Chapter 3

CHAPTER

THREE

Anya

S averio looks at my belly. Without a word, he goes to the bar and puts the glasses on the counter. A tremor runs through my body as he returns, stepping right up to me. I have no idea what to expect from this unpredictable man.

When he reaches out, I wrap my arms around my stomach in reflex, but he takes my wrists and places them at my sides before untying the belt of my robe and brushing the ends away to expose my lower body.

Instinct wills me to fight, but I'm terrified of provoking him. Instead, I measure him like prey assessing a hunter, ready to defend myself if he pounces. I'm no match for his strength, but I won't make anything easy for him.

He doesn't touch me like I expected him to. He just stares. As he studies the spot on my pelvis where he pushed his knife not so long ago, his expression turns into something ugly. He's difficult to read, but the emotion that flickers in his icy blue eyes seems a lot like disgust.

He can go fuck himself. I'm not ashamed of the life growing inside me. Yes, I'm single and penniless, but I didn't plan this. However, I'm determined to see it through.

What's wrong with Saverio? Why does he keep on studying my body with that mixture of loathing and anger? I cup my hands over my stomach in an instinctive reaction to shield the fragile life I'm carrying from the invasive leering of the murderer facing me.

Saverio isn't going to kill me. I believe that now. He needs me. I'm his alibi. Too many people saw him near the murder scene. They all witnessed him kissing me. Yet there was a moment when he pressed the tip of the blade against the exact place where the baby is growing that I thought he was going to slice right through me. He must get off on violence, because it made him hard.

Then the people left the bar, and he kissed me. It was a strange kiss, one that was achingly tender while something disturbingly dark and dangerous flowed underneath. He only did it to prevent me from screaming, but the way in which he molded his lips around mine was surprisingly gentle. It reminded me too much of how he held Mr. Lewis in his arms as my boss blew out his last breath. The thought makes me shudder anew.

"How far?" Saverio asks, finally dragging his gaze back to my face.

"What?" I stammer.

"How far pregnant are you?"

"Twelve weeks," I say through dry lips.

He digests the information before going to the bar, grabbing one of the glasses, and knocking back the wine.

When he speaks again, his voice is level. "Who's the father?"

What kind of a question is that? He already intruded in my space. He has no right to invade the most intimate part of my life by demanding such personal information.

"That's none of your business," I say, my quick temper getting the best of me despite my anxiety.

Nothing in his demeanor changes as he picks my cardigan up from the floor and drapes it over the thin robe around my shoulders. "Let me rephrase that. Where's the father?"

The strange act throws me off balance. It takes me a moment to command my anger and use it like a weapon. "Why?" Animosity rides on my words. "Do you need to assess the danger?" Maybe if I tell him my lover may show up at any minute, he'll leave me alone. "He could be here soon."

"Anya," Saverio reprimands with a click of his tongue, circling me like a wolf sizing up a lamb. He continues in a suave voice, "You're a bad liar."

I swallow when he stops in front of me again.

Holding my gaze, he says with a soft smile, "You're all alone, tesoro . The old lady downstairs said so herself. What were the words she used again? A dry spell."

Heat pushes up in my neck. I swear I must be blushing to the roots of my hair.

"No one is coming to rescue you," he continues. "It's just you and me, my little liar, so play nice and answer the question."

I hate that he knows that about me, that I can't pretend to have a knight in shining armor who's ready to kick down the door and fight for me. I'm resentful to admit, "It was a one-night stand."

The muscles around his eyes tighten. "Does he know?"

I blink. "I don't understand this line of questioning."

He cups my cheek. "Humor me."

The touch jolts me. When I jerk back, he lets me go, but he doesn't get out of my personal space. He stands his ground, waiting. He's not going to give up until he gets the answers he wants.

"Yes." It's too fresh. The admission still hurts. "He knows."

Understanding bleeds into the cold blue of his eyes as he no doubt sees the pain and disillusionment in mine. "He's not going to own up to his actions."

Hiding my humiliation behind a shield of confidence, I lift my chin. "No."

Contempt transforms his features. "A man who doesn't take responsibility for his actions is the worst kind of coward."

Coming from a cold-blooded murderer, the judgment surprises me, not that Evan doesn't deserve it.

A soft knock on the door startles me.

Saverio tenses. He bites off every word. "Do not move. Do not say a word."

He walks to the door and, after looking through the peephole, unlocks and opens it.

Livy stands on the threshold, wearing heeled slippers and a pink robe with feather trimmings. "Oh, dear." She drops her gaze to Saverio's underpants before cutting a path over his chest to his face. "I came at an inappropriate time."

