Page 30 of His Savage Ruin
Rage floods my veins, but it's not the request itself that makes rage build in my chest—it's the look in Romeo's eyes. The soft, almost protective expression that suggests he's not just relaying a message but advocating for it.
Puppy dog eyes. That's what Isabella would call it.
In less than a day, Alessia has managed to wrap one of my most trusted soldiers around her finger. Has made him care more about her comfort than his explicit orders.
"She asked you this directly?" I ask, my voice deceptively calm.
"Yes, sir. She seemed... well, she was very polite about it. Said she just needed some fresh air."
The fury building in my chest has nothing to do with professional concern and everything to do with the image of Alessia batting her eyelashes at Romeo, using her charm and vulnerability to make him question his loyalty.
She's mine to make comfortable or uncomfortable as I see fit.
The possessive thoughts are dangerous, unprofessional, completely at odds with the strategic mindset I need to maintain. But they're also undeniably real.
"Let me be very clear about something," I say, stepping closer to Romeo until he has to crane his neck to maintain eye contact. "Mrs. Moretti stays in that room. She doesn't go anywhere, she doesn't do anything, she doesn't get anything that I haven't explicitly approved. If you ever—ever—come to me again questioning my direct orders because a pretty woman asked you nicely, you won't just lose your job. You'll lose your life."
To emphasize the point, I grab his wrist and twist until I feel bones grind against each other. Romeo gasps, his face going white, but he doesn't cry out.
"Do we understand each other?" I ask.
"Yes, sir," he manages through gritted teeth.
I release him and he staggers back, cradling his wrist. Behind him, Marco watches with professional interest but no surprise—he's been around long enough to know that questioning the don's orders, regardless of the reason, carries consequences.
"Good. Now get back to your post."
They disappear down the hallway, and I'm left alone with my rage and the uncomfortable realization that my anger has nothing to do with professional concerns and everything to do with jealousy.
Romeo looked at her with interest. With care. With the kind of protective instinct that should belong to me alone.
The thought is possessive, irrational, completely inappropriate given our circumstances. But it's also undeniably true.
Alessia Moretti is getting under my skin in ways I can't afford and don't understand. And that makes her more dangerous than any enemy I've ever faced.
CHAPTER NINE
Matteo
I don’t bother knocking. I shove the door open hard enough that it rebounds off the wall, and Alessia startles, halfway through tugging a silk shirt over her head.
For the briefest moment, I see her back and side boobs in the mirror, with her pale skin against a dark fabric. I see thin scars but they look cruel, slashes across her ribs before she jerks a shirt down, hiding them.
She meets my gaze with fire in her eyes, as if daring me to say something but I don’t. Not yet. The image of those scars sears itself into my mind, raising questions I don’t want to examine.
I step closer, the air between us charged. “Do you want to tell me why Romeo is suddenly acting like a knight in shining armor? He asked me to give you more freedom. Said you needed fresh air.”
Her brows lift with feigned innocence. “Maybe he just has a heart.”
“Romeo doesn’t have a heart. He has orders. So why is he forgetting them around you?”
The corners of her mouth twitch, and she doesn’t bother to hide the amusement. “Maybe I’m just irresistible.”
The way she says it—teasing, daring—sparks something dark in me. Possessiveness coils low in my gut, sharp and unwelcome. I don’t want my men looking at her. Hell, I don’t wantanyonelooking at her.
I step closer until her back hits the edge of the dresser. She tilts her chin up, refusing to retreat even as I cage her in with my presence. “Listen carefully,principessa. Whatever game you’re playing with my men, it ends now. Romeo belongs to me. His loyalty is mine. Not yours.”
She folds her arms across her chest, the silk shirt gaping just enough for me to glimpse the shadow of her bosom beneath. “Funny, I didn’t realize loyalty was something you could own. Or people, for that matter.”
