Page 33 of The Voicemail

He shakes his head. “You aren’t a punchline, Elena. Keeping you safe is very important to me.”

“But why?” I huff. “You don’t know me either. Why would you care so much what happens to me?”

He has no answer to that.

“Right,” I say, standing up. “Well, I’m going to bed.”

I start to walk away, but he grabs me by my wrist.

I turn on him, annoyed now. “Let me go, Alex,” I say forcefully.

He immediately drops my wrist.

“I care about your safety,” he says tightly. “Is that not enough for you?”

“No,” I say through clenched teeth. “It isn’t enough, Alex. You have no reason to care about me. I’m no one to you.”

“You weren’t,” he admits. “But now…”

He’s so close now. Close enough that I can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the bruise almost gone, the tension sitting in his shoulders like he’s holding himself in place by force.

He runs his knuckles across my jaw, barely there, like he’s testing whether I’ll pull away. I should, but I don’t.

“Now you’re important to me,” he finishes.

I rise on my toes and kiss him. For a second, he doesn’t move. His control holds so tight I can feel the restraint in the stillness of his mouth on mine. Then it breaks.

He cradles my face in both hands and kisses me like he’s been holding back for days. His mouth is hot and firm, and when he angles my head, I let him because I want more of it. More of him. More of this one insane moment where I don’t feel afraid or helpless or handled. I feel wanted.

My hands fist in the front of his shirt, and he makes a low sound against my mouth that goes straight through me. He walks me back until my shoulders hit a wall, but he doesn’t pin me there. Not really. There’s enough space to leave if I wanted to.

I don’t.

His mouth moves from mine to my jaw, then to the side of my neck. I gasp before I can stop myself, and his hands tighten for one second, just one, before he eases them again.

“Alex,” I whisper.

He pulls back enough to look at me.

The living room is dim, but I can still see the change in his face. The polished version of him is gone. I’m seeing the real him, finally. He rests his forehead against mine for one breath.

“We should stop,” he says.

I hate that he’s right. His thumb brushes once along my cheek, and the tenderness of it catches me more off guard than the kiss did. Then he steps back.

The air between us feels cold immediately. I smooth a hand over my cardigan like that will help anything.

He looks like he wants to say something. Maybe explain. Maybe warn me. Maybe ruin the moment by being exactly who he is.

Instead, he says, “Goodnight, Elena.”

I nod and walk back to my room with my lips still tingling and my whole body alive in a way it hasn’t been since before this nightmare started.

10

ALEX

Bianchi is already seated when I arrive at the restaurant we agreed on. Charcoal suit, glass of red wine in front of him, gold ring on his right hand. He smiles up at me when I walk in like we’re old friends. Nothing could be further from the truth.