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It was her.
Sophia. If I led them back to the brownstone, they’d have known where she was.
“Fine. Go,” Roman curses. “But at least have the guts to admit that it’s because you’re addicted to Sophia. Hell, I have a pregnant wife waiting at home for me, and I’m still playing it safe.”
“You’re playing it safe because you have a pregnant wife at home,” I remind him. All I’ve had for the past two days is that stupid video feed.
Fuck. I’ve been watching Sophia from afar for almost forty-eight hours straight. Completely obsessed. Dying to touch her again. To kiss her. To question her. To fuck her.
“Well, don’t come calling for backup if the Greeks find out where your keeping your princess,” Roman says, unconvincingly. He’d come in a heartbeat. Just as I would for him if he were under siege.
“She’s not a princess,” I correct him, slipping down onto a fire escape.
“Then, what is she?”
She’s mine.
“I haven’t figured that out yet…” I mumble, knowing the implication in my brother’s question. What is she… to you. “But you’ll be the first to know when I do.”
“Somehow, I doubt it.”
When my feet hit the alley floor, I immediately turn towards a rusty door, half-hidden behind an empty dumpster.
“I’m about to go underground,” I tell Roman. “Is there anything else you want to say?”
“Yeah, be careful.”
“You know I never am.”
The line goes dead as I step behind the heavy door and down into the darkness. This underground tunnel leads directly to the brownstone’s basement.
There’s no way anyone will be able to figure out where I’m going, whether I’m being followed or not. And it sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m being followed, which only makes this caution all the more frustrating.
I’ve had enough experience with these kinds of things that I should trust my gut—but, then again, I was way behind the curve when Roman and I were ambushed by those Greek fucks. He noticed those cars way before I did.
It was because you were distracted by thoughts of Sophia.
Fuck. It’s true. Even just talking about her seems to wrap me in a thick haze.
That’s why I’ve been trying my best not to think about her as I stalked my way through the city, away from the safe house where I was staying with Roman, and back to my little castle.
But it’s been nearly impossible to keep her off of my mind.
And it’s not just because of the way I’ve seen her waste away on camera over the past two days—the books hardly seem to be doing her any good—it’s also because of the way she’s played me.
I still haven’t been able to forget where Roman and I left our conversation before we spotted the Greeks.
If she doesn’t want to marry you, then why did she propose the marriage pact at all?
I need to figure that shit out, and fast. There are still so many secrets that she’s hiding from me.
And other than my need to fuck her, my need to uncover her may be the strongest thread pulling me back to the brownstone.
No more playing around. No more getting sidetracked. One way or another, I’m getting my answers.
Pushing in through my basement door, I’m greeted by the musky scent of the antiques I keep down here. At the forefront of them all is the aroma of the books that Sophia reluctantly left behind.
Already, they remind me of her.
