Page 54 of King of Omen

His mouth quirked. ‘Because they fear what I know, and they misunderstand my purpose. I am a man of honour, and we never speak to the living; we only whisper to the dead.’

He let out a long breath, his gaze fixed on me.

‘You gun skills, you said your father taught you?’

I cringed, unwilling to go into my family’s dark secrets. ‘He was in the military,’ was all I offered, which was the truth.

His eyes narrowed, twisting his lips.

‘I sense there’s more to unpack on that, but now’s not the time. Remember, no matter what happens, I’m watching over you,’ he rasped, his voice filled with an intensity that made me shiver.

Even as I remembered how he’d blasted into the study and dispatched the attacker with cold precision.

His eyes were bleak, his shoulders bowed. I sensed a deep resignation and was hit with a stab of compassion for him.

‘Make sure you also get some sleep, Lorenzo, and peace of mind,’ I murmured.

Tearing my eyes from his searching and puzzled gaze, I walked out.

Climbing the stairs, I tried to banish the night’s dark images from my head.

One thing was clear: I was now entangled in a dangerous world with no possible escape.

This was not the way I’d seen my day ending.

At the second-floor landing, I gazed around and picked a room at the far end of the corridor.

I closed the door to the guest bedroom, the cold silence enveloping me like a shroud.

The room was as opulent as the rest of the house, with plush bedding, fine linens, and a luxurious bath with every amenity imaginable. I couldn’t deny the comfort that enveloped me, but it was tainted by the chilling events I had just witnessed.

I freshened up in the bathroom as best I could, using the toiletries I’d placed on the shelves earlier that day.

I returned to the bedroom to find a clean, folded, white men’s t-shirt on the bed.

Lorenzo must have slipped it in when I was in the washroom.

I lifted it to my nose and breathed in his essence, warmed by his consideration.

Slipping off my clothes, I pulled his tee on.

Crawling into bed, I mused even more mystified at the dual nature of the man under whose roof I was now trapped.

On the one hand, he was cold, brutal, and the focus of assassins, yet on the other, he was sensual, tender, and warmhearted.

My eyelids grew heavier, and I drifted off to sleep, lost in the enigma of all that was Lorenzo Calibrese.

LORENZO

Che due palle! The past few hours had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

I sat alone in my living room, nursing a whisky and a foreboding of more trouble lurking on the horizon.

The dim light cast long shadows across the furniture and bureau, mirroring my bleak mood.

The hit had been bad enough, with Mauri getting injured, a dead body and a wounded assassin on our hands.

What had blown my mind, however, was Mia.

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