Chapter 6 - COLLISION COURSE
I didn't go back to my apartment that night.
Alessandro wouldn't hear of it. He declared my apartment compromised, and before I could even formulate a protest, he had packed a bag for me while his men stood guard at the door. I was too exhausted, too emotionally drained to fight him.
Which is how I found myself sitting in the back of an armored Maybach, speeding toward the Valente compound on the outskirts of the city.
"I'm imposing," I whispered, staring out the tinted window at the rain-slicked highway. "Leo is going to freak out."
Alessandro sat beside me, the space between us charged with an electric tension that had nothing to do with fear. He poured a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter built into the console and handed it to me.
"Drink. It will steady your nerves," he instructed softly. "And Leo will not freak out. He knows my compound is the safest place in New England. He is already waiting for us."
I took a sip of the scotch. It burned a fiery path down my throat, grounding me in my physical body. I turned to look at Alessandro. The dim streetlights passing by illuminated the sharp, aristocratic planes of his face.
"What are they doing to him?" I asked quietly. "To Marcus."
Alessandro’s jaw tightened. "Nothing you need to burden your conscience with. He will not be killed, if that is your concern. I told Leo I would not bring murder to your doorstep. But he is currently having a very painful conversation about boundaries. When they are finished, he will be put on a plane to Los Angeles. If he returns, the consequences will be fatal."
I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the leather seat. I should have felt horrified. I should have felt repulsed by the casual discussion of torture. But all I felt was an overwhelming, profound sense of safety.
"Thank you," I breathed.
Alessandro reached across the seat, his knuckles brushing lightly against my cheek. "You do not ever have to thank me for protecting what is mine."
What is mine. The words sent a hot shiver straight to my core. I opened my eyes, meeting his intense gaze in the dark. The line between protector and predator was blurring rapidly, and the terrifying truth was... I wanted it to blur. I wanted him to pull me across it.
We arrived at the Valente compound, a sprawling, heavily fortified mansion surrounded by high stone walls and wrought-iron gates. Leo was waiting on the front steps, an umbrella in hand. The moment the car door opened, Leo pulled me into a crushing hug.
"I'm so sorry, Rosie," Leo babbled, holding me tight. "I should have been there. I should have killed the bastard myself."
"I'm okay, Leo," I promised, hugging my best friend back. "Your dad got there in time."
Leo pulled back, his eyes darting to his father, who had stepped out of the car and was watching us with a stoic expression. Leo’s eyes narrowed slightly, processing the unspoken energy between Alessandro and me.
"Right," Leo said slowly, his protective instincts warring with his confusion. "Well. You're staying in the guest wing. Right next to my room. Come on, I had the chef make you macaroni and cheese. The good kind, with the truffle gouda."
For the next three days, I lived in a gilded cage. The Valente compound was breathtaking—marble floors, priceless art, and a library that looked like it belonged in a museum. But I was restless. I missed my kitchen. I missed the smell of yeast.
Alessandro kept his distance during the day, locked in his study conducting business that I wisely didn't ask about. But at night, the dynamic shifted.
It was 2:00 AM on the third night. I couldn't sleep. The phantom echoes of Marcus's voice kept startling me awake. I slipped out of the massive guest bed, wrapped a silk robe over my pajamas, and padded softly down to the cavernous, industrial-grade kitchen.
I needed to bake.
I found flour, sugar, butter, and vanilla. Within twenty minutes, the rhythmic motion of making shortbread dough had calmed my racing heart. I was so engrossed in rolling out the dough that I didn't hear him enter.
"You are relentless."
I gasped, spinning around. Alessandro was leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed down—black sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that stretched over his massive chest and tattooed arms. He looked rougher, more dangerous, and devastatingly handsome.
"I couldn't sleep," I said, my voice breathless.
He walked slowly into the kitchen, the silence heavy between us. "Neither could I."
He stopped right in front of me, invading my personal space. The scent of him clouded my senses. I looked up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Why couldn't you sleep?" I whispered.
May you like
Alessandro reached out, his thumb gently wiping a smudge of flour from my cheek. His eyes dropped to my lips, his gaze heavy and dark with undisguised hunger.
"Because, Roslyn," he murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp. "I am struggling with the very violent urge to walk down the hall, break into your room, and show you exactly how dangerous I can be."