I pull my robe around me and tie the belt to cover myself.

"Don't worry, my dear," she says, stretching her neck to address me over Saverio's shoulder. "Sex is perfectly natural. I won't keep you from what you were busy with. I just came to check if the police told you what happened." Mumbling to herself, she says, "Isn't that a romantic mood killer?" before she finishes with, "I did call, but your phone went straight to voicemail."

"She dropped it," Saverio says. "I'm afraid it's dead."

"That's not good." Livy scrunches up her face. "You can't go around without a phone, Anya."

"I'll replace it." Saverio gives me a panty-dropping smile. "I'm here now to take care of Anya."

"Best you do that." Livy wiggles her shoulders with an animated quiver. "With all the murderers running around, it's no longer safe anywhere."

"In the meantime, you can call Anya on my phone," Saverio says. "What's your number?" He walks to the chair and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his pants. "I'll text you my contact card."

Livy looks as if she may swoon. "Aren't you a sweetie?"

She rambles off her number, making him repeat it twice to be certain he got it right.

"Do you want to come in?" he asks. "You must be as shocked as we are." He adds with a sheepish smile, "I'll put on some clothes. I can make you a cup of tea."

"Oh, no." Livy lays a hand on her heart. "I'm not going to intrude when Anya finally has a naked man in her apartment. I just wanted to ask what the police said. Maybe they told you more than me."

My chest squeezes when I think about Mr. Lewis and how shocked Livy will be when she learns the truth. Fighting against an onslaught of tears, I blink to clear the moisture that pools in my eyes.

"They only said there was a homicide," Saverio says. "We'll probably know more tomorrow."

"Yes." Livy frowns. "I suppose we will. Well, then. Take care of this young lady. At least she has a strong man to protect her." She gives a little wave. "Good night, kids."

"Call me if you need anything," Saverio says before closing the door.

I stare at him with hatred churning in my stomach. "You're unbelievable. Did you take acting lessons? You could've won an Oscar with that performance."

He crosses the floor in a few long strides. The mask of serenity he donned for Livy is gone. In its place is an expression of urgency.

Gripping my shoulders, he turns me toward the bedroom. "Come."

"What are you doing?" I cry out in alarm.

He pushes me ahead of him without replying. Inside the room, he sets me free to go through my dresser. Perplexed, I stand rooted to the spot as he selects leggings, a T-shirt, and a sweater that he lays out on the bed. He takes my sneakers from the closet and puts them on the floor in front of the chair.

"Get dressed," he says, heading for the door.

"Why?" I ask to his back.

"You need to see a doctor."

"Are you kidding?"

He stops and faces me. "I threw you against a brick wall and pushed my full weight against your stomach. I could've injured you. The baby could've gotten hurt."

I gape at him. "You can't be serious. First, you came after me to kill me. I heard what your friend said. Then you threatened me with my landlord and used me by forcing me to be your alibi. Now you want to make sure my baby is okay?"

Frustration creeps into his tone. "Just get dressed. I'll order a car and call an ob-gyn."

"At this hour?"

"At any hour I want."

"This is absurd. The baby is fine. She's well protected inside me."

The set of his jaw hardens, drawing his face in stark, perfectly symmetrical lines. "You don't know that for sure."

It's unimaginable that I register his handsome features in such a moment. It's inappropriate that I notice the shocking contrast between the glacier blue of his eyes and the onyx black of his hair. I have no idea why the thin gold hoop he wears in one ear draws my attention or why I internalize everything about him. Maybe it's survival instinct that compels me to take stock of the threat facing me.

Standing all but naked in front of me, I notice other things too, things like the lean, hard body decked in muscles and the big hands that wield a knife so effortlessly. He can easily crush my windpipe by simply wrapping his fingers around my neck and squeezing them into a fist. My mathematical brain automatically catalogues the information as it weighs up my options, and the sad conclusion is that I'm trapped. Not all the self-defense training I dabbled in during high school can get me out of this mess.

When I don't make a move, he says, "If you're not ready in five minutes, I'll dress you myself. You need to rest. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can sleep. Sadly, you have to go to work in a few short hours. It'll look strange if you don't. You can go to bed early tomorrow."

I can only stare at him as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

He's serious about this. For what reasons, I can't fathom. Earlier, he looked at my stomach as if pregnancy was a horrible disease, and now he wants to make sure my baby is unharmed. What's for sure is that he's not going to give me a choice. As scary and horrific as this night is turning out, I just want it to be over. I'll let him go through with this psycho behavior so that he can get the hell out of here.

