004: CLOSE TO ME

NIKOLAI 

"The medical team is fully assembled, Don Martello," Dr. Pedro said, adjusting his glasses as he snapped his leather briefcase shut. "The facility on the lower level is completely sterile. The moment the girl’s bloodwork clears, we can proceed with the embryo transfer."

I didn't turn away from the floor-to-ceiling glass window of my study. Outside, dusk had settled over the day, painting the sky in shades of charcoal and gray.

"Is the success rate guaranteed?" I asked. My voice was a flat, devoid of the impatience rattling around inside my chest.

"Nothing in medicine is guaranteed, sir," Pedro replied cautiously, his voice dropping.

"However, given the pristine cryogenic preservation of the late Lady Isabella’s eggs and the candidate's exceptional physical health, the probability of a successful implantation is over eighty percent."

"Make it a hundred," I commanded quietly, stepping back from the glass. "You have all the resources in the world. I don't pay for probabilities, Pedro. I pay for results."

"Understood, Don Martello. I will have the final lab results on your desk by dawn."

The doctor offered a curt bow and backed out of the room, leaving me alone in the absolute silence of my study.

I poured two fingers of scotch into a tumbler, the amber liquid glinting against the low lamp light. I took a slow sip, letting the burn coat my throat, before turning toward the desk in the center of the room.

There, resting beside a stack of tech acquisition reports, sat a silver-framed photograph.

I picked it up, my thumb instinctively brushing over the glass.

Isabella.

It had been seven years since the rival syndicate detonated the bomb in my vehicle, seven years since her laugh was cut short in a flash of heat and twisted metal. They had tried to break me that day. They thought killing my wife would shatter the Martello empire.

Instead, it buried whatever humanity I had left.

I made the streets of Rome bleed until every last man involved was six feet under. To the world, I built a multi-billion-dollar tech conglomerate, a facade of power and modern dominance. To the underworld, I became the cold, unyielding Don who ruled with an iron fist. I had no room for weakness. No room for emotion.

Except for the frozen embryos stored beneath a high security lab in Milan.

It was the only piece of Isabella left on this earth. My dying mother had begged to see the Martello bloodline carried forward before she closed her eyes for good. I had no desire to fall in love, no patience for courting a woman, and no intention of ever opening my heart to another living soul.

All I needed was a vessel. A vessel strong enough to carry my child, wear my ring to quiet the family elders, and walk away when the job was done.

And then Enzo Donovan’s crumbling debt brought Rhea into my crosshairs.

I set the photograph down, my eyes lingering on the desk as a faint headache pulsed behind my temples.

I drained the rest of the scotch and set the crystal glass down with a dull thud. My world was built on order, control, and precise execution. Everything had its place. Everything followed a routine.

Which was precisely why I needed to inspect my newest investment.

I stepped out of the study and walked up the staircase leading to the east wing. The mansion was quiet, the silence broken only by the rhythmic clicking of my leather shoes against the polished  floor.

As I approached the residential corridor, my eyes scanned the hallway ahead.

The door to Rhea's room was slightly ajar.

My jaw tightened. A sharp, icy tension settled over my shoulders. I had explicitly instructed my men to ensure the lock was secure.

I didn't rush my steps. I moved with silent, deliberate grace, rounding the corner just as a small, shadow darted out into the hallway.

Rhea.

She was clutching her shoes in one hand, her dark hair tumbling messily over her shoulders. She was moving fast, her feet barely skimming the floor, her eyes fixed blindly on the balcony leading toward the main staircase. She looked like a trapped deer running straight into a hunter's net.

She didn't even notice me standing right in the shadow of the archway.

She rounded the corner at full speed and crashed straight into my chest.

Before she could fall, I reached out and clamped both hands firmly around her small waist, hoisting her back onto her feet.

Her body was warm—shockingly warm—against the cold exterior of my suit. 

"Where do you think you're going, Rhea" I asked calmly…

Rhea swallowed hard, her bright blue eyes snapping up to meet mine. Panic flickered across her features, but behind the fear, there was something else. A stubborn, fiery spark that refused to die out.

"Please Let go of me!" she gasped, twisting her body to break my grip.

I didn't budge. Instead, I stepped forward, using my size and height to push her back..

"You were told to stay in your room," I murmured, leaning down slightly so my shadow completely swallowed her.

Her breath hitched, her small hands coming up to press against my chest in a desperate attempt to create distance. Her touch sent a strange, unexpected surge of heat through me.

"Did you really think you could escape from me?" I whispered, my voice dropping, "In my own home?"

Rhea lifted her chin, her blue eyes locking directly onto mine with a defiance that almost amused me. 

Most men trembled when I stood this close. Most hardened syndicate bosses looked at the floor when I spoke.

Yet this fragile, abused girl, who had spent her entire life under her father's boot, was glaring at me as if she wanted to tear me apart.

"I'll keep trying until I succeed," she snapped, her voice trembling slightly, but her gaze never wavering.

I stared at her in silence…She was terrified, yet she refused to bow.

A dark, quiet feeling stirred in my chest something cold, sharp, and entirely unexpected.

"Then I suppose," I whispered, reaching out to trace the sharp line of her trembling jaw with the tip of my thumb, "I will just have to lock you somewhere much closer to me."

She flinched at my touch. "What?"

"Your room is no longer secure," I said smoothly, dropping my hand and taking a step back. "Starting tonight, you sleep in my suite."

Rhea's eyes widened in horror. "No! I'm not sleeping in your room!"

"You don't have a choice, Mrs. Martello," I replied, grabbing her upper arm with just enough force to guide her forward. "You proved tonight that you cannot be trusted alone. And I do not leave one hundred-million-dollar assets unsupervised."

"I am not an asset!" she yelled, attempting to dig her heels into the floor, but I pulled her along the corridor as if she weighed nothing at all.

"You sign my papers, you follow my rules," I said, pushing open the double doors at the far end of the hallway that led into my private quarters.

I tossed her shoes onto the floor and guided her inside, shutting the doors behind us. 

Rhea spun around, her back against the door, her blue eyes darting wildly across my master bedroom. The room was sprawling, decorated in dark velvet, black marble, and cold, polished steel. In the center sat a massive, king sized bed covered in dark silk sheets.

"Where... where am I supposed to sleep?" she asked, her voice dropping to a hesitant whisper as she clutched her arms around her chest.

I walked over to my desk, unbuttoning my suit jacket and tossing it casually over the back of the leather chair. I turned to look at her..

"The bed is big enough," I said flatly. "Or you can sleep on the floor. It makes no difference to me. But the moment you try to step out that door..."

I paused, walking slowly toward her until I was standing right in front of her once again.

"...I will put a tracking collar on that neck of yours. Do you understand me?"

Rhea stared at me, her throat moving as she swallowed hard. She didn't answer, but the fierce anger in her eyes was slowly being replaced by a cold fear,. She was trapped. Completely trapped.

"Good," I said calmly