Right?
I fall asleep with a kaleidoscope of images occupying my mind. Lines of code. The big blue expanse of the sea and the sun reflecting off the glistening waters. And the concealed face of a man watching me from a darkened corner.
Chapter 6
Still a bit unnerved by the baffling hours of push-and-pull with Rafael in his office last night, I emerge from the bedroom, ready to head downstairs for breakfast. But greeting me on the other side of the door is a big white bag with intricate golden handles. An elaborate gold logo gleams on the front panel—Albini’s—printed in a traditional script. Crouching, I carefully untie the gold ribbon bow that’s holding the sides of the tote together.
Inside, nearly a dozen elegant little boxes, and among them, a velvety-looking white card with the same golden logo on the front. Taking it out, I scan the neat masculine handwriting.
You can keep using my wardrobe for the rest of your attire.
R.
I lift one of the boxes, peeking under the lid. A beautiful black lace lingerie set is nestled inside. I’m certain the rest of the boxes will contain more of the same.
“The nerve of that man,” I growl, but I’m unable to stop the corners of my mouth from curving upward ever so slightly. I take the bag inside and leave the contents on top of the bedcovers, my mind tripping over the images of the delicate lace in Rafael’s hands.
A tremor runs through me. I can almost feel the roughness of those hands as they glide across my heated skin, pulling the exquisite black thong and sending that scrap of lace to join the matching bra somewhere over his shoulder.
Diverting my thoughts from a path best not traveled, I head downstairs, ready to confront the scoundrel.
In the kitchen, I find Guido leaning on the counter and holding up a bowl of cereal, his eyes fixed on the phone lying beside him on the wooden top.
No sign of Rafael.
“I hope there is something other than bird food to eat for breakfast in this house,” I say as I pass him on my way to the fridge.
“Doubt it.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“At work. Why?”
“I need to call my family.”
Guido raises an eyebrow at me.
“Based on the system scan I ran yesterday, I’ll be staying here for at least a week. Probably more. I need to let them know I’m alive and well.”
“I’ll check with Rafael, but don’t get your hopes up. He won’t allow it.”
Guido picks up his phone, his thumb working to hit a listed contact—his brother’s, I assume—and then holds it up to his ear. His tone changes from easy-going to irritated, rapidly filling with anger as he argues in Italian. When he passes me the phone, his face is a mask of fury.
“Miss Petrova,” Rafael grumbles from the other end. “I’m listening, but do make it quick. I’m in a meeting.”
“I want to call my family.”
“Yes, Guido told me.” A strange gurgling sound comes through the line, blended with muffled groaning. “That wasn’t a part of our deal.”
“They need to know that I’m okay. My parents are probably going out of their minds without a word from me in three days. Please, I’m just going to—”
A shrill howl explodes in my ear, and I quickly pull the phone away. I gape while the screams continue, loud and clear despite the speakerphone being off, until they slowly transform into whimpers.
“Did I interrupt you beating the crap out of someone?” I ask, cautiously returning the phone to the side of my head.
“Stai zitto!” Rafael snarls at whoever is on the other end. “Maybe. Did you like your present, vespetta?”
“You’re asking me that now?” My eyebrow lifts in astonishment. “If I say no, will you let me call home?”
Another scream erupts from wherever my kidnapper happens to be at the moment, but it’s more subdued this time. “Nope.”
“Then, I absolutely loved it,” I say.
“I’m glad to hear that. You can call your family. No details on where you are, or how you got here, or you know what will happen. Capito?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Put Guido on.”
Based on Guido’s sour expression when I pass him the phone, he’s not happy with Rafael’s decision. They argue for nearly another minute before Rafael’s brother hands the device back to me.
“Twenty seconds,” he barks. “And you make the call right there.”
I stare at the screen, pondering whether I should call Mom or Dad. Dad would undoubtedly lose his shit and start yelling, demanding to know where I am. I won’t be able to say a word until he’s done. My twenty seconds will be lost. Mom it is, then.
My fingers shake as I punch in the numbers, and when the line finally connects, I almost break down and start crying. I lose a precious five seconds trying to pull myself together before I can utter a word.