Keeping my eyes trained on the door, I pull on the clothes in a hurry. When I step out a minute later, he's dressed in his suit, pacing the floor with his phone pressed against his ear.

He gives me a quick once-over as he says, "That'll be all," before ending the call.

"Warm enough?" he asks, eyeing my sweater.

I clear my throat. "Yes."

He walks over and stops so close to me the tips of our shoes touch. "Before we go, there's one thing you need to understand. I don't make idle threats. Stick to your end of the bargain and keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, and no one needs to get hurt."

My gut churns at the reminder of who he is and what he's capable of. He doesn't wait for my agreement. It's a given. As he made so abundantly clear, I don't have a choice.

With that threat out of the way, he fetches a glass of water from the kitchen and hands it to me in silent instruction. I don't argue. I'm constantly thirsty these days. When the glass is empty, he leaves it in the sink and hooks my bag over my shoulder.

"My phone," I say.

"What about it?"

"I dropped it in the street."

"I retrieved it."

Of course he did. "Is it broken?"

"Yes."

"I need it. I must have it repaired."

"Later," he says.

"Why can't you just give it back to me?"

He places a hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me to the door. "I said later."

I grit my teeth. "I didn't film what you did if that's what worries you."

"You'll get it back when I've checked it."

Ignoring the curse I utter under my breath, he escorts me downstairs and helps me into a sleek black car before giving the driver instructions.

In forty minutes, we pull up in front of a high-tech glass building in the middle of Manhattan. The ob-gyn who receives us is a middle-aged woman with blond hair knotted in one of those buns that appears stylishly messy. Despite the hour, she wears smart lilac pants under her doctor's coat with heels in the same color. Her make-up is light but glittery. Maybe she was at an event or a party when Saverio asked her to come in.

She doesn't seem put out to have been summoned in the early morning hours. Greeting me with a friendly smile, she says, "I'm Dr. Wade." She indicates a door on the left. "The changing room is through here. You'll find a disposable robe in a sealed bag on the bench. You can keep your underwear on. When you're ready, the connecting door gives access to the examination room."

"Thanks," I say, not looking at Saverio as I head for the changing room.

I'm nervous when I lower myself into the examination chair a short while later. This is my first ob-gyn visit aside from the initial one where I got the blood test to confirm the pregnancy. I don't have medical insurance, and the ob-gyn fees are steep.

To my surprise, Saverio takes up a place next to me as the doctor prepares my stomach with gel and switches on an ultrasound machine. I cringe when the growl of my stomach cuts into the silence. After what happened, the thought of food alone makes me want to puke, but the reaction of my body is mechanical, reminding me that it needs energy.

"Have you eaten?" Saverio asks with a deep line running between his eyebrows.

"A salad."

His lips thin. "In your condition, you need more than a salad."

"He's right," the doctor says, directing a bright smile at me. "The baby is going to take everything he needs from you. You have to make sure your body gets a good balance of healthy nutrients. I can prescribe a supplement."

I don't tell her she'd be wasting her time because I can't afford it. I'm too taken aback by the soft swishing sound that fills the room as she presses a probe on my abdomen.

I go still. "Is that…?"

"The heartbeat?" the doctor says. "Yes, it is."

Goosebumps break out over my arms while fuzzy warmth spreads through my chest.

"First time you hear it?" the doctor asks, frowning through the smile that seems to be a permanent fixture on her face.

Unable to speak past the lump in my throat, I nod.

She must assume Saverio and I are a couple, because she addresses him in a chastising tone. "She should've already had this exam. Not bringing her earlier was very careless of you, Sav. Unless complications develop, I want to see her at least once a month. We need to monitor her weight and blood pressure. I'll schedule the appointments and get my secretary to send you the dates."

"I'll take care of it," I say quickly.

"Do it," Saverio tells the doctor, ignoring me.

What the hell is he doing? Judging by the prime location and the luxurious furniture of her consultation room, I'll never be able to afford her charges.

Before I can object, the doctor tells me that everything looks fine and that I can get dressed. I escape to the changing room while Saverio and the doctor converse in serious, quiet voices.

When I step out a couple of minutes later, Saverio waits outside the door. He's no doubt playing guard dog, making sure I don't let anything slip to the doctor.

I walk awkwardly next to him to the reception area where the doctor waits. She's taken off the overcoat, exposing a purple halter neck top that's embroidered with diamanté detail. We definitely dragged her away from a fancy social event.

"I'll see you soon," she says, shaking Saverio's hand.

I won't be back here, but I don't correct her. With a sudden bout of exhaustion crashing down on me, I don't have the energy to explain. The adrenaline from the shock that fueled me earlier must be wearing off.

