Chapter 3- Waking up in the Lion's Den

Edwina

A dull, relentless throbbing pounds against my skull as I groan, my eyelids fluttering open. The room is too bright, the morning light spilling through sheer curtains and casting a golden glow over the space. My body feels heavy, my limbs sluggish as I shift slightly against the ridiculously soft mattress beneath me.

I force myself upright, the crisp white sheets slipping down my body as I take in my surroundings. The bed is enormous—king-sized, adorned with silk sheets and plush pillows that look entirely untouched except for where I lay. The unfamiliarity of the room prickles at my senses, and a wave of unease washes over me.

This is not my bedroom.

The realization jolts me into full awareness. Panic settles in as I look down, my breath catching when I notice what I’m wearing—or rather, what I’m not wearing. My dress from last night is gone, replaced by an oversized white dress shirt that hangs loosely off my frame. The fabric smells outrageously expensive, laced with a deep, woody sandalwood scent that is undeniably masculine.

My heart slams against my ribs as a deep voice rumbles across the room.

“Don’t worry, tesoro. Nothing happened last night.”

I nearly jump out of my skin, my head snapping toward the voice.

Seated on the open veranda, dressed in a crisp black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, is him. He’s holding an iPad, his attention seemingly occupied, yet the sharpness in his tone tells me he’s well aware of my every move.

The morning sun filters through the open glass doors behind him, casting a halo-like glow around his impossibly broad shoulders. His black hair is styled effortlessly, and a sleek Rolex glints against his wrist as he scrolls through whatever is on his screen.

I clutch the sheets closer to my chest, my fingers curling into the soft fabric as I narrow my eyes at him.

“Who the hell are you?” I whisper-yell, my voice hoarse.

At last, his emerald eyes lift from the iPad, pinning me with an unreadable expression.

“The one who saved you from making a complete mess of yourself last night,” he replies coolly. “You were seconds away from passing out in the middle of the club. Then, of course, you decided to throw up on me.”

Heat floods my face as snippets of last night’s events crash into my mind like a freight train—the club, the music, the shots of vodka, his voice…

I groan, running a hand through my hair.

“Your fault," I grumble. "I never asked you to babysit me. And speaking of which—where the hell am I?”

“My penthouse.” He leans back slightly, regarding me with the same indifference as before. “Unless you would have preferred waking up in an alley somewhere?”

I scowl, knowing he has a point but unwilling to admit it. Instead, I shift my attention back to the throbbing in my skull, groaning as I massage my temples.

“Take the glass of water and the painkillers on the dresser. They’ll help with the hangover.”

His voice is smooth but firm, carrying the kind of authority that suggests he isn’t one to be questioned. I glance at the neatly placed glass of water and two small tablets beside it, hesitating.

“And why should I trust you?” I arch a brow.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips, dark amusement flickering in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But if I wanted to hurt you, tesoro, you wouldn’t have woken up at all.”

Something in his voice—calm, assured, dangerously persuasive—sends a shiver down my spine. My throat tightens, but I say nothing as I snatch the pills and wash them down.

“Who are you, anyway?” My voice is softer this time, laced with curiosity despite myself.

He studies me for a moment before speaking.

“Raffaele Marcello.” His name rolls off his tongue like silk, each syllable perfectly weighted. “Alessandro’s boss. The man you made a deal with over the phone.”

My stomach tightens.

The man on the phone. The one with the deep, sinful voice. The one who made my skin prickle and my pulse race without even seeing his face.

And now, here he is.

My lips part slightly in shock, my thoughts scrambling for something—anything—to say. He smirks at my stunned reaction, clearly entertained.

“Problem, tesoro?”

I force a tight-lipped smile. “No, not at all.”

Before I can ask anything more, a knock at the bedroom door breaks the silence.

“What?” Raffaele growls, irritation lacing his voice.

The door swings open, revealing Alessandro. He steps inside, offering Raffaele a curt nod before turning to me, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Morning, princess. You look stunning.”

I don’t hesitate. I grab the nearest pillow and launch it at his head.

He dodges effortlessly, chuckling.

“Alessandro, get the fuck out.” Raffaele’s voice is low, impatient.

The amusement in Alessandro’s expression fades as he turns back to his boss. “We need to talk.”

Without another word, Raffaele stands, fixing me with a sharp gaze. “Shower up. Your clothes from last night will be delivered. Everything you need is in the bathroom.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

I exhale, my shoulders slumping slightly as I glance around the room again. It’s luxurious but dark—masculine. The heavy navy curtains dim the space despite the daylight outside, and the grey carpet is thick beneath my toes as I move toward the bathroom door.

The moment I step inside, my breath catches.

Marble countertops, a massive glass-enclosed shower, a deep soaking tub—it’s decadent. A neatly folded black towel sits by the sink, alongside a brand-new toothbrush.

I undress, letting the oversized shirt pool at my feet before stepping into the shower. The hot water cascades down my skin, washing away the remnants of alcohol and exhaustion. I breathe in deeply, the scent of Raffaele’s shower products filling my senses. It’s addictive—spicy, woody, undeniably him.

By the time I’m done, my body hums with warmth, my hair still damp as I slip back into my clothes. A frown tugs at my lips when I realize someone must have entered the room to leave them while I was showering—without making a sound.

I dress quickly, tying my hair into a ponytail before slipping on my heels and stepping out into the penthouse. The sound of hushed conversation leads me to the kitchen, where Raffaele and Alessandro are seated, their iPads in front of them.

The moment I step into view, Raffaele’s eyes lift to mine.

“Sit and have breakfast.”

It’s not a request.

I hesitate before obeying, sliding into the seat opposite them. A plate of eggs and bacon is placed in front of me, alongside a steaming cup of coffee. My stomach growls embarrassingly, and I swear I hear Alessandro mutter, “Women and their food.”

I ignore him, focusing on my meal.

“Has the headache reduced?” Raffaele’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

I nod.

He raises a brow. “Use words, Tesoro.”

Something about the way he says it makes my heart skip a beat.

“Yes.”

He watches me for a lingering moment before returning his attention to his iPad.

“Alessandro will drive you to the office.”

Alessandro smirks. “Guess you’re stuck with me, princess.”

I mutter sarcastically, “The joy.”

I turn, feeling Raffaele’s gaze on my back as Alessandro and I step into the elevator.

Something tells me this is only the beginning.