Chapter 4 - THE VILLA IN THE HILLS
The drive up into the Tuscan-style hills overlooking the city was long, quiet, and tense.
Clara sat in the back of Lorenzo’s armored dark sedan, wrapped in a heavy charcoal wool coat Lorenzo had given her before they left the restaurant. The coat was far too large for her thin frame, swallowing her entirely, but it smelled of cedar, sweet tobacco, and him—a scent that brought an unfamiliar, terrifying sense of security to her chest.
Lorenzo sat beside her in the back seat, his eyes fixed on the rain-slicked road ahead, his phone buzzing periodically as he gave short, precise instructions to his lieutenants across the city.
Clara looked out the tinted window, watching the city lights recede into the distance. Her face throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the storm waging inside her mind.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the V8 engine.
Lorenzo ended his call and placed the phone on the leather console between them. He turned his head to look at her. In the faint amber light of the dashboard, his sharp features looked carved from granite.
"To my family estate," he said. "It is fortified. Marco Vane may be foolish, but he is not suicidal enough to attempt an assault on the villa. You will be safe there."
"Safe," she repeated, the word tasting strange on her tongue. "I haven't been safe since I was twelve years old, Lorenzo."
Lorenzo’s eyes softened slightly. He reached out, his big, warm hand resting on the seat close to hers, not quite touching her, but offering an anchor if she wanted it.
"Tell me," he said softly. "How did a woman like you get mixed up with a worm like Richard Vane?"
Clara let out a short, hollow laugh that turned into a wince as it pulled at her split lip. She pulled the heavy wool coat tighter around her shoulders.
"My father owed a gambling debt," she murmured, gazing out into the dark trees lining the mountain road. "Two hundred thousand dollars to the Marcone family. When he died of a heart attack six months ago, Marco Vane inherited the debt. He told me I could either work it off in one of his northern clubs... or I could belong to his nephew."
Lorenzo’s jaw clenched so hard a small knot of muscle pulsed against his jawbone. "A human collateral."
"Richard thought he was a prince," she continued, her voice flat, detached, as if she were reading a police report about someone else's life. "He liked to take me to expensive places—like Leles—to show off to his friends. He liked everyone to see that he owned something pretty. But tonight... tonight I told him I was done. I told him I was leaving the city tomorrow morning, no matter what his uncle did to me."
She finally turned her head to look at Lorenzo, her one good eye searching his face for any sign of deception.
"That's when he hit me," she whispered. "Because property isn't allowed to walk away."
Lorenzo reached out and covered her hand with his. His palm was broad, calloused, and radiated an intense, steady heat that seemed to seep through her frozen fingers.
"You are not property, Clara," Lorenzo said, his voice ringing with absolute, terrifying conviction. "And as long as I draw breath, no man will ever lay a finger on you again. Your father's debt is canceled. I will personally settle it with the Marcone board."
Clara stared at him, her throat tightening with a sudden surge of emotion she couldn't control. "Why? You don't know me. I am nothing to you."
"You bled in my house," Lorenzo said softly, his thumb gently brushing across the back of her hand. "And when you were on the floor, surrounded by cowards who looked away, you looked up with fire in your eyes. I don't give my protection to just anyone, Clara. I give it to those who know how to fight."
The sedan swung through a set of massive wrought-iron gates flanked by high stone walls and armed guards. The tires crunched over smooth river gravel as they swept up a winding driveway lined with ancient cypress trees, coming to a stop before a magnificent, lit stone estate.
The door was opened instantly by Vincent.
Lorenzo stepped out first, then turned and offered his hand to Clara. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing her small, bruised hand in his, letting him pull her up out of the car.
As they walked up the grand stone steps toward the warm light pouring through the entrance, a sharp, loud report echoed from the woods at the perimeter of the property.
May you like
CRACK.
A high-caliber rifle round shattered the front passenger window of the sedan they had just vacated, spraying glass across the driveway.
