Chapter 1 - The Trap in the Foyer and the Scent of Danger
The warmth of Leo Santoro’s hand around my waist felt less like a touch and more like a brand. His fingers, calloused from decades of handling things far more lethal than silk, pressed firmly into my hip, holding me flush against the solid wall of his chest. The heavy, intoxicating scent of scotch, cedarwood, and gun oil wrapped around me, drowning out the crisp air of the foyer and short-circuiting every rational thought in my brain.
"He’s going to look at you," Leo whispered again, his lips brushing dangerously close to the sensitive skin of my ear. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp that sent a shiver cascading down my spine, rippling straight through to my knees. "He’s going to see the curve of your waist, the line of your collarbone, the way that dress clings to your skin. And he won’t understand what he’s looking at, Tessa."
My heart battered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I planted both palms flat against his chest, trying to push him away, but trying to move Leo Santoro was like trying to shove a granite pillar. The white cotton of his shirt was stretched tight across his muscular shoulders, his dark tattoos visible through the fabric where his sleeves were rolled to his forearms.
"Let me go, Leo," I breathed, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound fierce. "This is insane. You are my employer, not my warden. Greg is waiting for me at the restaurant. If I don't leave right now, he's going to call the police."
Leo let out a dark, humorless chuckle that vibrated right through my chest. "Let him call. Let him try to explain to the local precinct why he’s sitting alone while the woman he invited out is locked inside a heavily guarded estate. See how fast the dispatcher hangs up when they hear my last name."
"You arrogant, narcissistic monster!" I hissed, the fear finally giving way to a hot, blinding flash of pure rage. For a year, I had played the silent, invisible ghost. I had swallowed every insult, hidden my body beneath shapeless gray sacks, and scrubbed marble floors until my knuckles bled—all so my father could have a clean, respectable bed in a private medical facility. I had given up my youth, my dignity, and my freedom to this house. "I earned my pay! Every single dollar! I am off the clock! You don't own me!"
At the word own, Leo’s expression shifted. The playful, dark possessiveness vanished in an instant, replaced by a terrifying, cold stillness. His grip on my waist tightened so hard I gasped. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto mine, stripping away every defense I had left.
"You think this is about ownership, Tessa?" Leo asked, his voice dropping into a register so quiet and intense it made the hairs on my arms stand on end. "You think I care about control because I'm a tyrant? Look around you. Look at the men who walk through these gates. Look at the blood that stains the foundation of this family. Greg is an actuary who feeds ducks in the park. He doesn't know what kind of wolves live in this city. The moment you walk out that door wearing that dress on his arm, you aren't just a woman going on a date—you’re a neon sign pointing straight to my house. And I don't share what belongs to my world."
"I am not part of your world!" I screamed back, tears of frustration stinging the corners of my eyes. "I clean your desks! I wash your coffee mugs! I am invisible!"
"You were never invisible to me, Tessa," Leo murmured, his thumb brushing slowly, agonizingly across my hipbone through the burgundy silk. "Not from the first day you walked into this house. And God help me, I tried to pretend you were. I tried to let you hide. But seeing you walk down those stairs tonight... looking like a goddamned sin... broke the last thread of restraint I had left."
Before I could process his words, the heavy oak front doors behind me rattled violently.
May you like
Three sharp knocks echoed through the foyer, followed by the muffled ring of a cell phone vibrating loudly against the marble floor where my handbag had slipped from my fingers during our struggle.
Incoming Call: Greg.
