Page 29 of Prince of Vice

"Primo, you can't do this. You're already on trial for murder – don't make things worse for yourself."

He looks at me, his gaze softening for a moment. "I won't let anything happen to me, Isabella," he reassures me, before dialing 911. "There's been an attack on West Main Street. A woman needs assistance."

"Primo, you can't stay here. You're under house arrest," I remind him, the urgency in my voice rising.

"Trust me," he says, and I'm struck by the intensity of his gaze. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out zip ties, securing my assailant to a nearby street sign. As the man starts to protest, Primo lands one more punch to his face, knocking him out cold.

"Come on," he murmurs, taking my hand and leading me away from the scene. The world seems to blur around us as we rush to my car, my thoughts consumed by the violence and passion that just unfolded before me.

As Primo slides behind the wheel, the silence in the car is deafening. My pulse quickens with every mile that passes on our way back to the mansion, my body aching to be close to him. I know it's wrong – he's my client, and I should maintain a professional distance. But the way he defended me... I can't help but feel drawn to him.

As we drive through the night, the darkness outside mirrors the forbidden desires that swirl within me. I steal glances at Primo, watching his strong hands grip the steering wheel, and I long to feel those hands on my body. His actions were violent and reckless, and yet, they ignited a fire within me that I cannot ignore.

"Isabella," Primo whispers, his voice like velvet. "I promise you, everything will be alright."

But as our journey continues, I wonder if giving in to these feelings will be our undoing.

The moment Primo pulls the Lamborghini into the cavernous garage of the mansion, my heart races in anticipation. The dim lighting casts a seductive glow over us, heightening the tension that's been building between us since the incident. Primo turns to me, his dark eyes piercing through the night as he assesses my condition.

"Did he touch you? Hurt you in any way?" His voice is laced with concern and an underlying rage. It's intoxicating.

"Primo, I'm fine," I assure him, my voice trembling slightly. "You saved me before anything could happen."

He studies my face intently, gently turning it this way and that, searching for any signs of injury. Once satisfied, he leans back in his seat, his intense gaze still locked onto mine. “Is this the first time something like this has happened?” he asks.

I’m surprised by his question. Primo didn’t really seem like the sort of man to be interested in my personal life.

“No,” I admit. “It’s the second.”

“You’re a lawyer. Why didn’t you get a restraining order?”

“It’s not as simple as you think,” I reply to him. “Everyone thinks it’s so easy to get a restraining order against someone else, but it’s actually a really high standard to meet. Courts see it as restricting someone’s freedom before they’ve been on trial.”

Primo chuckles darkly. “I can’t imagine what that feels like.”

“Yes, well. Things had been quiet for a while. I sort of thought that maybe they’d just given up.”

Primo turns to me and looks murderous. “You should have told me it had gotten to this point.”

“Why? So you could end up with a second murder charge and I’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life? I’m not from your world, Primo. I couldn’t handle something like that.”

“Why go into the law if you knew this was waiting for you?” he asks.

I find myself admitting a vulnerability to him against my better judgment. “Because, when you don’t love yourself, you end up doing what people tell you to do, even if they don’t have your best interests at heart.”

He leans toward me. “Isabella, what are you saying?”

He swipes a tear away from my cheek. “I’m just saying that there have been times when I’ve struggled against myself.”

“Nonsense,” he says immediately. “You’re the perfect blend of beauty and brains. Who ever made you feel like less?”

I shrug. “My father demanded a lot of us growing up.”

“Ah,” Primo says with understanding. “Well, good thing he’s dead.”

I smile at his attempt at humor. It’s dark, but that fits him.

“You shouldn’t doubt yourself, Isabella,” he says.

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