Chapter 10
And her brave, desperate dive into the churning foam—the moment she thought she was saving a dying soul—had ruined his perfect crime. She hadn't rescued a lover. She had hauled the only living witness to his slaughter out of the sea, pulling him onto her skiff while he was still holding the stolen fortune in his hands.
Every diamond. Every kiss. Every guard stationed at the doors.
It was never gratitude.
It was containment.
*He kept me alive because killing me right after the wreck would have proven to Donato that someone survived on that beach.*
A sudden, soft sound broke the silence of the room.
*Click.*
The heavy, soundproofed oak door of the study swung slowly inward, then shut with a muffled, mechanical latch.
Sienna’s entire body went rigid.
The hair on her arms stood straight up as the scent of cedarwood, cold sea mist, and vintage malt drifted into the dim study.
From the deep shadows near the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a figure stepped forward.
Tazio stood there in his dark suit, his tie loosened at his throat. In his right hand, he held a heavy crystal tumbler of scotch, swirling the amber liquid with a slow, circular motion that made the ice cubes clink softly against the glass.
His face was half-swallowed by the gloom, but his eyes—obsidian, freezing, and entirely devoid of light—were pinned directly to her face.
He didn't look angry. He didn't look surprised.
He looked at her with the terrifying, patient calm of a predator that had known the trap was sprung all along.
He took a slow sip of his drink, lowered the glass, and tilted his head.
"Did you find what you were diving for," he murmured, his voice a velvet rasp that echoed through the freezing room, "my brave little savior?"
