Page 58 of Trapped

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve always had a soft spot for happy endings, but I like the ones we make more.”

“Believe me, I know.” I leaned in closer, our noses nearly touching. “I guess I can stick around for a few more.”

His full mouth molded to mine like silk. A slow burn spread all over my body. I pressed my lips against his, my nerves buzzing with need. It felt so right. My heart exploded with yearning. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting this.

He groaned, pulling away from me. There was a moment where he looked like he’d kiss me again, but he steeled himself and faced the screen. A dark flush claimed his cheeks.

Maybe I could trust him. With him, things could be different. I wouldn’t end up broken. I dropped my head against his shoulder, his breathing lulling me to sleep, and I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

TWENTY

DELILAH

The warmth of the Italian sun embraced me as I stepped out of the car. We’d landed an hour ago in Florence. The only time I’d been abroad was a brief trip to St. Petersburg when I was a toddler. Our drive was quiet, filled with the lush, rolling hills and sprawling vineyards of Tuscany.

The villa was gorgeous with its ivy-covered walls and terracotta roof. The housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, greeted us outside.

“Welcome, Miss Delilah, Mr. Costa,” she said, her accent thick and melodious. “We have everything prepared for you.”

The interior was just as breathtaking. High ceilings with exposed wooden beams, large windows flooding the rooms with sunlight, and a mix of antique and modern furnishings gave it a timeless charm.

Santino watched me as though eager for my approval. “This was my grandmother’s home.”

“Beautiful.” I gaped at the rows of grapes in the backyard. “I’m going to get sober in a vineyard?”

“We don’t make wine. We sell the grapes.”

“I see.”

He squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, principessa. You won’t find a drop of alcohol anywhere on this property.”

“Okay, but you still haven’t told me why we’re here.”

“There’s too much drama in Boston right now.”

“You’re being cryptic. What are we running from?”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the vineyard before settling on me. “I did something against my boss’s orders. He’s not happy with me. We had to leave before things got complicated.”

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I hate being kept in the dark.”

He smiled. “It’s not something you need to concern yourself with. I’m handling it.”

“But I’m involved, aren’t I? I left everything behind. I have to know what’s happening.”

“And you will. I promise. But I need you to focus on your health.”

I tried to shake off the nagging feeling that his secrets were more dangerous than the truths he shared, but I wanted to believe in the man who’d swept me away to Italy.

He transferred his grip to my hand. “There’s somebody I want you to meet in town. He’s a doctor. He’s going to help you.”

The sterile smell of antiseptic clung to the air as I sat on the edge of the examination table. The room was cold, and the paper sheet beneath me crinkled with every movement. Santino stood beside me, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

“Relax,” he ordered.

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