Dread grows with every step across the house until we reach the center.
I knock on the office door, my stomach in knots. He doesn’t know how this is affecting you. He has no way of knowing. And I have to keep it that way, which means slowing my breathing back to normal.
“Come in.”
Pushing inside, I’m dismayed to find him behind the desk. Anyone would feel like a naughty child at this point, being called in for some misdeed. After the number of times it happened to me, after the way it happened, my throat squeezes so tight I can barely force out a sound.
My hands clench and unclench behind my back. “You wanted to talk to me.”
His gaze roams my body, impersonal and calculating. I know he takes in my too-fast breathing, the sheen of panic heating my face. Whereas last night he’d been full of calming softness, today he looks hard.
He tosses something on the shiny desk surface. “I found this.”
It takes me a second to recall the folded blue slip of paper, the note from Honor. I shoved it between the pages of my sketch notebook, uncertain whether I’d need to keep it or not.
“You looked through my things,” I say, halting.
He laughs, humorless. “Yes, that’s me. The big bad wolf you need to get away from.”
I swallow hard. “She was just trying to help.”
“What I want to know is how she got this note to you?”
I remain stubbornly silent—but shit. Shit. He’ll eventually track down who did this, and Juliette will be in trouble. Would he hurt her? I want to believe he wouldn’t hurt a woman. Isn’t that what Maria assured me?
I wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly. If he wants to commit suicide, that’s his business.
No, he’s a dangerous man. I can’t underestimate him. I just don’t know how I’m going to protect Juliette.
“For that matter,” he continues, voice flat, “how did she find out where you were? Have you been in contact other than this?”
Despite the butterflies in my stomach, I force myself to approach him, to circle the desk so I can appeal to the man I love—the one who held me during my nightmares last night. Not the one who makes homicidal threats over business negotiations.
“Please, Gio. Let me call her so she knows I’m safe. I’ll tell her not to come.”
A cold glint enters his eyes. “You don’t want me to greet her in the pool house?”
My heart drops. “No. Please. She just wants to make sure I’m okay. I’ll stay with you. I was already going to tell her I wanted to stay here.”
Disbelief and fury war on his face. “How fucking stupid do you think I am?”
“I’m telling the truth!”
“Then tell the truth about where you got this note.”
My lips press together.
“That’s what I thought. Keeping secrets but I’m supposed to trust you.”
“I’m not keeping secrets. I only want to keep my sister safe.” Along with Juliette, for helping me. “I really was going to stay with you, I swear it. I’m being honest with you.”
“Honest?” he asks softly. “While you’re so busy being honest, why don’t you tell me why you freaked out when I had you on your stomach?”
My stomach turns over. Flashes of memory assault me—the plush carpet underneath me, the faint smell of cigars and ink. All that’s missing is hot breath and groping hands. It’s too similar, too much. I stumble backward, almost falling against the shelves.
Giovanni reaches up to steady me, but it feels like an attack.
His touch burns me, and I twist away, knocking over a small side table. “No!”
“Tell me,” he says, eyes dark and determined. “Someone hurt you, bella, and I’m not going to rest until you tell me who.”
Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision. I trip over the edge of the rug, skidding on the hardwood floors. Pain shoots up my knees at the harsh impact burn. “You’re hurting me.”
Giovanni lifts me as if I weigh nothing, turning me in the air until we’re back at the desk. We’re on the other side, now facing the stained glass mirror at the back, but it’s still too close. He turns me onto my stomach, facedown, palms pushing at the smooth surface. I’m gasping for breath, begging and pleading and threatening. The wood grain with the knot that looks like a scary face, the one shaped like an acorn. My memories slide down to a dark place. No.
He bends over me from behind, his breath warm against my cheek. “Who are you thinking about?”
“You, you,” I cry out, ragged and breathless. “Let me go.”
His hold on me is merciless. I can’t lever away, can’t move a single muscle. “Who hurt you? Was it someone at the university? That fucker I punched in the alley?”
“No no no.” The words are small, almost a breath.
He presses his body against mine, erection hard and hot and familiar. “The one who married your sister? Someone touched you, bella. Tell me and I’ll let you go. Who was it?”