Page 56 of His Nephew's Ex
“You son of a bitch,” she snarls, storming into my sanctuary with the grace of a wildcat and twice the lethality. “How dare you?”
I don’t look up from the intelligence reports spread across my desk—detailed surveillance on every known associate of Flavio’s, financial records that paint a picture of a young man drowning in debt and desperation. The kind of desperation that makes people do unforgivable things.
“Language,stellina.” I turn a page, noting Giuseppe Longino’s casino losses from last week. Fascinating how quickly money disappears when you’re trying to fill emotional voids with cards and dice. “What seems to be the problem?”
“The problem?” Her voice climbs an octave. “The problem is that you gutted my project like it was nothing. Like all the hours I put into planning meant less than dirt under your fingernails.”
Now I do look up, drinking in the sight of her rage like fine wine. The silk nightgown clings to curves I’ve memorized with my hands, and even furious, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever claimed.
“I made tactical adjustments—”
“You destroyed it.” She moves closer, and I catch the scent of jasmine and sleepless nights. “The contractors were dismissed. My materials vanished. The site was cleared like it never existed.”
“Security demanded—”
“Security demanded nothing.” Her palms slam against my desk hard enough to scatter papers. “Your paranoia demanded it. Your need to control every breath I take demanded it.”
I set down the file slowly, rising from my chair with the kind of deliberate calm that’s made grown men weep. “Careful, Loriana. You’re treading on dangerous ground.”
“Am I?” Fire dances in her eyes, beautiful and reckless. “What are you going to do? Lock me in a tower? Hire more guards? Maybe chain me to the bed so I can’t inconvenience you with my humanity?”
The images her words conjure make my cock twitch behind the confines of my pants, but I push down the hunger. There are more pressing matters than the way her fury makes me want to devour her.
“Flavio’s gambling debts have reached critical mass,” I say instead, gesturing to the reports. “Three separate families are circling like vultures, and word has leaked about your condition. The threat level has escalated beyond acceptable parameters.”
“My condition?” She laughs, sharp and bitter. “You mean my pregnancy? The child you put inside when you conveniently forgot to put on a fucking condom?”
“The child that makes you the perfect target for anyone wanting leverage against me.” I walk around the desk, noticing how she doesn’t step back despite the threatening energy I’m giving off.“Every enemy I’ve made in twenty years sees you as a chance for revenge now.”
“So, I become a prisoner in a maximum security prison because other people are fighting the monster called Silver devil?”
“You become protected because I refuse to lose what’s mine.” The possessive declaration rolls off my tongue like a prayer. “And you are mine,stellina. Completely, irrevocably, eternally mine.”
“I’m my own person—”
“You’re the mother of my child. You’re under my protection. You’re sleeping in my bed.” I stop close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat. “The semantics of ownership can be debated later.”
“There won’t be a later if you suffocate me with your protection.” Her chin lifts with that defiance that never fails to make my cock harder than steel. “I can’t breathe in this place anymore, Simeone. Can’t think. Can’t create. Can’t exist as anything more than a vessel for your heir.”
The pain in her voice cuts deeper than it should, but safety trumps comfort in my world. Always.
“Better a living vessel than a dead martyr,” I say quietly.
“Is it?” She takes a step closer, her heat bleeding through the expensive fabric of my shirt. “Because I’m starting to wonder what the difference is.”
Rage explodes through my chest like napalm. In two strides, I have her backed against the bookshelf, my hands braced on either side of her head, caging her between mahogany and muscle.
“Don’t.” The word is a growl, barely human. “Don’t you ever suggest that living under my protection is equivalent to death.”
“Then stop treating me like I’m already buried.” Her breath comes in quick pants, but she doesn’t cower. Never cowers. “Stop deciding my fate without consulting the person actually living it.”
“I decide everything that affects your safety. That’s not negotiable.”
“Everything is negotiable—”
“Nothing is negotiable when it comes to keeping you alive.” My voice drops to that whisper that’s ended more lives than bullets. “You will accept my protection. You will follow my security protocols. You will stop fighting measures designed to preserve your existence.”
“Or what?” The challenge burns between us like electricity.