I open my bag and take out my credit card, already calculating for how long I'm going to pay off this visit—with interest—when Saverio locks his fingers around my wrist.

I look up at his face.

"There's no need for that," he says.

My pride won't allow me to let him pay. "Oh, no." The idea that the doctor must be able to tell she's way out of my league by the inexpensive brand of my clothes makes me wince with embarrassment. Her outfit screams designer label. The ensemble must be worth more than I earn in a year. "I'll get this."

The doctor seems amused. "I don't handle the payments." She makes it sound as if it's beneath her to deal with credit cards and checks. "My secretary will send the invoice to Sav."

I keep quiet, but I have no intention of letting Saverio pay for my ob-gyn visit even though he forced it on me.

The doctor sees us out, a whiff of her expensive perfume following us into the lobby.

Saverio's driver waits in the street.

Unsettled, I say nothing as Saverio seats me next to him in the back. I'm relieved when he pulls out his phone and replies to emails or whatever for the entire ride home.

Despite my protest, he accompanies me inside my building. The fact that he held onto my key doesn't escape me.

Once we're in my apartment, he orders in a brusque voice, "Go have a shower."

I stop in the middle of crossing the floor. "Why?"

"Go have a shower, Anya. Make it quick. We need to disinfect those cuts on your back, and then you need to rest."

Too tired to fight him on this too, I go to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I do need a shower. I want to scrub everything away that's happened today. I can't even think about Mr. Lewis. Not yet. As long as Saverio is keeping watch in my apartment, I need my wits about me. There will be enough time to break down later.

After a quick shower, I pull my leggings and T-shirt back on. Walking gingerly to the bedroom door, I say a quiet prayer when I open it, but the gods don't have mercy on me. Saverio sits at the kitchen table, reading something on his phone. A spread of food is laid out in front of him.

He gets to his feet. "Feeling better?"

I look at the boxes on which the name of a famous Italian restaurant in Brooklyn is printed. "What's this?"

He pulls out a chair. "You need to eat. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got everything on the menu."

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. "You must be kidding me."

"Anya," he says with a warning in his tone.

"You took me to see a doctor, and now you're feeding me?"

His eyes tighten. "Sit down."

The smell of cheese and garlic turns my stomach. I place a hand over my belly. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"You're not." In two long strides, he's next to me. "You're going to take a deep breath, and then you're going to eat whatever you can stomach. The food is from a good restaurant. The chef is one of the best in the city."

I don't get him. I stare at his handsome features as he leads me to a chair. "Why?"

"Why what?" he asks, seating me.

"Why are you doing this?"

He straightens and looks at me with a serious expression. "I'm not a baby killer."

No, just a cold-blooded murderer. "Oh." I can't help but get in a jibe. "And here I was thinking you were just making sure your alibi doesn't die on you before the police investigation is over."

I know exactly when he reaches his limit. I see it in the coldness that settles in the bottomless depths of this strikingly blue eyes.

"Careful, tesoro ." His voice is low and menacing as he curls his fingers around my shoulder. "You don't want to bite the hand that feeds you."

Heat seeps from his palm through the layers of clothes into my skin. It's not a soft, comfortable warmth. It's a scorching inferno. I understand the quiet message only too well.

"That's better," he says with a calculated smile when I don't argue further, not removing his touch as he takes a seat next to me.

His grip is light, but the weight on my shoulder is heavy. He dips a fork into a box and twists spaghetti around it. When he brings the fork to my mouth, I don't have a choice but to open.

Despite my hunger, I'm queasy. The creamy, peppery sauce with a hint of pesto and parmesan cheese must be scrumptious, but right now, everything tastes like sawdust.

I allow him to feed me bite by bite until the container is empty.

"There," he says, dabbing at my lips with a paper napkin. "You did well."

The intimate act makes my cheeks heat. My emotions are all over the place. Terror, exhaustion, and shock are muddled together, blurring the lines of acceptable behavior. It inhibits my reasoning, making it difficult to interpret the non-verbal clues of his body language, because the heat that sparked in his gaze when he wiped that napkin over my lips can't mean what I think it does.

I rub my eyes, fighting for clarity through the mess in my head.

"Let me have a look at those cuts on your back so that you can get to bed," he says.

"It's just a few scratches."

He stands, offering me a hand. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

As with everything else, it's futile to resist. That doesn't mean I have to like it. I don't let him help me up. Ignoring his proffered hand, I stand. The sudden movement must've made the blood drop to my feet, because a dizzy spell makes me sway. He catches me around the waist, rightening me.

