Snapping Point||Book 1

64.

Xenia Butler

I should have known from the knock. It wasn't usual. Romano would never be caught rapping his knuckles against the wood like that; a ticking bomb ready to go off. His would always be a patient and gentle tap. Something that'd indicate he didn't want me sprinting to open up for him.

The first rat-tat-tat wanted my attention real quick. The second told me the knocker wasn't going to give up until I opened. The third...well, that pretty much felt like it'd have brought down the door.

A smart move would have been to call room service to get the intruder away. A much smarter move would have been to phone the police, or Romano himself. But Xenia was Xenia. She'd always result to the worst case scenario, without much thought, to be honest.

It had led me to opening the door for him. Couldn't even decide if he was a friend or foe. The aura around him today was different; outlandish, to say the least.

I'd been in the process of finishing a scene for my book that still had about four potential titles. Sprawled across the room in a half-laying and half-sitting position, I'd put my thoughts and ink to work. This was the only scene that was a figment of my imagination in this piece. I'd been working on it for hours because in a way, predicting my character's actions was nearly impossible. He was erratic and calm and objective and biased.

When Romano was getting this notepad for me, I doubted he knew what I planned on scribbling in it. He didn't know how much passion I'd been putting into this work. Or that I was a writer at all. I'd never told him; fear of him reading—if he even cared to—what I'd been through, and what went on in my head about him.

Now that I'd been forced to drop my pen and let him in, I felt invaded, naked, exposed. I felt lied to.

The contours of his face screamed danger. The weapon aimed at me had my heart pounding and begging for mercy. Freedom if possible.

Where was Romano?

And why had Ottavio come in place of him?

Unless Romano did tell him where I was.

Unless Romano was in trouble and needed Ottavio saving the say.

Unless Romano wanted nothing to do with me anymore.

Those potential scenarios bothered me as Ottavio marched in with full force to the wardrobe. I did not believe he was being mindful when he went through my belongings.

The first thing he touched, he threw at me.

"Get dressed. We're going for a ride."

"Ride?" I frowned. Ride. Since when did he start to take me on rides? I was shaking with terror and doubt. My weak knees made me appear less confident. "I don't know—"

"You don't have to know anything... We're leaving in five minutes."

Wow.

I gaped at the dress he'd picked, at him, and at the weapon in his grasp. "Can I at least look for something else to wear." This wasn't a dress for rides, or going anywhere another set of eyes would fall on me.

Ottavio served me a nasty glance. "I'm not Romano. I don't care what you look like." The barrel of his gun pointing at the dress laid out on the bed, he took his eyes off my lingerie and looked at the dress he wanted me to wear. "Get it on. Now."

Backing down wasn't going to save me. Taking on him was a no-no. I slowly moved to where the dress was and picked it up. "Am I in trouble?" I was trembling bad. "Because last I checked, Ottavio doesn't take people on a ride for fun."