Snapping Point||Book 1

35.

Romano De Rossi

The redhead's sudden change in demeanor unsettled me as she turned away for me to help her with the zipper I'd undone. It wasn't a rejection, but I chose not to clarify that. My actions weren't intended to humiliate her, but rather to provide a safe retreat, even if not for me, then at least for her.

She didn't realize the kind of self-control that was required for me to have her completely defenseless here with me after her unspoken consent and still resist the temptation of pushing things too far.

Flinging her jacket over her shoulder, she handed me back my gun, and I returned it to my holster. "I should probably go," she said.

Yes, it was for the best. Another moment of looking at her like this might have led me to reconsider. The guilt wouldn't be mine to bear; it would be hers. She would return home to confront Ivan after reveling in the arms of his enemy, and if I had been studying her well, maintaining her composure was more than a challenge for her.

I inquired about her living situation, hoping for honesty this time, and she revealed that she resided with the IP gang. Their home consisted of men closely associated with her uncle, along with herself and her sister. She explained how after their relocation from the previous building, Ivan had opted for a smaller circle, separating his gang's high society from his inner circle. However, the distinction wasn't entirely clear, as there were still no fewer than fourteen men living with himself and his nieces.

That was a lot for comfort.

She might have assumed I was gathering more Intel on her uncle with there questions, unaware that it was her I was eager to learn about. I wanted to know who she associated with, who she was involved with intimately, who she considered family, and who comprised the majority of her social circle.

But simply asking outright was too unsophisticated. Why resort to sounding desperate for information when I could achieve the same result by sounding authoritative?

She was fully dressed now, no longer frantically searching in her drunken stupor for what wasn't lost. She appeared composed, her attention no longer on me but on her phone, as if she anticipated something.

I retrieved my phone to check the time—it was past eleven. "Who's coming to get you? Joanna?"

Xenia glanced around before eventually sighing. "Joanna doesn't know I left the house."

Then, as if fate itself was trying to make a point, her phone vibrated in her palm. The name that appeared only served to deepen my suspicions about coincidences. It was Joanna herself.

Xenia's hands began to shake. Once again, she was losing control of her composure at the mere sight of a call from her own twin. If it were Ivan calling, would she scream?

If we were going to continue these rendezvous without risking her getting caught, I needed to address that uncertainty. I had to teach her a thing or two about confidence and the art of lying through one's teeth.

"Answer it," I instructed as the phone continued to ring. "Avoiding people only makes them more insistent."

Xenia ran her hand through her hair, her agitation clear enough to but caught. "No, no, no. She must have noticed I'm not home. What do I tell her? Christ."

"You're not allowed to leave there?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She shot me a dark look, her words stumbling out. "I made that clear on our last visit. No, Romano. I'm not allowed to roam town without an escort."

Oh! A princess in a castle kind of life indeed. Initially, I had thought she was bluffing when she told me that, because who would lock up a twenty-five-year-old like a damsel in distress?