Her face drops and she shoves the strawberry hard where my lips meet until I’m forced to open. I take a quick bite and slam my lips shut again so she doesn’t choke me with it. “Don’t ever speak about my brother again. He was more man than you could ever hope to become, Ezra.”
Movement off to the left steals our attention. A man clears his throat. “I’ve completed Mrs. Mikhailov’s health screening and ultrasound.”
Mrs. Mikhailov. Jesus.
Renata takes a step back, walking around Luca to approach the man on the opposite side of the kitchen island. He’s an older gentleman. His jet-black hair has touches of gray, hinting at his age, and his presence doesn’t immediately put me off, which seems unusual here in the Vittori home.
Then, there’s that punch to the gut awareness as Anya slowly moves into the room, looking lost yet hopeful at the same time. I stare her down until she registers that I’m there and her eyes meet mine. Her eyebrows bend to frame her beautiful blue eyes before she grants me a small, secret smile.
My heart leaps out of control. I forget how to breathe when she puts her hand on her stomach and looks at me with love in her eyes. For a moment, I forget where I am, who I am, why I’m here. For a moment, it’s just me looking at my girl, dreaming about a future we might never get to have.
Renata starts to say something to the man in Italian, but he lifts a hand.
“Please, Signora Vittori. I’ve told you before. I’m very happy to care for your family and…the others, but we must speak in the language the patient understands.”
Her nostrils flare and her chest rises as she takes in a sharp breath, but then she concedes, which is shocking. This man must have a long-standing relationship with the family to be able to speak so boldly.
Renata forces herself to calmness, then she switches to English. “Anything notable I need to be aware of?”
“The baby is measuring around twelve weeks, five days, so she’s just about into her second trimester. A miracle if you ask me. She’s malnourished and weak. Frankly, I’m shocked the baby’s heartbeat is as strong as it is. I’m going to recommend a nutritionist—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Renata says. “I’ll ensure she receives a healthy diet moving forward. Her life circumstances have recently changed. When can a DNA test be performed?”
“A DNA test?”
“To determine paternity. The board would like this done as soon as possible.”
“Oh, well, it’s possible to do now with blood samples from both parents.”
“Both of the potential fathers are recently deceased.”
The doctor’s eyebrows slant in toward his nose in consideration. “If you have access to the deceased remains, I think it can still be done. I may need to consult with a geneticist. I know of one who can be discreet in this matter.”
“Fine,” Renata replies. “Lorenzo can put you in contact with Murphy O’Shea before you leave. Murphy has graciously made the arrangements to handle both of the deceased in our time of grief.”
My eyes practically roll out of my head.
He nods. “Good. I’ll go speak with Lorenzo. And please ensure Anya gets the rest she needs. Her body is overtaxed and it’s not good for her or the baby.”
Renata dismisses the doctor and turns, glancing from me to Anya to Luca on the floor. “Luca, serve Anya breakfast. Eggs, toast, and fruit. Make sure she eats it all and clean up after her when she’s done. Ezra, come with me.”
She brushes past Anya with a conflicted look of disdain and moves toward the open archway that leads back to the foyer. Luca rises from the floor, moving about the kitchen as if everything happening here is perfectly normal.
I look at Anya. She tilts her head toward Renata’s retreating form, mouthing the word, “Go,” with pleading eyes.
How can she be so strong after everything she’s been through?
How can she be strong enough to still be ordering me around and making sure I don’t make things worse?
I’ve said it before and it’s still true now—she’s a goddamn beautiful powerhouse.
I walk toward her. She’s standing in the path I need to take to follow Renata, and she stays intentionally, knowing I’ll have to pass by her on my way through. Our eyes are locked as I come closer.
I choose to walk between her and the island, even though the space is narrow. I should walk around her on the other side, but I can’t help myself. I squeeze into the narrow space, brushing against her body as I move past. I catch her palm in my hand for the briefest moment, just for a quick squeeze of reassurance.
Fuck, that was a bad idea.
The small touch is a lightning strike, a shockwave of connection that sears through my skin and burns through my soul. She gasps and I know she feels it, too.
I’m forced to let go as I stride past, Renata looking back impatiently from the bottom step of the staircase in the foyer. But I dare to steal one last glance over my shoulder at my glowing girl. She covers her smile with a cold expression, but her eyes hide nothing from me.
I’m the man she melts for.
I’m the man who knows what lies beneath the surface.
I’m the man she loves.
Chapter 11
Ezra
Renata’s bedroom is like a luxury hotel suite. It’s smaller than I expected it would be, but certainly not lacking in extravagance. The room is all shades of gold, ivory, and cream, and I wonder how the fuck she keeps it all so clean looking.
Probably slaves.
Maybe me.
She gestures toward an armchair in the far corner of the room, angled toward the end of her sleek, modern-looking bed. “Sit.”
I cautiously cross the space, turning and walking backward because I don’t trust her behind me. She moves to her cream-colored dresser beside the door, and I watch her carefully as she pulls something out of the top drawer. I fight the warning tension in my muscles and slowly sit on the chair. I’ve learned the importance of obedience in this life, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop having the immediate urge for defiance. I’m wary while waiting to find out which particular brand of demon spawn Renata will prove to be.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a second slave,” she says, working on something in front of her, though her back is turned to me and I can’t see what. “Luca has been with me for four years, since he turned twenty-one.” Her head turns to look at me and her dark brown eyes catch mine. “He wasn’t taken, you know. He’s a willing slave.”
I scoff, “Yeah, right.”