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)
"Of course," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Where do we start?"
"Security protocols. The house system, emergency procedures, communication channels." He gestures toward the hallway. "In my office?"
I follow him through the house to a room I hadn't explored yesterday. Unlike the rest of the property, with its airy, open design, the office is contained, almost fortified. The windows are narrower, the furnishings more utilitarian. A large desk dominates one side, multiple monitors glowing with data.
Gabriele spends the next hour walking me through the security systems—panic buttons hidden throughout the house, emergency exits, safe rooms I hadn't even known existed. He shows me how to access the secured communication system, how to recognize signs of surveillance or intrusion, how to use the basic security features of the various devices now at my disposal.
It's overwhelming, this crash course in paranoia. By the time we finish, my head is spinning with codes and protocols and contingency plans.
"This is a lot," I admit, sinking into a chair across from his desk.
"It's necessary." His voice is gentle despite the unyielding words. "Your life may depend on remembering these details."
"I know." I rub my temples, trying to organize the flood of information. "It's just... yesterday I was making wax seals in my little shop. Today I'm memorizing panic room access codes and emergency extraction protocols."
"It's an adjustment." He leans against the desk, arms crossed. "But you're handling it well."
I look up at him, struck again by how impossibly handsome he is—all chiseled angles and controlled power. A man designed by nature to inspire both fear and attraction.
"Am I?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. "Handling it well?"
Something shifts in his expression, a softening I'm starting to recognize. "Better than most would in your position."
"I don't feel like I have much choice."
"We always have choices, Kleah." His voice is surprisingly gentle. "They're just not always good ones."
I nod slowly, understanding what he means. My choices now are limited, constrained by danger and necessity, but they still exist. I chose to marry him rather than face the threat alone. I choose, each moment, how to respond to this new reality.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
"For what?"
"For making this feel like a partnership, not a capture."
He studies me for a long moment, something unreadable in those dark, dark eyes of his. "It is a partnership. Unequal in some ways, perhaps, but a partnership nonetheless."
The sincerity in his voice touches something in me, a tender spot I didn't know was there. This dangerous man, this former criminal, treats my agency with more respect than some supposedly "good" men I've known.
"What about you?" I ask suddenly. "What do you get out of this arrangement, beyond repaying your debt to my brother?"
"Security," he answers without hesitation. "Stability in territories where Viktor's absence has created uncertainty. Your blood carries weight, whether you want it to or not."
"So I'm a political asset."
"Among other things."
"What other things?"
His gaze holds mine, steady and unreadable. "Time will tell."
Before I can press further, his phone buzzes. He glances at it, his expression shifting immediately to something harder, more focused.
"We have confirmed surveillance on the property," he says, his voice all business now. "Nothing immediate, but we should accelerate your training."
Just like that, the moment is gone, replaced by the harsh reality of our situation. I straighten, pushing aside the strange intimacy of our earlier conversation.
"What do I need to do?"
"Self-defense basics, for now. Physical training, then weapons."
I must look as alarmed as I feel, because he adds, "Precautionary only. If all goes well, you'll never need to use any of it."
But he can't guarantee that, and we both know it.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of activity. Gabriele becomes an exacting teacher, putting me through basic self-defense moves in a gym I hadn't even realized the house contained. He's careful with me, always explaining before touching, always demonstrating before asking me to try. But he's also relentless, making me repeat movements until they begin to feel natural.
By evening, every muscle in my body aches. I've never been particularly athletic—my craft requires dexterity and patience, not physical power—and the training has pushed me well beyond my usual limits.
"You did well," Gabriele says as we finish, handing me a bottle of water. "Better than I expected."
"You mean for someone who spends most of her time hunched over a workbench?"
"You need not be too harsh on yourself."
Who knew former mob bosses could also be this nice?
I take a huge gulp of water and wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "Will it be enough? If something happens?"
"It's a start." He's careful not to lie to me, not to offer false reassurances. "Combined with the security measures in place, it improves your odds significantly."
"But not to one hundred percent."
"Nothing is ever one hundred percent." His eyes meet mine, serious now. "But I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. That is absolute."