Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

AURORA

I clutch the blanket to my chest as I slide out of bed, careful not to wake him. Although I doubt I could. He's fast asleep, his deep breaths a cross between a snore and a grunt. I didn't mean to sleep over. I almost never sleep in a bed that isn't my own.

But yesterday, I was filled with a deep-seated frustration. And I went in search of some release. Killian was all too happy to provide it. And I must have fallen asleep right after. My gaze trails over his naked body.

He has tufts of black hair on his chest, long limbs, and muscular arms. He works out a lot, which is to be expected, considering he's a personal trainer. It's how we met, actually.

I signed up at the gym he works at as a trainer. During one of our sessions, his hands slid a little too low down my chest. I should have punched him for it. But he didn't even seem apologetic about it. He offered me a charming smile instead and asked if I'd like to go out for dinner.

I liked that—his audacity. And his confidence. And it doesn't hurt that he's good-looking in a boyish sort of way, with his shaggy, long black hair and baby-blue eyes. We've been doing this thing for a couple of months now. Sleeping together, walking on the edge between dating and not dating. And honestly, I've grown bored.

It's a realization I've only just come to now. Yesterday, I was happy to come here and let him fuck my brains out.

Now, I'm just done. I dress quickly and slip out of his bedroom, only to spot a pair of heels I hadn't noticed last night. Ignoring them, I move into the open area, serving as his living room and kitchen.

It's a studio apartment in a dilapidated part of town. Killian always likes to talk about how he's only down on his luck right now and will soon be making enough money to live in one of those rich neighborhoods.

The comments started the day I made the mistake of telling him where I lived. When he found out I actually do live in one of those rich neighborhoods, he refused to shut up about it. It was a seriously big turnoff, that inferiority complex. I always fought the urge to just yell at him. I always think to myself, I'm richer than you! Deal with it .

There's a stack of Post-it notes on the countertop in his kitchen. I walk over there and grab one, fishing a pen out of my purse. I decide to scribble a couple of words on it, words for him to read once he wakes up. My message is short and straight to the point.

Thanks for last night, Kill. But I'm done. This thing between us is over. I'm also blocking your number, so don't even think about calling me.

A little abrupt and cruel, but at least he'll understand. Besides, I'm sure someone will be here soon enough to reclaim the pair of heels I nearly tripped over when I walked out of his bedroom.

Once I've stuck the note on his fridge where he can't miss it, I head out of the apartment. My car is parked on the curb outside. The Lexus sticks out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. I sigh softly as I kick away some dirt on the sidewalk.

What are you doing here, Aurora?

It's a question I've asked myself several times over the past couple of months. And not just when I'm in Killian's neighborhood. I've wondered at home, at work, when I'm on a run. The past few months, I've settled into an easy rhythm that bores me. Everything seems so simple, even work. I used to be pretty passionate about my job.

Now, it's just one of those things I do because I have to. I arrive at my company's building half an hour later. Before stepping out of the car, I take care to brush out my hair and put on some light makeup. I'm sure my employees will notice that I'm in the same clothes as yesterday. But I don't particularly care. As soon as I step through the double doors, there's a cup of coffee being thrust in my face. I accept it with a murmured thanks.

"Have you sent in the proposal to the contractor for the Bowie job?" I ask my assistant, a petite blonde woman with blue highlights in her hair. "We can't afford any more delays."

Her heels clack against the tiles as she follows me into my office. My other employees who are seated in their cubicles offer me short nods and soft good mornings.

"Yes, I got it in earlier, Ms. Kent," Lia assures me. "They mentioned that since the plumbing in the house was fixed, they should be able to speed up the process."

I take off my coat and hang it on the rack beside my desk before settling down behind my desk.

"All right. What's on my schedule for today?"

She begins listing off the various meetings, client consultations, and on-site locations I have to get to. All in one day. My company, Luxe Elite Designs, is an interior design company located right in the middle of a busy neighborhood in the city. There are art galleries, trendy restaurants lining the streets, skyscrapers, and five-star hotels all sharing space with my office. The location has tremendously boosted business. When I first started this company, I wasn't expecting it to blow up this much. But three years later, I have my own building and a dozen employees.

My clientele is filled with the top one percent in Chicago. Wealthy men and women who pay thousands of dollars for me to pick the interior design of their houses. It's everything I wanted and more. I put my all into building this and making it a success.

And now that it is a success, I can't help but wonder, what now?

"Okay, Lia. You can go now, thanks. Once the first client arrives, send him in."

She nods before walking out of the office. I get to work on putting together a rough draft of a budget one of my clients requested to determine the total cost of redesigning his hotel lobby.

I'm typing away when there's a knock at my door. I call for whoever it is to enter and get to my feet to welcome the client. A man strides in with a grin on his face, his presence immediately commanding attention. His gray suit fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders. He has a strong, curved jawline and a charming smile. The only thing diminishing his aura right now are the ridiculous black cat sunglasses on his face.

I arch an eyebrow in amusement. His grin widens as he takes them off.

"Hey, I thought for sure you'd smile at that," he says, moving to take a seat in front of my desk without invitation.

Okay then.

My eyes move over to Lia, who's still standing at the door. I offer her a short nod telling her she can go, before looking back at the man. He's still smiling at me in a familiar kind of way. Which is odd, considering I have never met him before. Then again, some of my clients can be a little eccentric.

