Chapter One
Julia
“You’re a very beautiful woman, Julia,” the man murmurs, his dark, leering eyes making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. His deep gravelly voice shudders through me, chilling my insides. “But what captivated me the most was your hands — they are so powerful and controlling. They command whatever they touch, forcing it to submit.” He grabs one before I can even process his words and holds it to his lips. I feel my own twist into a grimace as he brushes the top of my hand with his mouth. “Ah. So soft. I knew they’d be soft.”
Fucking creeper.
How the hell did he even get past my security?
I force a smile and give my hand a swift tug to release it from his grip, but he’s damn strong and refuses to let it go. “Thank you very much. I’m glad you enjoyed the performance.”
“I enjoyed you,” he says, a wide Joker-like smile stretching across his face. “I am a big fan, and I’ve followed you for quite some time now.”
I recoil at the look of unmasked desire in his eyes. Jesus. To elicit this kind of response is a little odd, to say the least. I mean, I’m a violinist, not a freaking porn star. It’s not exactly the type of career that attracts stalkers.
My eyes dart left and right down the darkened corridor. I’d just finished my last performance here at Politeama Garibaldi, the performing arts center in Palermo, Sicily, before a brief hiatus. My security detail seems to have taken their leave a bit early, saddling me with this nutcake.
Papa has never been comfortable with my touring around the world and he always made sure I had plenty of protection at my shows, especially when he wasn’t going to be in attendance.
No chances taken. Ever.
He’d blow off the heads of my security team without a second thought if he knew they had let this crackerjack get close to me.
“Well, I need to be going now, but thank you again for coming,” I say in a loud voice, trying once again to rescue my hand.
The man’s dark eyes crinkle at the corners. “Don’t thank me yet. Save it for later…when it happens,” he hisses. My stomach roils as his tongue sweeps over my skin before dropping my hand.
“Let me go, you sick freak!” I yelp, stumbling backward in my haste to get away from this psychopath, the stench of scotch on his breath making my stomach churn. He doesn’t try to close the distance between us, though. He just watches me, his dark and sinister laugh reverberating between my ears.
“Miss Graziani! Your car is here.”
With a loud squeal, I run toward the guard whose friendly face just appeared around the corner. I don’t recognize him, but right about now, all I can think about is putting as much space as possible between me and that lunatic. I don’t have a clue where Pietro, my head of security, is right now, but when I see him, I’m firing his ass.
The guard flashes a pleasant smile and my teeth grit. “Where is Pietro?” I demand, clutching my violin case. My pulse throbs against my neck, goosebumps pebbling my skin. I point a shaky hand in the general direction behind me where I’d just been pinned against my dressing room door. “That man just accosted me, and I want him thrown out of here! And maybe you can tell me how the hell he got down here in the first place!”
The guard frowns, peeking his head around me. “Miss Graziani, there isn’t anyone back there. We’re alone.”
“What are you talking about? Are you blind? He’s right—” I swivel around, but the guard is right. There’s no sign of anyone in sight, and I know for a fact that there’s only one exit out of here. “Wait. He was right there! Where the hell could he have gone?” I tug at my hair, my eyes wild, combing the dim and desolate space.
“Don’t worry, Miss. Nobody will bother you again. I do apologize for Pietro’s absence. He asked me to look after you when he left, to make sure you got to your car safely.” The guard smiles again. “May I take that for you?” he asks, gesturing for my violin case.
I purse my lips, shaking my head. Fucking Pietro. He won’t have to worry about my father’s wrath when he finally shows up. I’ll skewer his ass myself!
I allow the guard to escort me out of the underbelly of the concert hall, but my eyes are peeled with each step I take. That sick fuck is out there somewhere, and if he makes another appearance, he’s going to take a high heel to the eye.
As the cool night air whips across my cheeks once we exit the secluded back entrance, away from the fanfare and tourists milling about, all I can think about is diving into the back of the Mercedes and closing my eyes for a few minutes.
Twenty, to be exact.
The amount it’ll take my driver to shuttle me over to Palermo Airport for my flight back to Rome. I let out a contented sigh as my eyes droop closed. In just a few hours, I’ll be wrapped in a plush comforter at my apartment in Parione, a young, hip neighborhood in Rome. I’m counting the minutes. Even though I adore my place, I don’t get to enjoy it nearly as much as I’d like. My touring and appearance schedule is hectic enough where I end up spending most of my time living out of my well-worn set of Louis Vuitton luggage.
But tonight marks the end of a very busy year for me, and I’ll finally be able to enjoy a long-awaited break in my favorite city.
If only I can erase the image of that crazy bastard from my mind.
I tug my coat tight around me and shoot off a text to Pietro to call me immediately.
What would have happened if that guard hadn’t shown up when he did? I shiver against the luxe leather seat. Papa has told me time and time again that self-defense training isn’t a choice, but a necessity with our lifestyle, but I always brushed off his warnings.
It’s one of the reasons why he pays top dollar for my security team, a team that pretty much left me in the lurch a few minutes ago.
My mouth twists, the memory of the man’s slimy tongue on my skin making my throat tighten.
Blech!
Maybe it’s time I do learn a few moves. I can probably gouge out an eye with one of my violin bows, but it’s not like I keep a spare in my back pocket for emergencies.
I let out a frustrated sigh. Every time I let my eyes float closed, I see his lecherous grin and that tattoo creeping down the side of his neck into his starched, white shirt collar. I rub my temples in an attempt to erase his image, but it doesn’t help. He’s still there in my mind, front and center.
I debate whether or not I should tell Papa when I see him tomorrow. He’d bulldoze Sicily to find the guy, but I don’t want him to worry, especially now when we should be celebrating the success of our charity foundation. The Music For All Foundation, co-chaired by me and Papa, has reached five-million euros in donations and grants aimed at improving access to music education for young people in Italy. I just got word that we hit the milestone, and I couldn’t be prouder to be part of such a worthwhile organization. It’s always been my dream to bring music to children who have a talent and an ear for it, and because of the network I’ve built over the past years as a violinist, my dream has finally become a reality for so many.
So, no. I’m not going to bring up the creeper.
I am forcing him from my mind forever!
When we pull up to Departures, the driver gets out and opens my door. He offers to take my violin case, but I shake my head. Nobody touches that case other than me. It’s my lifeblood, and I am fiercely protective of it. I’d rather hand over an eye or a foot than my instrument.