8

TIFFANY WEST 

I leaned against the adjoined door, listening to the subtle noise that lingered in Lorenzo's room. It was a few minutes past four am when I'd been startled awake by the sounds from his room. It seemed he had just returned home. After a few more minutes, the door from his room opened and closed again. He had left?

Gently, I pull my open, peeking into his room. He wasn't in. I stepped into his room. It was eerily dark. With dark walls and mahogany furniture, it had a masculine touch.

I left his room, the cold from the marble tiles seeping into my feet. The lights in the mansion had been turned off. I wandered around, heading to the front door, but it was locked as well as the back door.

The only light that was on was coming from down the hallway. I walked towards the hall opening, and took a right, heading into uncharted territory. There were more paintings down this way. More rooms too. 

I heard a clang as I approached the glass door at the very end. Then another. Weight colliding with metal. The impact sounds heavy and harsh.

I pressed my hand against the frosted glass and pushed inside.

Lorenzo was on the bench pressed, dressed in a white tank and black sports shorts. For a second, he looked almost normal. This was the second time I'd seen him without his suit. No matter how much hate I tried to feel around him, I couldn't deny the truth that he was easily the most handsome man I'd seen, fucked even, and maybe loved it. A part of me was still a little humiliated. He'd witnessed my breakdown that night, but the other side couldn't forget he'd been the best sex of my life.

I hated him, at least pretended to, just because it was easier to focus on rage than the annoying fact that I wanted to sleep with the biggest prick I'd ever met again. 

And I was now married to him. I honestly didn't know how to feel: angry because of the fact I had been sold like some commodity to him, or terrified because he was one of the most dangerous men in the world, or determined to keep some kind of autonomy or aroused by the possibility of his hands on me again.

I took a few steps into the room, my eyes scanning around. There was a mass of equipment in here. A treadmill. Rower. Medicine balls. Elliptical trainer. Spin bike. The list was endless. 

I moved closer to the treadmill, and beside it was where Lorenzo had kept his gun in his holster, a knife, a phone, and keys. I could easily grab the keys and run. But I doubt I'd be able to make it far.

“Already thinking about killing me?” The deep drawl of his voice sent a strange shiver down my spine. It always had. And I hated it.

I shifted my gaze to his ice-blue ones, sparing another glance at the gun. “Even if I managed to kill you, I'm sure your brother would kill me too,”

“There are worse punishments than death, piccola volpe,” 

“Like what? I'd be sold to someone else?” I crossed my hands against my chest. The action caused Lorenzo's eyes to narrow on me and then darken.

“Savio's incapable of hurting you. As long as you're here, none of my people would hurt you,”

“Why? Because I'm your prisoner?”

“Because you're now a Russo,”

The air buzzed with electricity. My cheeks went hot and words tumbled from my mouth like they often did.

“I have a life in New York. My work and everything I've built for myself is there,” Adrenaline poured into my bloodstream as frustration and a new rising rage flickered in my chest.

“Soon you'll build a new one here,”

“A life of blood and violence I never wanted for myself. Do you realize you're destroying my life for something I have no part in?”

His expression hardened. “We're done with this little fox. There's no way either of us is getting out of the prison of a marriage as you've called it,”

My temple throbbed. My chest pounded at his indifference to the consequences his actions were having in my life and I moved so far beyond frustration to a murdering rage that blinded me completely. 

Enough was enough.

I lunged forward in rage, hiking my legs over the bench to straddle his waist and claim the weighted bar. I pressed down hard, his dark blue eyes meeting mine as I threatened to crush the life from him. “I fucking hate you,”

His gaze narrowed to tiny slits, his lips curled in a vicious snarl. 

I didn't know what I was doing except by living by impulse. I climbed aboard him without a strategy or common sense. I was not even sure of my aim.

I just wanted freedom.

Apparently, the autopilot was pushing me toward murder in an attempt to achieve it.

If I went ahead with this, it wouldn't be a quick death. Or a quiet one. His face would turn red. He would gasp and sputter.

Fuck. What the hell was I doing?

Even if I could stomach killing this man, I'd then have to deal with Savio and Dimitri. I'd never survive.

What I had instigated was completely irrational.

Entire lunacy.

I was about to raise a white flag and retreat when he stopped fighting. His arms dropped. He let go of the bar, leaving me to struggle with the heavy load.

"What are you doing?" My voice trembled as I lost strength, the bar lowering with my struggle, the agony increasing. I couldn't hold it any longer.

"Don't stop now." He stared up at me, his face an emotionless mask. "You want me dead? Then kill me. This is the perfect opportunity. My arms are fatigued. I can't fight back and you'd be a happy widow,"

I shook my head. I didn't want that. I shuffled my feet, trying to stabilize myself as I straddle him.

"Lorenzo, I can't carry this much longer. My arm..."

He didn't offer assistance.

"Lorenzo. Please." The pain shot down my arms.

"I didn't mean—”

I didn't mean what? To attempt murder?

He would punish me. He would lock me within this house forever.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck had I done?

The bar continued to lower as I succumbed to the pain. My curled fingers brushed his hard chest, the bar pressing into him. Soon, I would lose all my strength and the bar would roll. The weight would suffocate him. A million thoughts running through my head, every one of them revolving around this man's

death and how I'd give anything for it not to happen.

I fought harder again, and still, l failed. "Lorenzo please," I screamed. "Don't." I had no idea how the tears welled up my eyes and trickled down my cheeks.

Suddenly, Lorenzo's eyes hardened. In a flash, he raised his arms, shoving at the bar, the heavy weight lifting like a feather to clang into the cradle before he snapped upright. I slithered down his body with a hollow sense of shame and fell back on his lap, face-to-face, my breasts pressed against his chest.

I was trembling hard, my body vibrating against his while tears kept cascading down my cheeks. I couldn't stop it. And the weight of the fact I had almost killed a man, killed him weighed heavier in my chest.

“I didn't mean to… I really didn't mean to—” He suddenly gripped my chin, lifting it so I could meet his eyes.

We looked at each other for seconds which felt like minutes before his thumb skimmed the edge of my bottom lip. 

And then he did something I never expected, he swallowed my next breath in his mouth.