Page 24 of Prince of Vice

"Oh, are you?" he asks, amusement dripping off his words. "And, how do you expect to get there with a broken-down car?"

"I'll walk," I say, gathering my things and heading for the door.

He blocks my path. I look up to fight him, but his features tell me it's not a good time to argue. His eyes are dark, and he looks downright angry.

"You will do no such thing, and you will not argue with me about this," he says. "You're so smart at what you do but so foolish other times." I open my mouth to say something, but he cups his fingers over my mouth. My eyes go wide, but he doesn't flinch. "Do you not realize who your client is? There are forces outside of this family who would happily kill you on the off chance that it hurts my chances at trial. And you think you're just going to walk home in the dark? That I would let you do so?"

"Fine," I relent, my anger dissipating at his unexpected concern. "But I'm not sleeping anywhere near you."

"Of course," Primo chuckles darkly, his eyes never leaving mine as he leads me to a lavish guest room. The room is furnished with luxurious decor and furnishings. The walls are painted a warm gold, and the floor is covered in plush carpeting. A large four-poster bed sits in the center of the room, draped with soft sheets and fluffy pillows. There is an antique armoire in one corner, and a large vanity table with an ornate mirror in the other. I take a few steps in and peer into the bathroom.

A luxurious spa tub sits in the corner, begging to be used. The moment I see it, I can't help but feel a pang of longing – it's been ages since I've enjoyed a nice soak, and my small apartment doesn't offer such indulgences.

Primo catches my gaze lingering on the tub and smirks. "Allow me." He strides over to the faucet and turns it on, filling the room with the sound of rushing water and the scent of lavender. My eyes follow him as he makes his way to the door, and I reluctantly admit to myself that there's something irresistible about this infuriating man.

Just as he’s about to leave, I blurt out, “Wait, you’re leaving?” The words leave my lips and I know that the shock is written all over my face.

He turns and stands at the threshold. He raises an eyebrow as he looks at me, his eyes moving up and down my body. “Just a moment ago you were going to slap me, and now you want me to stay? Which is it, Isabella?”

I stand there, trying to think of a way to recover. I shake my head. “No, you can leave,” I say, tripping over my words.

His lips lift into the smallest of smiles as he turns back towards the hallway. “As you wish, Isabella,” and then he disappears into the shadows.

* * *

Morning comes, and I wake to find a set of keys on my nightstand. Confusion washes over me; I hadn't heard anyone enter the room while I slept. Picking up the keys, I notice the Lamborghini emblem and feel a surge of unease. What is Primo playing at?

I get dressed and head to his office, but it's empty. Descending the grand staircase, I'm greeted by Charlie, who introduces himself with a warm smile. He doesn't say much about himself other than the fact that he's known Primo and the family for a long time. I imagine that's mafia talk for him being a high-up mobster.

"Primo asked me to give you a message," he says, handing me a folded note.

"Thank you, Charlie," I reply, trying to mask my curiosity. Unfolding the paper, I read Primo's words:

Isabella, I trust you'll take good care of the car – and yourself. You deserve nothing less.

The words leap off the page in Primo's unmistakable scrawl, and I can't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and annoyance. He just couldn't leave well enough alone, could he? My old car, deemed unsafe, and now replaced by a sleek, black Lamborghini Urus waiting outside like a mechanical guardian angel. The note continues, assuring me that Primo is confident in my ability to prepare for Monday's hearing. It's both infuriating and flattering that he believes in me so much, even as he disregards his own safety by removing his ankle monitor.

"Charlie," I say, turning to face him, "what do you know about this?"

"Primo has always been one to... manage things," he explains with a shrug. "It's easier on everyone if he thinks he's still in control."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I demand, gripping the letter tightly in my hand.

"Perhaps not," he concedes, "but it might help you understand him better."

With a sigh, I step over to the window and press the keys. The lights of the Lamborghini flash in response, confirming its existence as more than just a figment of my imagination. The sight of it sends a shiver down my spine; it's hard to deny the allure of such power, the promise of protection it represents.

"Fine," I relent, looking back at Charlie. "I'll learn to play his game." But inside, my thoughts race - can I truly let Primo believe he's in control when I'm walking such a dangerous tightrope?

"Good," Charlie nods, seeming satisfied with my answer. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got things to attend to."

"Of course," I reply, watching as he disappears down the hallway. Left alone, I take a deep breath and brace myself for the task ahead. Returning to the upstairs office, I immerse myself in preparing for the hearing - because no matter how I feel about Primo's actions or my new car, there's one truth I can't escape: this case is the most important thing.

As the hours wear on, my frustration with Primo's recklessness only grows. But beneath it all, I feel a strange sense of gratitude for his belief in me. It's a twisted bond we share – and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm beginning to crave it more than ever.

Chapter Eleven

Isabella

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