“Katalina.” He tsked and walked toward me. “I just saved your life. Keep a low profile for me, huh? Just for a few days, maybe a week.”
One thing I’d learned in all my years of being on my own was that I was forgettable and useless if I wasn’t kept in the loop. If you were useless, you were dispensable, and that was never a good thing to be in the family. Rome needed to share what he knew.
Fuck him and his waiting. I made a beeline for the kitchen. It was just ten steps away.
One step, and Rome’s eyes widened.
Two steps, and I figured I’d grab the closest knife in the block.
On the third step, Rome lunged and his hands shot out. He still wore all black and moved like a damn ninja.
I reached forward on the fourth step, sure I could outstretch and outmaneuver him.
He swung one big arm around my waist and hauled me up. “Why do you always want to fight me?”
I thrashed around like a maniac in a ball gown.
And wasn’t I? I was fighting for freedom from my lover. If that didn’t sound twisted enough, he’d bound my arms and was dragging me back to his room like I was his captive.
“You’re not keeping me here,” I said firmly when I lost the energy to wail into the air.
He hoisted me up onto his shoulder like a caveman taking his food back home. “It’s happening, Katie, with your consent or without it. It’ll be more comfortable with it, though.”
We finally made it to the end of the hall, and Rome pushed open his bedroom door. For some reason, I expected there to be chains, weapons, knives, and all-black everything. I’d never ventured into the place he slept in all the years we’d known each other.
The shaded grays and black-and-white decor humanized him and made me wonder if he wanted the normality that some his age had. Did he decorate this space to escape the life of the family?
“Put me down,” I mumbled as I looked around over his shoulder. He must have heard that my interest had shifted because he let me slide down his body and stepped back so I could take in the space.
“You decorate this place?” I asked, pointing to a picture of a woman and a man at a table, him lighting her cigarette.
“So what if I did?” he shot back, his voice gruff.
“I like it. Sort of Italian romance meets the ’50s meets modern design. I wouldn’t have expected that.” I shrugged and ran my hand across the photograph that hung over his dresser. “You know them?”
“Nah. Just a photo I used to love,” he murmured, staring at it. He shook his head, and a lock of his dark hair fell over his brow. He spun away and ground out, “It’s not important. Forget about the pictures. You stay here if you’re going to cooperate.”
“And if I decide I’m not going to cooperate?” I lifted an eyebrow and sat down on the bed that sported a faux fur comforter. It warmed me immediately. I wondered how many times he’d actually slept in it, how many times he’d had someone else sleep in it too. Jealousy came swiftly. “I don’t necessarily want to sleep where you’ve slept with others.”
One side of his mouth kicked up, and a dimple I rarely saw dented his cheek. He pulled the keys from his pocket and inserted one into a barely visible slot between the wall and a photo. “If you’d like”—the wall popped forward, presenting us with a secret entryway—“you can sleep in there.”
Curiosity killed the cat, but I figured I had one or two lives to spare. I gravitated toward the hidden door. As I curled my fingers around it, I looked up at him. “You’re not going to kill me in here, are you?”
“I should, but I’m a masochist for the pain you’re undoubtedly going to inflict on me in the future.”
“Is it sad for me to admit I’m the same way with you?” I whispered.
Rome’s finger dragged across my collarbone. “We’re speeding toward a train wreck, you know? And I can’t seem to stop. I want this with you. I’m fighting for this with you. It won’t end well, though.”
“Why?”
“I’ll always put the family first, and I’ve been bred to trust no one.”
My chest tightened. “You don’t talk about your upbringing.”
“Not much to say.”
“Bastian said your father—”