Page 26 of Stolen By the Don

I look over my shoulder. She looks fragile and frightened—a bird with a broken wing needing care and protection. It tugs at a part of my heart I never thought existed, pulling so hard that ignoring it causes physical pain.

“Did something happen?” she asks quietly.

“No.” I shake my head. Admitting what happened would make it seem more than it actually is. I would’ve done the same thing to anyone to keep them from hurting themselves.

And what good would Isabella be to me with cuts and bruises? I’m just protecting what belongs to me.

“I see,” she sighs. “Could I—could I ask for a favor?”

Don’t ask me to stay.

“Sure.” I shrug. “Go ahead.”

“Could you…” Her eyes turn downward as she hesitates, then up again as she continues with some courage, “…stay? I feel so scared. It’s silly, I know, but I promise I won’t talk about it tomorrow. Or any day after.”

Again, I think about what would happen if I turned her down. I’d be inconsiderate and selfish, but it’s not any more than what she already thinks of me. “Fine.”

A soft smile touches her lips. “Thank you.”

I grunt in response, heading to the armchair in the corner of the room. Leather creaks beneath me as I settle in, elbows on my knees, eyes still on her. Isabella doesn’t say another word. She just pulls the covers over her head like a child hiding from monsters.

After a couple of seconds, she goes still. But I can see the way her shoulders tremble beneath the sheets. Like the fear hasn’t left—it’s only burrowed inside her bones.

My mind replays the scene again—watching her hit something imaginary with her fists. Another door, maybe?Why?What happened to her?

“No.” I shake my head vehemently before I go down an emotional rabbit hole. With one last look at her sleeping figure, I stand up.

I did what was needed, but I alsooverstayed.

It won’t happen again.

8

ROMAN

I look up, still dealing with the yellow pages from the night before, when Billie Russell walks into my office. I could’ve finished with this hours ago, butshehas snuckinto my thoughts more than I can count.

“I have something,” he says with a hopeful, overeager smile. “Something I think you’ll want to hear.”

“Is it worth bargaining for your redemption?”

He freezes mid-step, the color draining from his face. Despair. Fear. Fright. All in one expression. It makes me laugh.

“I’m kidding,” I say, though my tone doesn’t change. “Sit.”

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, quickly dropping into the chair opposite me.

I close the document and set it aside, folding my arms across my chest. “It’d better be good,” I warn, voice cool. “Because if it’s not, I’ll make your life very miserable, very fast. Go ahead.” I motion lazily. “Make your case.”

Billie swallows, nods, then leans forward like he’s got something sacred to share. “I found out from a source, someone who used to work at the offshore bank where we moved the money, that Marco Ricci hasn’t left the country.”

I say nothing.

“In fact,” he continues, eyes flicking toward the door like someone might be listening, “he’s in the city. Desperately trying to find a way out.”

It’s not exactly news. I suspected as much. But now I’ve got more than theory to work with. Still, I don’t show it.

Instead, I shrug. “And how do I know you’re not lying to me, Russell?”

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