Blade

Chapter 47: Danger unfolds

Sienna

We’re on our way to one of Blade’s hotels for some event I can’t quite remember. During the ride, he stays silent, which isn’t unusual, but what catches my attention is the strange way his hands keep twitching every few seconds.

He grips his knees so tightly that his knuckles turn white, as if trying to keep the tremor under control.

I wouldn’t call it nerves. Blade doesn’t get nervous.

The idea of Blade, the Italian mafia boss, actually being anxious feels impossible. Yet the sight before me says otherwise, and it makes me wonder what could possibly rattle a man like him.

He draws in a strangled breath and loosens his tie slightly, as if the fabric is cutting off his air, making the moment even more unnerving.

I try to keep my gaze away from him, but it’s hard when he looks like he could explode at any second.

His hands start moving in restless search, skimming over the smooth black leather of the car seat until they find mine resting quietly on my thigh.

I watch him with growing concern as his fingers toy with mine, the harshness in his expression softening little by little, the storm in his eyes finally beginning to fade.

A shiver runs up my arm when he traces the tiny butterfly tattoo on my wrist. His touch is gentle and soothing, like basking under the setting sun while the waves crash softly against the shore and the warm breeze plays with my blonde hair.

The sensation is pure bliss.

My eyelids grow heavy as he continues his teasing caress. I rest my head against the window and let sleep take over. The last thing I feel before drifting off is Blade’s fingers weaving through mine.

When I wake, I’m met with a pair of stormy grey eyes watching me closely, his pink lips curved into an amused smirk.

"How long was I asleep?" I ask groggily, trying to sit up, but my head collides with Blade’s forehead. He curses under his breath and rubs the spot where we hit. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the car.

I swallow the sting of his silence and glance up at the massive structure towering above us. The name The Crimson Blade gleams in bold, majestic letters across the front, illuminated by soft golden lights that catch the evening haze.

Nico steps out of the limo, straightening his jacket before moving beside Blade. The two exchange a few low words I can’t make out. Blade gives a curt nod, and without another glance at me, Nico strides toward the entrance, already speaking into his phone as the doors glide open to swallow him inside.

"Don't speak to anyone unless I tell you to. Stay by my side at all times," Blade says in a gruff tone, his eyes sweeping over the crowded entrance.

I nod quickly and tighten my grip on his arm, following his lead.

The moment we step through the glass doors, I have to fight to keep my jaw from dropping. The lobby is breathtaking—sleek marble floors, golden light spilling from crystal chandeliers, and a faint scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

Behind the wide reception desk, a line of well-groomed attendants smiles politely as they cater to customers draped in designer clothes and jewels.

I can already tell the prices here are through the roof, but that shouldn’t surprise me. My dad owns hotel chains that cost twice as much. The man lives and breathes his empire, I swear.