the fact that his father disowned him, but the tight set of his mouth says he's not unaffected. Coming from where I do, I know how much it hurts to feel unwanted and unloved.

It's obviously a difficult subject for him, and I understand why. What I don't understand is why he's sharing these intimate details of his life with me.

Watching him carefully, I ask, "Why are you telling me this?" Isn't he afraid of making himself vulnerable? For all he knows, I'll use the information against him.

"If we're together, there are things you'll know about me, things I would've shared with the woman in my life." He gets to his feet. "Stay."

I'm still reeling from the brusque command when he gets up and leaves. A moment later, he returns with a laptop that he puts in front of me. It looks brand-new.

I stare at him. "What's this?"

"Our history."

I have to clear my throat before I can get a word out. "Our what?"

"You'll find a document on the home screen with everything about us—how we met, where we had our first date, the type of flowers I gave you, and the first time I kissed you." He bends down, letting his breath fan over my face. "When you introduced me to Lewis and the dinner I cooked for you afterward. When I asked you to move in with me. The first time I fucked you."

I suck in a breath.

"I suggest you familiarize yourself with the facts," he continues. "Make sure you memorize every little detail, because when I get home tonight, you better be able to recite our love story as if it's the most wonderful thing that's happened in your life." Sweeping in, he presses a kiss on my forehead. "Make yourself at home."

Leaving me with that, he grabs his jacket and walks from the room.