I slowly lower myself into my seat and offer him my best smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Alberto?" I say it like a question, reading his name off the screen in front of me.

I grab a pen and a notebook in order to write down some specific that he might want or mention.

He nods. "Adrian Alberto, at your service, ma'am."

Something about his tone rubs me the wrong way. I stare at him inquisitively, feeling slightly suspicious.

"That's not really your last name is it?"

He grins widely, leaning forward and clasping his hands together.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" he asks. And then his next words make my breath hitch, "Ms. Maranzano."

My mouth dries, and the pen in my hand clatters onto the table.

"What?" I ask, in shock.

"Relax, Aurora. I'm not here to hurt you," he says gently.

I force myself to take several steadying breaths. "I don't know who you are, but my last name is Kent. Aurora Kent. And I want you out of my office."

He arches an eyebrow, his lips tilting up in a smirk.

"You don't know who I am?"

There's a hint of disappointment in his tone.

I cock my head to the side. "Am I supposed to?"

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "I mean, I guess you haven't seen me since we were children. I did spend a long time abroad. And by the time I returned, you were gone."

I sigh softly. "Can you get to the point?"

"Sure. My real last name is Rossi. I'm Adrian Rossi, Aurora. Ring any bells?"

My mouth falls open at that. Fuck me. I do know who he is now. Granted, the last time I saw him, he was a chubby boy with long, brown hair and an affinity for tripping over his own feet. Now, he's a man. A full-grown one, and guessing by his appearance here, he's grown infinitely more dangerous.

I grow even warier now that I know his true identity.

"If I say yes, will you leave?"

"You want me to go?" he asks sadly.

I nod eagerly. He sighs.

"Fine, but only because you asked nicely. But it might be in your best interest if I do stay, Aurora. The next person who comes to see you after me won't be as nice. And I can guarantee you would prefer me to him."

My breath seizes up once again. Please tell me the "him" isn't who I'm thinking it is.

"Yeah, you know who I'm talking about," Adrian confirms. He slowly rises to his feet. "Don't worry, princess. He'll tell you everything you need to know. There's a storm coming, and everything is about to change. This life you built for yourself, while applaudable, is unfortunately about to end."

My hands ball into fists, my nails digging into my palms.

"Who says I'm going to let that happen?" I scowl.

Adrian stares at me with his hazel-green eyes. "That's cute, Aurora. We both know you won't have a choice."

With those words he leaves, walking out of my door without a backward glance. As soon as he leaves, I grab my phone.

"Is something wrong, Ms. Kent?" Lia questions, appearing at my door.

I shake my head, trying to put some semblance of calm into my expression. "Everything's fine. Please try to push back any other meetings until this afternoon. If any of the clients have a problem with that, just let me know."

She nods before shutting the door and leaving. I dial the only number I know by heart, and thankfully, she picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, Rory. I wasn't expecting a call," my sister says.

"We have a problem," I tell her, bypassing a hello. "Have you had any strange visitors recently? Or has anyone been following you?"

Lucia pauses. "No, I don't think so. What's wrong?"

I tell her all about my visit from Adrian Rossi. As expected, she panics.

"You need to leave that city," Lucia states. "I told you it was a bad idea to remain right under their noses."

"I'm not going anywhere," I say resolutely. "That's not why I called you. I need you to take a little trip for me, Lucia. You're long overdue for a visit to Mama's sister in Brazil."

Lucia falls quiet for several seconds.

"What about you? Will you be coming with me on this visit?"

"I need to find out what's going on."

"You can't keep doing this, Rory! You can't keep running head-first into the line of fire for me. Even now, I'm much safer than you."

"New York isn't safe."

"I said safer," she retorts. "Come with me to Brazil. We'll both be safe."

"No," I tell her, clenching my jaw.

Leaving will only give them more incentive to follow us. One of us has to stay.

"Lucia, please stop arguing with me. I'm your elder sister. I have to protect you."

She mumbles a couple of choice words in Italian under her breath, calling me a bull-headed martyr or something along those lines.

I sigh softly. "I love you, okay? Book that flight as soon as I hang up."

"I will," she says in agreement. "Be safe, sorella ."

"Bye, amore ."

The call ends, and I've finally stopped shaking enough to get a clear grasp on the situation. Now that I know my sister will at least be safe, I can think clearly. I still don't know why a member of the outfit strolled into my office on a Wednesday morning. And I won't know unless I try to gather information.

That being said, information gathering will have to wait. Lia pops her head into the office to inform me that my meeting with the Senator's wife can't be pushed back. So, I put all my energy into getting through with it and the rest of the day as well.

As soon as I leave work, I'm heading home. I still don't have a plan. But the thing is, I don't need one. When I get home, he's already there, leaning against the wall beside my front door. A part of me knew he would be here. He's covered in shadows, literally and figuratively.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of his tall, lean figure. His short, dark hair perfectly frames his chiseled features. Like always, his expression is closed off, blank, like a robot. He's clad in a sleek black shirt that accentuates his muscled arms.

Nico's face possesses a rugged handsomeness that some people would describe as otherworldly. But I describe it as unnerving. I haven't seen him in nearly ten years.

I forgot how stifling my hatred of him is. I hate him so much I forget how to breathe at the sight of him. And yet, he looks like he couldn't care less about my emotions. He looks at me like I'm nothing at all.