Page 60 of Sweet Prison
“Will you please answer me?”
He pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, then turns around and crosses the distance separating us in three large steps. My heartbeat quickens at having him this close, my fingers ache to reach out and stroke his chest.
“I slept in front of your door.”
My head snaps up. “Why?”
“Because I need to know that you’re safe.” He lifts a stray wet strand that has fallen over my face and tucks it behind my ear. “And, because for some reason, it’s the only place in this house where I can actually get some rest.”
Air gets trapped in my lungs. He is so near that our bodies are almost touching. I want to close the gap, lean on him, andbridge that divide. Yet I don’t dare move a muscle. Afraid to face another rejection. Terrified of hearing him say that he doesn’t see me as anything but his stepsister. So, instead, I content myself with simply staring into his dark, enigmatic eyes, bathing in the warmth of his presence.
“Why?” I ask again.
“Being close to you brings me peace.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “There’s a couch in my bedroom, next to the fireplace. I can leave the door open tonight.”
Something dangerous flashes in his expression, like a burst of flame—there one moment and gone the next. “Please. Don’t.”
“Why not?”
Massimo dips his head until the tip of his nose almost touches my crown. Almost. He takes a deep breath as if steeling himself.
“I might come in if you do, Zahara. And we both know that can’t happen. Keep the fucking door locked.” Abruptly, he spins on his heel and marches to the bathroom, leaving me to stare at the softly shut door.
What just happened?
What did he mean?
I grab at the doorframe and lean my shoulder on the jamb, suddenly feeling weak in the knees.
He can’t possibly be implying what I think he is.
Or… can he?
***
“Now, the Uzi.” Massimo gestures to the weapon lying onthe kitchen island.
Timoteo picks up the semiautomatic and turns toward the backyard. The French double doors are open, revealing the freshly mowed lawn, and at the far end, a makeshift stand with several beer cans lined up along it.
I sigh. “In case you forgot, Timoteo is here to fill the butler position.”
The older fellow worked in my father’s home for almost a decade. After Dad was killed and my sister and I moved to the Leone Villa, Nera had several of our old staff transferred to our new home, including Timoteo and Iris. Following Massimo’s disastrous interviews when he attempted to hire house staff, I invited both of them, as well as a few others who have always been reliable, to work at the Spada Estate.
“Exactly,” Massimo affirms. “Which means the safety of the house should be one of his top priorities.”
“I thought maintaining safety was the job of your soldiers.”
“It’s always good to have additional marksmen on hand. Come on, Timoteo. Fire at will.”
The butler lifts the Uzi and aims at the targets. A moment later, five earsplitting bangs explode inside the kitchen. With my jaw nearly on the floor, I watch Timoteo casually return the weapon to the countertop and clasp his hands behind his back. Then, he turns to face Massimo as if waiting for his next gentlemanly command.
I’ve always known Timoteo to be extremely capable, yet I had no idea he knew how to shoot.
“Very good.” Massimo gives him an approving nod. “You’re settling into this situation with an unexpected ease.”
“I worked at the house when Miss Nera’s husband, Mr. Mazur, was in charge of keeping the property and occupantssafe,” Timoteo declares as if that explanation is enough. “After just three weeks under his oversight, I consider myself well-versed in… handling the challenging requirements of a similar work environment.”