Page 22 of The Merciless Don's Bride

“You don’t really know if I do, now do you? You don’t know anything, Cassandra,” he points out.

My jaw tightens. He’s right. I feel like I’m afloat on top of the sea, drifting endlessly with no rescue in sight.

“I can tell you. Whatever questions you have for your uncle about your current situation, I’ll answer them,” he states.

My eyes narrow. It feels too easy.

“What’s the catch?”

He smirks, “Very good. You’re already aware that nothing comes for free in this world. But I don’t want much,bella. All I want is for you to eat your breakfast. Renata will be sad when she finds out you’re not eating the food she’s prepared for you.”

I think about the kind, old woman I met last night and feel a wave of guilt. I stare at the breakfast tray, eggs, bacon, toast and there’s a croissant as well. I love croissants. I feel like Renata knew that somehow. Who knows what they’ve been able to find out about me.

Still I silently concede, nodding my head to show that I’ll eat. I’m hungry anyway and if the food really is poisoned, then a croissant isn’t the worst way to go.

“Good girl,” Luciano praises. The words feel slimy coming from his lips. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal. Ana will wait here until you’re done.”

I completely forgot about the petite maid with blonde hair standing silently in the corner the entire time. Her expression is blank. It feels weird having a maid. This isn’t 18thcentury England.

“Why does she have to wait?” I question.

“To help you dress up. Wear something pretty and maybe I’ll answer all your questions.”

I scowl, “You already agreed to answer my questions.”

“Not all of them.”

His eyes glint dangerous in the morning light. He takes a few steps closer, until he’s standing at the foot of the bed, towering over me.

“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, my voice not as strong as I’d like.

I can’t help it. He makes me nervous, despite how much I try to hide it. He looks down and when our gazes connect I feel a zap of electricity. He reaches down to touch me but I shift out of the way. His hands have no business anywhere near me.

His lips curl in disappointment but he doesn’t mention it.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Cassandra. You’ll soon come to realize that all I want is to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“Anyone that would dare to harm you,” he replies easily.

“And who’s going to protect me from you?”

He doesn’t have a reply to that. but I do catch a glimpse of some hidden emotion in those eyes of his. He turns toward thedoor before I can try to decipher it. Then he pauses. I should have let him walk out but my body move quicker than my brain and I launch myself off the bed and go straight for him. He doesn’t expect it—not fully. He turns around, his eyes flash with something between amusement and surprise as I throw the first punch, sharp and fast. He blocks it with lazy ease, but I’m already spinning, aiming a roundhouse kick at his ribs.

He catches it mid-air.

I twist free and drop into a low stance, sweeping my leg toward his feet. He hops over it. I go for a palm strike to his throat, then an elbow to the ribs. He blocks both. Effortlessly. Like he’s dancing.

I’m gritting my teeth now, adrenaline pumping. I throw a flurry of jabs—left, right, left—then pivot into a front kick aimed for his stomach.

He snatches my ankle midair.

Shit.

Before I can react, I’m spun around. My back slams gently—but firmly—into the wall. His body pins mine there, all solid muscle and molten heat. His thigh slides between mine, locking me in place. One hand wraps around both my wrists above my head, the other presses into the wall.

I’m breathing hard. My chest rising and falling. My dress clinging to me from the heat. His lips hover dangerously close to mine.

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