“That’s Niccolo, Ella.”

“This looks nothing like the photo you showed me before.”

“Yes. It does. Are you telling me he’s familiar now, and he wasn’t then?”

“Let me see the other shot.”

He grabs his phone and hits a few buttons before bringing up the image he showed me when we were at Matteo’s house. I set the phone down next to the picture in the notebook. “They don’t look like the same man.” I tap the image on his phone. “This man has shorter, darker hair than the one in the photo.”

“They’re both Niccolo, so let’s be clear. You know Niccolo.”

“Yes,” I whisper, my chest tightening. “I know him. I might have tried to kill him.” I stand and Kayden stands with me. “I have to go. I have to leave the castle. You can’t have me here. I’ll get you all killed.”

His hands come down on my shoulders. “Deep breath, sweetheart. We already knew he was looking for you. Our plan is still good, but I need to know if it’s Niccolo who you keep having flashbacks about.”

“I don’t know, Kayden. The man in my flashbacks is still without an identity.”

“Everything is still as it should be.”

“A mobster is after me, so no. Nothing is as it should be. How do I even get out of this?”

“You don’t.” His hands frame my face. “I’ll get you out of this. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“I do, but—”

He kisses me, hard and fast. “I’ve got this, and you. Now, let’s put him behind us. I don’t remember the last time I shut everything out and just relaxed. Do that with me now.”

“You can’t shut everything out with Enzo missing.”

“I have people looking for him and they know how to reach me. Let’s take a time-out, Ella.” He links the fingers of both our hands together. “Let’s go into the bedroom, get naked, have lots of sex, and I’ll talk you into a Marvel movie binge. Iron Man. The Avengers. Thor.” He starts walking backward, leading me around the table.

“Superheroes?” I ask, a bit of my tension easing.

“What’s wrong with superheroes?”

“Nothing,” I say, deciding to embrace being “lucky” with Kayden while I still can. “Nothing at all.”

“Good. Then The Avengers it is.” He scoops me up and starts walking to the bedroom, once again carrying me, and I know it’s his way of carrying me beyond this place and time.

But he’s not a superhero. He can die, and I won’t let that happen. Not because of me.

twenty

I blink awake Thursday morning to find Kayden lying next to me, staring at the ceiling. The room is warm and cozy with the fireplace lit and his leg is aligned with mine. I roll to him, curling to his side, settling my hand over his heart. “Penny for your thoughts.”

He strokes a lock of hair from my eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too. These past two days . . .”

His lips quirk. “I made you love Iron Man, right?”

More like he made me start falling in love with him, but I don’t dare say that. “You made me love Thor.”

“You just like him because he has a big hammer.”

I poke his chest. “That was a horrible joke.”

“We guys love our horrible jokes.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m going to take a quick shower and check for any update on Enzo.” He grabs his watch from the nightstand and glances at it. “Holy hell, it’s already ten o’clock. We need to leave here by eleven-thirty to make our appointment, and I have to make a few calls in advance.”

It’s our appointment at the consulate, where Niccolo will likely be looking for me. Our relaxed days of naked talks, laughter, orgasms, and TV have officially ended. “I’m nervous.”

He kisses my temple. “Don’t be. I have a plan.”

I smile, but it’s not as heartfelt as the many smiles we’ve shared these past two days. “You always have a plan.”

“You’re learning.”

“Good teacher.”

“Your lessons haven’t even begun,” he assures me, no doubt referencing his vow to put “dirty” in a box and keep it there while I fully heal. “How’s your head this morning?”

“Good. Really good, actually. And I’m almost done with my medicine.”

“Then let’s do some shopping today. You need a real wardrobe, not the few things you found to fit in the collection everyone else picked out.” He slides his hand over my naked waist and hip and gives me a wickedly hot look. “Though I prefer you without clothes. And on that note, I had better go before I forget why we need to leave.”

He throws off the blankets and stands, and I raise up on my elbows to watch every moment of that gorgeous, tight ass of his as it leaves the room. I sigh, hating the end of two days of bliss, and the reality that means I have to think about the implications of knowing Niccolo that I’ve managed to suppress. The truth is, I’ve barely thought about the ruthless mobster during our little interlude, nor have I had a flashback, a true testament to just how all-consuming Kayden can be. Or . . . maybe it’s my mind going into overdrive to block out what I know I’m close to revealing. I don’t like that idea one little bit.

The shower echoes from the other room and I down a pain pill with the water I have by the bed. I consider joining Kayden, but decide I’ll only delay his calls. Decision made to give him space, I grab my journal from the bedside, determined to force my memories to ignite again. I start scribbling the butterfly again and make a concerted effort to actually create a drawing of the necklace. I shut my eyes and force my mind back to that hotel room, to the moment after I’d torn the pendant from my neck, and when I’d gone to my knees and picked it up. In my mind’s eye, I can see that note hanging from the edge of the center stone, as if hidden there, but the handwriting is not in English. I open my eyes with this realization. Considering my preference for English, this seems to indicate that the piece of paper wasn’t a love note. Rather than drawing the butterfly, I start writing down details:

—Sapphire stones cover raised wings

—The center is a ruby that is quite large. That’s where the note was

—White gold setting

—Large. About two inches wide

Grimacing, I tap the pencil on the paper. Does this even matter? The note must be what matters and I’ll never figure it out. I set the journal aside and lie down, shutting my eyes and trying to picture that piece of paper, hoping I can make out something that makes a little sense. Instead, I’m transported back to a familiar house. My house when I was a teenager. I inhale, and the scent of chocolate chip cookies is so real I can almost taste them.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask, entering the small, square kitchen to find my mother in an apron, scooping the just-out-of-the-oven cookies off the hot tray and onto a plate.

“You know how your father loves sweets.” She glances at her watch. “He should be back from the shooting range in the next fifteen minutes.” Her hands plant on her slender hips, her red hair falling in waves around her face. “I noticed you dodged going along with him.”

“Dance rehearsal.” I sink into a chair at the simple round wooden table. “And you know how intense he is right after he returns from a mission.”

She sits down with me and brings the plate of cookies. “His life is in danger constantly. He sees horrible things. It’s hard to come down from that.”

“What horrible things, Mom?”

“You know this unit he’s in is top secret and elite. He can’t tell us what he does or where, but he has nightmares, honey. I think he pushes you because he’s always afraid he won’t come back and there will be no one to take care of you. He wants to be sure you can take care of yourself.”

“And you. He always tells me to take care of you.”