The following morning, Martina comes with a pile of clothing instead of her usual food. She hands it to me. “We’re going to spend the day by the pool,” she announces as an excited smile lights up her face.
In my shock, I manage to utter a single word. “How?”
“Dem agreed to let you out of your room with the condition that we’ll have two of his scariest guards keeping watch over us. Abbott is an ex-MMA fighter who bit an ear off his opponent, and Clyde kind of looks like that guy in Game of Thrones who played the Mountain.”
I place the clothes on the bed. “Haven’t seen it, but that name alone paints a clear picture.” Scary guards or not, the prospect of finally seeing something other than four cream-colored walls around me sounds like heaven. Not to mention it’s an opportunity for me to look for possible escape routes. The longer Damiano avoids me, the more I worry about my fate. Why hasn’t he come to see me in the past three days?
“I’ll wait outside while you change,” Martina says.
I dig through the bathing suits. They’re all bikinis that look too small for me. I decide to pair a black bottom with a neon-green triangle top that covers a bit more than the other two options. There’s no mirror for me to check my reflection, but I suspect it all looks a bit vulgar. With a sigh, I remove the old bandages from my wrists, tie a thin white cover-up around my waist, and walk up to the door. “Ready.”
Martina takes a peek at me and gives me an encouraging smile. “You look great.”
Tugging my top in place, I shoot a glare at the two guards standing just outside the door. They really are enormous, like two flesh-covered grizzly bears with scowls to match.
“Not getting into your bathing trunks?” I ask them.
Quickly, their expressions grow even more grim. The one with the shaved head addresses Martina. “Why is she wearing that?”
Martina purses her lips and adjusts her posture. “We’re going to the pool.”
It appears the guards weren’t informed of that detail.
“That’s not what Señor De Rossi approved,” one of them says.
“He said she can come out of her room if the two of you are around us at all times.”
“As long as she stays inside the house.”
“The pool is a part of the house, isn’t it?” Martina challenges, displaying a backbone I didn’t realize she had. “It’s completely walled off.”
“That is not what your brother had in mind. You can’t go there.”
“My brother will be very upset to learn you prevented me from getting some sunshine,” Martina says.
The guards look at each other. The quiet one’s nostril’s flare with an exhale. He turns to me. “You do anything sketchy, and we’re taking you back here. One strike, and you’re out.”
“I take it you won’t be joining us for a swim?” I ask, feigning innocence.
They ignore me and wave us forward.
On the first floor, past the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows is the pool. Martina slides one of them open, and I step over the threshold, immediately feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. It’s a glorious Ibizan day.
A few loungers are scattered just ahead of us, and Martina plops down on one of them. I’m too eager to enjoy my tiny slice of freedom to stay still, so I walk up to the edge of the pool and peer down. The bottom is covered in colorful patterned tiles. Balancing on one leg, I dip my right toe into the water. It’s not cold, but cool enough to be refreshing.
I turn around at the sound of another person’s voice. Martina is talking to an older woman wearing a white uniform with an apron tied around her waist.
“Do you like rosé, or would you prefer champagne?” Martina asks me.
An incredulous laugh bubbles up my throat. I’m a prisoner here, but apparently, I get a choice of which wine I’d like to drink. “Rosé is great.”
I face the pool again and notice a gate that might be a way out of the compound, but to be honest, it doesn’t fill me with hope. The guards won’t let me get away. I’ll probably just hurt myself if I try running, and that will be the end of any future outings with Martina. Maybe I should just enjoy the rosé and try to talk to Damiano. He has to check on his sister at some point during the day, right?
“Is your brother around?” I ask Martina when the other woman leaves.
She pulls her loose summer dress over her head and tosses it to another lounger. Beneath, she’s wearing a shimmery yellow bikini. “He’s at Revolvr, but he should be back in the afternoon.”
“What time is it now?”
She glances down at her phone. “Eleven am.”
I sit down on the lounger next to her and eye the device. If I managed to steal it, who would I call for help? The only phone number I know off the top of my head is Gemma’s, and I can’t risk calling her when Papà is likely tracking all of her calls. He knows if I call anyone, it will be her.
The rosé arrives and with it, a spread of sliced fruits and veggies. Martina and I snack on the food and drink the wine, all the while talking about what TV shows we like. When we’ve thoroughly exhausted that topic, we start discussing books. She shows me the copy of Jane Eyre she brought with her. Then we move to her favorite topic of all—food. Hours fly by, and by the time we’re finished with our bottle, I’m tipsy, sweaty, and ready to go for a swim.
I dive into the pool and try to see how far I can make it without popping back out. I get about halfway. Not bad. My thoughts are sluggish from all the sun and alcohol, and the water’s not cool enough to sober me up as quickly as I hoped. I’m on my tenth lap when a soft breeze carries over a familiar voice. I whip around.
Damiano steps out of the house, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt, black slacks, and his usual Italian-leather shoes. His gaze finds me immediately, and he looks at me as if I’m a clump of hair his pool boy forgot to fish out of the water the night before. I guess we’re back to him being cold. There should be nothing happening inside of me under that scrutinizing gaze, but instead, something hot and languid curls in the pit of my belly. I swim to the edge of the pool, place my palms on the deck, and lift myself out of the water. I can feel his eyes following my every move as I skip over the burning hot stones that sting the soles of my feet as I make my way to the loungers.
There’s a suited man behind Damiano that comes into my view. One good look at him is enough to make some blood rise to my cheeks. Wow, he’s attractive. Razor-sharp bone structure, thick dark brows that appear to be permanently knit together and piercing blue eyes. You make that kind of a man smile, and it’s game over—say goodbye to your heart.
