Bound by the Billionaire's Blood Debt
It felt like a fortress marble, glass, steel.
Lorenzo was already there, standing by a window overlooking the city. He’d removed his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and a watch that probably cost more than my father’s legal fees.
“Sit,” he said, not turning around.
“I’d rather stand,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “And I’d rather be in my own bed. You can’t just kidnap people because you have a big bank account, Lorenzo.”
He turned slowly, predatory. He crossed the room and picked up a slim silver tablet from his desk.
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