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I open all ten live feeds and find Bella in the gym. It’s equipped with state-of-the-art machines, free weights, and plenty of space for yoga. But of course, my Bella is enjoying the polished hardwood floors and full-length mirrors for dance.
I can tell she’s partial to the pair of ballet slippers she brought along with her—old, worn, and likely her version of a security blanket. Undoubtedly, they fit her like a glove, but they’re riddled with holes and so mangled I wouldn’t be surprised if Truffles regularly uses them as chew toys.
Satisfaction beams from my smile as I watch her dance in the vibrant red shoes I had delivered today. Kennedy took an extra-long glance at them when she and Riley were at the market the other day.
They weren’t an expensive pair by any means, but as she soars through the air, her form exquisite, her smile radiant, I know she likes them. And now, my Bella dances for me and only me.
In that ephemeral second, everything is perfect. She’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Hmm.
Ninety-seven minutes spirals through my head like a boomerang.
Unsettled, I switch back to the recording, and click to a random segment of the feed and...
Holy fuuuck.
“Is this what you want, Mr. D’Angelo?” the woman of my dreams purrs to the camera. Her luscious body is on full display like an eight course meal, and my cock instantly springs to attention.
I go to turn up the volume when a stampede of knocks barrages the door.
Fuck.
I pause the video and pry open the door. Two sets of eyes look up at me, eager and expectant.
“I still have eighteen seconds,” I say, flustered, pointing to my watch. As if eighteen seconds will do anything for the raging hard-on in my pants.
Lili shrugs. “We ran out of bandages.”
I glance over at Bruno, who looks like a house that’s been TP’ed.
My eyes narrow at them. “I still have time.”
“Not according to my watch,” Dante says, amused with a smug-ass grin.
I level him with a ruthless glare.
Heartless bastard.
Chapter Sixteen
KENNEDY
For the second time this morning, my cell rings.
I watch it vibrate angrily with Caller Unknown, and let it ring out.
Whatever it is, it can definitely wait.
From the moment I tore open the bright gold box Enzo had delivered, nothing else mattered.
Not the baked cornetto with its light, flaky crust seducing me with a buttery interior and luscious apricot jam filling. Nor the thinly sliced prosciutto whose rich, savory flavors perfectly complemented the tangy pecorino cheese.
Not even the velvety espresso, with its heavenly aroma, hint of hazelnut, and silky crema—my usual morning go-to against homicidal urges—could compete. This gift transcended even breakfast, which is saying a lot.
The second Truffles was done with his morning business, I was here, in the most lavish gym I’ve ever seen in my life.