I stop by Martina and grab a towel to dry myself off. She’s also a little pink in the face, and her furtive glances in the direction of the tall newcomer tell me maybe she isn’t asexual after all.
“How’s your impromptu pool day going?” Damiano asks his sister.
“Fun,” she says and gives him a smile.
His expression softens for a split second before he notices what’s on the side table.
He plucks our empty wine bottle out of the bucket filled with water. The ice melted a long time ago. “I can see that. How are you feeling? Headache coming on already?”
Martina bristles at his tone. I sense she doesn’t like that he’s treating her like a child in front of his handsome guest. “Of course not. This isn’t the first time I’ve had wine.”
His lips thin. “Not the first time, but it’s been a while.”
“Everything is fine.”
He drops the bottle back into the water and pokes Martina on her shoulder. “You got a lot of sun,” Damiano says. “Your skin is about to be burned. Maybe it’s time to call it a day.”
The man behind him zeroes in on the fading fingerprint before slowly tearing his gaze away. When he realizes I noticed, he narrows his eyes at me as if to say I should wipe my memory clean. A wave of frost runs through me, but I hold his eye contact and arch a brow.
“I said everything is fine,” Martina snaps.
Her tone takes Damiano aback. He frowns at her and then me. “One day with my sister, and your attitude’s already rubbing off on her.”
“Better mine than yours.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “We need to have a word.”
“I’m not done drying myself,” I say, rubbing the towel over my midriff.
He crosses the distance between us with two long steps, grasps the towel, and tosses it away. “You are now. Mari, maybe you remember Giorgio? You met a long time ago. He’ll keep you company while Valentina and I talk.” He wraps his warm palm around my elbow. We leave a panicked-looking Martina with Damiano’s dark-haired guest and return to the house.
“If I think the time you’re spending with my sister is doing more harm than good, I’ll put an end to it,” he says.
I huff a laugh. “You can’t blame me for your sister not wanting to be treated like a child. She’s eighteen, not eight.”
“Her age is irrelevant. Mari always listens to me.”
Irritation flickers inside of me. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier.”
“See what?”
“That you’re just like the rest of them. All that talk of wanting to make me yours… It’s that insufferable machismo all mafia men seem to possess. Here’s some news for you: the women in your life don’t exist solely for you to boss them around. That includes your sister.”
His grip on my elbow tightens. “My relationship with my sister is none of your business. And from what I can remember, you liked it when I bossed you around.”
“I’m dripping all over your floor,” I inform him as we cross the living room, while I try my best to ignore how good he smells and how his hand burns against my skin.
“That’s the least of your problems.”
“It’s not a problem for me at all. I’m simply pointing out a safety hazard in your home.”
When we get to the kitchen, he shoos the cook away and corners me against a wall. His eyes blaze as he takes in my nearly naked body. The tips of his leather shoes brush against my bare toes. “Are you worried about me?” he asks. “And here I was thinking you’re probably spending your nights scheming how to kill me.”
“You wish I spent my nights thinking about you,” I say. My voice comes out too breathy.
A drop of water runs down the valley between my breasts, and he tracks it with his gaze. My skin still tingles from the sun, but the electric charge running through my veins is all him.
He works his jaw, trying to tame something that wants to burst out of him. He seems conflicted.
Then his palm lands to the side of my head, and he leans in, lifting his gaze off my body. I think he might kiss me, but instead he takes my hand and raises it to study the scabs around my wrists. The fire in his eyes dims.
“You took off the bandages.”
“They would have gotten wet during my swim.”
Turbulent emotions skate over his face. Very slowly, he laces our fingers together and I stop breathing. Outside, a bird chirps.
I’m torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to push him away for how he’s treated me. Hurt blooms inside my chest. I’ve told him everything. He knows I had nothing to do with capturing Martina. Why won’t he let me go?
“Please let me leave,” I whisper.
He sucks in a breath and drops my hand. “No.”
I place my palms on his chest and try to shove him away, but his body behaves as if it’s made of granite. He doesn’t budge.
He takes my chin and tilts my face toward him. A powerful shiver runs through me.
“Cold?” He flicks his gaze down to my bathing suit where I know he’ll find the sharp outline of my nipples.
I can’t allow him to know the effect he’s having on me. “As I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m dripping wet, and the AC is on.”
He leans forward and presses his warm body flush against mine. I gasp when my breasts connect with his hard chest.
“Better?”
“No.”
He snakes one arm around my waist and places his other hand at the nape of my neck. “How’s this?”
It feels like Pop Rocks are popping over the entire expanse of my body. “Awful,” I breathe.
“Liar,” he says with a smirk. His eyes flare with desire and the fact that he’s not even bothering to hide it this time tells me he thinks he’s winning this game.
He’s wrong.
“Get off me,” I say.
“As soon as I do, I’m taking you back to your room. Is that what you want?”
I bite my lip.
“Ah, so you don’t want to go back upstairs?”
“No,” I admit.
“You don’t like your room?” He traces circles over the small of my back.
“It’s a cage. There are literal bars on the window.”
“Think of them as being for your own safety.”
“What are you going to do with me?” I ask.
At this, he pulls back and stares down at me. “I don’t know yet.”
“How much longer do I have to wait?”
“I don’t know.”
My eyes narrow, and the haze induced by the rosé and his close proximity fades. I’m so damn tired of being in this limbo. The uncertainty weighs on me heavier with each passing day. “I’m ready to go up.”
This time, when I push my palms against him, he moves away.
There’s a twinge in my chest. I tell myself it’s just my body missing his physical warmth.
When I’m inside of my room and he locks the door behind me, I nearly manage to convince myself it’s the truth.
