Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow we discuss more permanent arrangements."
She falls silent, staring out at the passing landscape. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across her face, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheek, the stubborn set of her jaw.
"Do you want to know what I got to research about you online?"
What was it with these out-of-the-blue questions of hers? Where the heck were they coming from?
"The articles never confirm it's true. But they say there are whispers of you being made to join the family business when you were just fourteen."
"And?"
"And you need to stop blaming yourself for all the things you've done since then. Because what happened to you wasn't right. You were powerless to stop it when you were young. But you chose to get out of that world when you were old enough."
"No." If we're going to talk about the past, we might as well keep it real. "It's not when I was old enough."
She looks at me uncertainly. "Then—-"
"I got out when I was strong and powerful enough for my own father to fear me."
Her face pales, and a humorless smile twists over my lips. Now you know, cara. Still think I'm good?
Her silence is deafening as we continue north along winding roads that parallel the sea. The landscape changes from coastal town to rugged cliffs to forested hills. The safe house is tucked away on a private peninsula, accessible only by a single winding road that's easily monitored and defended.
As we approach, I watch her reaction from the corner of my eye. The property comes into view suddenly—a modern structure of glass and stone perched at the edge of a cliff, ocean spreading endlessly beyond it.
Her breath catches audibly. "This is yours?"
"One of several properties." I park and come around to open her door—a courtesy that seems to surprise her. "It's as secure as anywhere can be."
I lead her inside, watching her reaction as she takes in the soaring ceilings, the minimalist but expensive furnishings, the wall of windows overlooking the ocean below. The view is the property's crown jewel—180 degrees of untamed coastline, wild and beautiful and deadly.
She moves to the windows, silhouetted against the sunset-painted water. For a moment, I simply watch her—this woman thrust into my world through no choice of her own, standing with remarkable composure despite everything.
"It's beautiful," she whispers, her palm resting against the glass.
"It serves its purpose." I move beside her, careful to maintain appropriate distance. "The entire property is secured—perimeter alarms, motion sensors, bulletproof glass. You're safe here."
She turns toward me, the dying light catching in her hair, turning the brown strands to copper and gold. "Thank you."
The simple gratitude catches me off guard. "Don't thank me. I'm only fulfilling my obligation."
She accepts this with a small nod, turning back to the view. "What happens now?"
"Now you rest. Tomorrow we'll discuss our next steps."
"Our next steps," she repeats, a question in her voice.
"Your life has changed, Kleah. Permanently. How we navigate that change is something we need to decide together."
She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly looking very young and very alone against the vastness of the ocean behind her. "I'm scared," she admits, the words barely audible.
The confession—simple, honest, without expectation of comfort—moves something in me.
"Fear is only a weakness if you deny its existence. It can only be eliminated when you confront them head on."
I only realize I'm touching her cheek when she looks up at me, startled, and I bite back an expletive as I swiftly yank my hand away.
"Gabriele—-"
I cut her off, saying in a harsh tone, "Get some rest. The east wing is yours. There are clothes in the closet that should fit. The kitchen is fully stocked if you're hungry."
I can feel her staring at me, but I ignore this as I lead her to her suite—a spacious bedroom with attached sitting room and bath, all overlooking the ocean. She pauses at the threshold, turning back to me.
"I'll be in the west wing. If you need anything, there's an intercom system in each room."
"Thank you." She says it again, despite my earlier deflection. "Not just for the protection. For the honesty. And for making it clear w-what this is...and isn't."
She slips inside before I can respond, closing the door softly between us.
I remain in the hallway longer than necessary, staring at the closed door, and turning her words over in my mind...because I'm no longer sure if everything she says is still true.
I've made it clear to her that all of this is because of my blood debt. But that doesn't explain the way my chest tightens every time I look at her.
I force myself to turn away, to focus on security checks and preparation for tomorrow's difficult conversation. There are plans to make, contingencies to organize, a future to arrange for a woman who never asked to be part of my world.