Page 18 of Stolen By the Don

“I don’t know! I promise you, I don’t know! He said he was going to contact me because he had something to do out of town, but I haven’t received any calls from him.”

I see.

He’s telling the truth, that much I know. “You get to keep your head on your shoulders, Billie. However, you’re going to listen to my next words carefully…”

“What are you doing here?”I ask when I head down hours later—the sun set a while ago—and see Leo standing by the car.

He shrugs. “I felt you needed some company.” He opens the back door, but I ignore it, reaching for the front passenger door. “I also gave your driver the day off, so you have me for the rest of the day.”

I wait until he comes around, gets in, and closes the door to call him out. “Spill.”

Leo hesitates, then sighs. “Nope. You don’t want to know what I think. So I’m going to pretend like I agree with your plan. When’s the wedding?”

My lips press into a thin line as my forehead furrows. “Wedding?”

“You’re getting married to Isabella Ricci, aren’t you?” He starts the car, slowly pulling away from the parking spot. “I only have one question—what if he never comes for her? Your main goal is to use her to get Marco, right? What if he abandons his daughter? From what I’ve heard, he treated her more like an employee than his only child.”

On a different day, I’d ignore Leo’s skepticism, but after Billie… The pool of people who know about Marco Ricci’s whereabouts is getting smaller, and with no rumors of a plan to retrieve Isabella, Iamgetting worried.

If he manages to slip further away, my plan has failed. For the most part.

The pulse in my temple is so loud from my seething anger that it drowns out everything, including Leo’s voice. It rises through my chest, coiling around my throat until it’s the only thing I can see and hear.

Fucking bastard.

He won’t get away with it. No matter what I have to do—I’ll find him. I swear.

I’m out of the car the moment it stops, kicking the door open and striding through the house and to the stairs without so much as a pause. Leo calls after me, but I don’t break stride. His voice fades the further I go, drowned out by the storm in my chest.

I reach Isabella’s door. No hesitation this time. No knocking. I shove it open?—

And freeze.

She’s just stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel clinging low to her hips. Steam curls around her like smoke, and water drips from her hair, sliding down her bare shoulders and gliding along the curve of her collarbone.

She stops when she sees me, her lips parting slightly, breath catching. And for one long, burning second, everything else disappears.

The words that sat on my tongue, the anger raging in my chest…everything has turned to smoke. Because all I can think about is how goddamn good she looks like this—dripping, flushed, and half-naked in the middle of her room.

And how easy it would be to reach for her towel, tossing it away.Naked.Olive skin glistening from the shower, and at my mercy.

My eyes rake over her body without subtlety, and my jaw ticks as her face flushes, the warm pink spreading to her chest.How far does it go?I wonder as my gaze sinks lower, to the point where her towel stops on her thighs and the rest of her legs go on forever.

They’d look better over my shoulders, her thighs spread wide and her pussy quivering against my tongue.

And wrapped around me as I fuck her, my cock sliding in and out of her tight, wet?—

“Get out!” she shrieks, and I duck just in time for her to grab a pillow and chuck it at my head. Surprisingly, her towel stays in place despite all the movement. “What are you doing here?!”

“What do you think?” I rasp. My voice is thick with lust, and a large part of my brain isn’t thinking anymore. Somehow, my thirst for revenge and the rush of desire have blended into one ticking bomb.

Isabella’s eyes widen as I take a step forward, and I see a flash of fear, mingled with uncertainty. It doesn’t slow me down, and I cross the room, keeping my gaze trained on her until she backs herself into the wall.

Earl gray. Cream.

I inhale sharply as the smell of her bodywash hits my nostrils. She smells like warmth. Slightly nostalgic, like a luxurious tea break in a steam-filled spa.

“Wh—what are you doing?” she breathes, her voice barely holding steady.

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