Chapter 6 - Beneath the Armor
Back inside the secure walls of the estate, the mansion buzzed with heightened security. Armed guards stood at ten-foot intervals along every corridor.
In Rico’s private study, Clara stood beside the desk with a first-aid kit. Rico sat in his leather chair, his shirt torn open, blood trickling down his bicep from the bullet graze. He had dismissed the house physician, unwilling to show weakness to his staff.
"Sit still, Mr. Moretti," Clara ordered gently, dabbing antiseptic on the torn flesh.
Rico hissed softly as the iodine bit into the wound, but his gaze never left Clara's face. "You didn't drop him. When the firing started, you covered his head with your body."
"I would never let anyone hurt him," Clara said, winding a white gauze roll tightly around his arm. "And neither would you."
Rico reached out, catching her wrist with his uninjured hand. His grip was firm, yet surprisingly careful. "Who were you running from, Clara? I had Dante run your background. 'Clara Vance' only exists for the past two years. Before that, you were a ghost."
Clara swallowed hard, looking directly into his dark, piercing eyes. "An abusive foster brother connected to loan sharks in Chicago. I left everything behind so I wouldn't end up dead in an alley."
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Rico stared at her, his jaw tightening with cold resolve. "Nobody touches what belongs in this house. The man from Chicago doesn't exist anymore. I'll make sure of it."
Their faces were inches apart. Clara could feel the intense heat of his breath against her cheek, the dangerous pull between them undeniable.
