Chapter 6 6.

6. Back in the Devil’s Den

Elena Moretti.

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The path from where Leo's car was parked to the front door felt very long at midnight. The estate was quiet. Just the sound of crickets and her own footsteps on the stone. The lights in the upper floors were mostly dark.

Except one.

The ground floor east wing. Warm light spilling through a partially open door.

Elena kept walking toward the main entrance.

She was four steps from the front door when it flunged opened.

She stopped.

Salvatore Romano filled the doorway.

He was in training shorts. No shirt. His chest rising and falling with the kind of breathing that came after serious exertion. A white towel hanging around his neck, one end gripped in his right hand. His hair was slightly damp. And in the low light from the entrance hall behind him she could see the sheen of sweat across his shoulders, his chest, tracing the lines of his abdomen down to—

“Elenaa!!—”

His eyes found her immediately but he didn't say anything.

That was worse than if he'd shouted.

He just stood there in the doorway looking at her with an expression that was so completely still it made her skin prickle. Like the surface of water right before something large moved underneath it.

Elena lifted her chin.

"I—I….I went for a walk," she stammered.

“Why did you say that? That was genuinely the most stupid thing you have ever said in your life.”

Salvatore stepped outside.

He came down the two front steps slowly. Crossed the distance between them with that same unhurried certainty he carried everywhere, like the ground had no choice but to hold steady under him.

He stopped in front of her.

Too close.

Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Could smell the salt and exertion on him mixed underneath with that cedar and smoke that her stupid brain had apparently already catalogued and filed somewhere it had no business filing anything.

She took a small step back.

Her back met the stone pillar at the edge of the entrance.

Salvatore's hand came up and pressed flat against the pillar just beside her head. Not touching her. Just there…cutting off the idea of moving left.

Elena's heart was doing something embarrassing.

“He's angry. He is clearly angry. This is not the time for your nervous system to completely malfunction.”

She looked at his chest which was obviously filled with sweat which trickled down every second. “No.” Then at his face.

That was somehow worse.

His jaw was tight. His eyes hadn't moved from hers since he walked out that door. Up close like this in the dark she could see a small scar at the corner of his left eyebrow she hadn't noticed before. She could see the exact moment his expression shifted from still to something with an edge on it.

"A walk," he repeated.

His voice was very quiet.

"The fresh air is important for—"

“I hate lies, Little Hellion.” Salvatore growled, his voice a dark caress that sent chills down Elena's spine, “They make me want to do terrible things to people who tell them.”

She pressed her lips together.

A bead of sweat tracked down his collarbone. Down the center of his chest. Elena's eyes did not follow it.

They absolutely did not.

"I trusted the house to hold you," Salvatore said. "That was my mistake. I won't make it again."

"You can't just keep me here against—"

"I am keeping you here." He leaned in slightly. Just slightly. Just enough. "That's not a negotiation Elena.”

She could feel the warmth of him. The pillar was cold against her back and he was like a wall of heat in front of her and her brain was making up two stupid ideas simultaneously and she hated both of them.

“Firstly, This man is dangerous. This man killed someone. This man has the blood of an innocent nineteen-year-old on his hand and his hand is on the pillar next to your head and there are no police coming and no Leo coming and no one coming and you should be terrified.”

“But, he has a really good—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

"So what happens now," Elena said. Her voice came out steadier than she deserved credit for.

Salvatore looked at her for a long moment.

"Now," he said, "You don't leave that room for the next three days."

"You can't—"

"Rosa will bring your meals. You'll have books. You'll have a window." His eyes didn't move from hers. "Consider it an opportunity to think about what will happen the next time this repeats itself and also what comes next."

"And what comes next?"

He straightened. Stepped back. Gave her air again.

She almost wished he hadn't.

“You did not just think that.”

"That depends entirely on you," Salvatore said.

He turned and walked back toward the door. Pulled it open. Waited.

“What are you waiting for?”

Elena looked at the gate behind her. At the dark road beyond it and at the city lights in the far distance that might as well have been another country.

Then she walked inside.

Salvatore closed the door behind them both.

The lock turned with a clack.

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