Chapter 6

I stood slowly, smoothing down the dress even though my hands were shaking.

“Where?”

“Downstairs. Follow me.”

He didn’t wait for me to agree. Just turned and walked out, expecting me to follow.

I had no choice.

The hallway was long and silent, our footsteps echoing against the floor. I tried to memorize the route. Left turn. Right turn. Past a painting of a woman in red. Past a door with gold handles.

Anything that might help me later.

We descended a grand staircase, the kind you see in movies. Curved. Elegant. Ridiculous.

At the bottom, he led me through another hallway, then stopped in front of tall double doors.

He knocked once.

“Enter.”

That voice. Deep. Calm. Like he owned every word that left his mouth.

The man opened the door and stepped aside.

I walked in.

The room was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded it with morning light. A long dining table stretched down the center, set with white linens and crystal glasses. Fresh flowers in the middle. Everything perfect.

And at the head of the table, reading a newspaper like this was just another Sunday morning, was Enzo Santini.

He looked up when I entered.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he set down the paper and gestured to the chair across from him.

“Sit.”

I didn’t move.

“Nina.” His tone didn’t change, but something in it made my skin prickle. “Sit down.”

I forced my legs to move. Walked to the chair. Sat.

He watched me the entire time. Not smiling. Not frowning. Simply watching.

Like I was something he was trying to figure out.

“Did you rest well?”

I almost laughed. “No.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Is it?”

He poured coffee into the cup in front of me without asking if I wanted any. “You should eat. You barely touched your breakfast.”

“I ate enough.”

“Not enough.” He gestured to the spread in front of us. Pastries. Eggs. Fruit. Enough food for ten people. “Eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

My stomach chose that exact moment to betray me.

A loud, unmistakable growl.

Enzo’s eyes flicked down to my midsection, then back up to my face. His expression didn’t change, but I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Not hungry,” he repeated, his voice dry.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I looked away, reaching for a pastry just to have something to do with my hands.

“Good choice,” he said, picking up his own coffee.

I took a bite. It was perfect. Flaky. Sweet. The kind of pastry that probably costs more than my daily food budget.

I hated that it tasted so good.

We ate in silence. He was reading his newspaper like this was normal. I was trying to focus on anything except the fact that I was having breakfast with a man who’d had me kidnapped.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps.

Heels. Slow. Deliberate. Click. Click. Click.

I looked up.

A woman appeared in the doorway.

She was stunning. Late twenties, maybe thirty. Long dark hair that fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. A dress that clung to every curve, red silk that looked like it cost a fortune. Her makeup was flawless. Everything about her screamed expensive.

And the way she moved.

God, the way she moved.

Like she owned the space. Like she knew exactly what effect she had and used it.

Her eyes found mine first.

She looked me over. Slowly. Head to toe. Taking in my simple navy dress, my bare face, my dancer’s bun.

Her lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Then she looked at Enzo.

“Enzo.”

Her voice was silk. Smooth and low, with just enough accent to make it sultry.

He didn’t look up from his paper. “Violet.”

So that was her name.

Violet.

She walked further into the room, her heels clicking against the marble. She moved like she’d done this a thousand times. Like she belonged here.

“I didn’t know you had company.” Her eyes slid back to me. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“No.”

The word was flat. Final.

But Violet didn’t seem bothered. She just smiled wider and looked at me directly.

“I’m Violet Laurent. And you are?”

I opened my mouth, but Enzo spoke first.

“Leaving.”

Violet laughed. Light and airy, but there was an edge to it. “Always so rude in the mornings.”

She turned back to him, leaning slightly against the table. Close enough that her perfume filled the space. Something heavy and sweet.

"Should I?”

Enzo finally looked up. Not at her face. Just a quick glance, then back to his paper.

He gave a single nod.

That was it. One nod.

But Violet straightened immediately, like she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.

“I’ll be upstairs,” she said, her voice softer now. Almost intimate.

Then she turned and walked out, her hips swaying with every step.

I stared after her, my stomach twisting into knots.

Who was she?

Why was she here?

Why did she look at him like that?

Enzo set down his paper and picked up his napkin, wiping his mouth slowly. Deliberately.

Then he stood.

“When you’re done, Rosa will give you a tour.”

That was it. No explanation. No acknowledgment of what just happened.

He walked toward the door.

“Wait.”

He paused, his hand on the doorframe. Didn’t turn around.

“Who is she?”

“No one you need to worry about.”

“Well, she just walked in here like she owns the place.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Then who—”

“Eat your breakfast, Nina.” His voice was still calm, but there was steel underneath it now. “Rosa will be here in ten minutes.”

Then he was gone.

I sat there alone, staring at the empty doorway.

My appetite was gone.

I pushed the plate away and stood up, my chest tight.

Violet Laurent.

The name burned in my mind.

The way she’d looked at him. The way he’d nodded. Even the way she’d said she’d be upstairs like it was routine.

I don't know why, but my hands clenched into fists.

I didn’t care. I didn’t.

He could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted. It wasn’t my business.

But the knot in my stomach said otherwise.

I heard footsteps behind me.

“Ready, signorina?”

Rosa stood in the doorway, her expression as neutral as ever.

I forced myself to nod. “Yes.”

“Come. I’ll show you the house.”

I followed her out, but my mind wasn’t on the tour.