"Easy now," he says. "Your blood sugar level probably dropped too low. You shouldn't wait so long between meals. It's better to eat smaller meals more frequently, especially as the baby grows bigger and presses on your stomach."

I want to ask how he knows this, but it takes all my focus not to fall over as the room starts spinning.

"Here," he says in an oddly gentle way, taking my elbow and guiding me to the lounge.

He makes me sit on the sofa and takes a seat next to me. My gaze falls on a medicine kit on the coffee table.

"Where did that come from?" I ask.

Gripping the hem of my T-shirt, he lifts it to expose my back. "My driver brought it with the food."

The swipe of his fingertips over my spine makes me shiver. Goosebumps contract my skin.

I arch away from his touch. "This is really not necessary."

"Stop fussing," he says with a chuckle, pressing a big, broad hand between my shoulder blades and pushing me forward. "Are you always this difficult?"

I want to protest with a retort, but his palm on my naked back makes me freeze. The warmth of the fingers he splays over my ribcage seeps into my body, making me aware of how frozen I feel inside. That heat can melt a glacier.

Yet it's not his warm hand that turns me into a statue. It's how he trails his blunt nails over my back, tracing the red lines I saw in the mirror when I'd gotten out the shower. More goosebumps run over my arms and down my sides. Despite the lightness of the touch, it feels intimate. Terrifying. Because the man who takes a bottle of disinfectant from the medicine kit and tells me in a weirdly regretful tone that it's going to burn, owns every breath I take. I'm completely at the mercy of this beautiful, cruel killer.

I'm not keen on blindly letting him tend to me, so I rest my chin on my shoulder, observing him as he gets to work.

I breathe a little easier when he removes his hand from my back to drench a cotton swab with the disinfectant. My reprieve doesn't last long. I shiver again when he presses the soaked swab on the scrapes. Like he promised, it burns, but it burns hotter when he leans closer—too close—and blows over my skin.

"Good," he says, pulling the T-shirt down to cover me. "All done."

Not wanting to give him my back for longer than necessary, I turn around on the seat. For how long is he planning on staying here? The whole night?

"What are you going to do?" I ask.

"I'm going to let you get some sleep," he says with a disarming smile. He takes a phone from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. "Call me if you need anything. My number is programmed on there. If the police come around again, don't speak to them. Insist on wanting your lawyer present. Call me, and I'll take care of it."

I look at the phone on my palm. It's brand new. The protective film still covers the screen. "This isn't mine."

"It is now." When I don't reply, he adds, "To replace your old one."

"You're confiscating my phone?" I ask, my lips parting. "I have my caller list programmed on there."

He pushes to his feet. "I already transferred your data to the new phone."

Feeling at a disadvantage in my sitting position, I stand too. "When?"

He smiles. "Does it matter?"

Powerlessness has me gritting my teeth. "Why can't you tell me? Is the information classified?"

Amusement sparks in his eyes. "While you were in the shower."

The fact that he thinks this is funny only gets my hackles up. It makes me unreasonably obstinate. I know it, but I'm beyond controlling myself. "I want my own phone."

"The number is the same. Your friends can still get hold of you on the old number."

"I want my phone," I repeat a little louder.

Wrapping his fingers around my nape, he reels me in. The movement is gentle but firm. He's letting me know who's in charge and who makes the decisions.

"You're a very ungrateful girl," he says in a low voice. "Under different circumstances, I would've pulled you over my lap and taught you manners."

I gasp as his meaning registers.

"Who knows?" he taunts, the heat I saw earlier burning like blue flames in his eyes. "If Dr. Wade gives us the green light, I may try it."

My cheeks burn as I imagine him asking that beautiful and sophisticated doctor if spanking is safe during pregnancy.

"You're sick," I say, breathless with indignation.

Like earlier, my insult has no effect on him. He only smiles wider and drags me so close that my nipples brush over the hard expanse of his chest.

"Good night, Anya." He leans down and brushes a whisper over my ear. "Sweet dreams."

I strain hard enough in his hold to stumble when he lets go. He catches me, testing my balance before taking my hand.

I try to pull free, but he tightens his grip as he removes something from the pocket of his pants and presses it onto my palm.

My key.

Without another word, he walks to the entrance and lets himself out. I'm about to run to the door and lock it when a key scrapes on the other side. Stunned, I hover there for a second, not sure I heard right. A couples of beats pass before I walk on leaden feet to the door and press on the handle.

It's locked.

In the ninety minutes between visiting the doctor and having a shower, Saverio not only got me a new phone and dinner. He also had a key for my apartment made for himself.