Page 33

Fuck.
I didn't think about a change of clothes. Of course I didn't. We grabbed her from her wedding with nothing but what she was wearing and had in her bag. The safehouse isn't stocked with women's clothing—it's a functional space for operations, not a hotel.
On screen, her frustration is evident as she slams the closet door shut. She stands in the middle of the room, clutching the towel to her chest, her wet hair dripping down her back.
I rise from my chair, grabbing my phone and heading for the closet in my bedroom. All I find is a stack of my black T-shirts. They'll swallow her petite form, but they're better than nothing.
At her door, I knock twice, hard but not threatening.
"Melania," I call. "I have clothes."
There's silence, then her voice, closer to the door than I expected. "That would be helpful."
When she opens the door, she's still enveloped in the towel.
I thrust the T toward her, keeping my eyes locked on her face. "This will have to do for now."
Her fingers brush mine as she takes the shirt and I inhale hard to repress the spark of the contact.
"How did you know I was looking for clothes?" Her eyes narrow, that deeply distrustful look returning.
Might as well be direct. "Security cameras.”
Her face flushes pink and she clutches the fabric, almost wringing it out like a rag in her indignation. "You've been watching me?" Her voice rises. “In my private space?”
"Of course." I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms with an arrogance I regret. "What kind of kidnapper would I be otherwise?"
Her mouth clamps and I see her mind spinning, no doubt figuring out every revealing second captured on camera.
"The bathroom doesn't have cameras," I add, attempting to quash my smugness. "You have privacy there."
The relaxes slightly, relief washing over her face before she can mask it. She's not as good at hiding her emotions as she thinks.
I turn to leave, but her voice stops me.
"Thank you," she says stiffly. “For the dress.” She’s unfurled my T and is holding it up. The size against her does make it seem like a full length garment.
“More like a muu-muu,” I quip and finally a smile cracks those delicious-looking lips.
I can’t drag my eyes away from her standing there dripping on the hardwood floor, somehow looking both vulnerable and defiant. Suddenly I see beyond Antonio Lombardi's daughter, beyond the captive I'm supposed to be guarding. I just see her—Melania.
"Thirty minutes," I remind her, rougher than I meant.
She nods and closes the door.
I return to the control room, dropping into the chair with a heavy sigh. The security feed shows Melania's empty bedroom—she's in the bathroom. Good. I need a fucking minute to get my head straight.
I grab my phone and dial Damiano.
"Alessio," he answers on the second ring.
"We've made progress," I say. "She's cracked the first security layer on the USB. We can access the basic system now."
"And?"
"And now we start unlocking the files one by one. It's going to take time—military-grade encryption with multiple authentication layers."
Damiano curses under his breath. "How much time?"