Page 27

Dante’s shirt hiked up, revealing a strip of skin and scabbards on either side of his waist. Even with his cheek pressed into the wall, he managed to look bored and irritated. Papatonis might have the upper hand, but only because Dante was letting him have it, and he clearly didn’t plan on tolerating the rough handling much longer.

“At ease, Captain,” Alessa said, drawing herself tall. “He’s with me.” Shewastechnically the head of the military, and he’d better remember his place. “I have the right to choose my own personal security officer, and I have chosen him.”

She’d never seen anyone look as profoundly offended as Captain Papatonis in that moment. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to mistrust all the guards because of one traitor, but she was in too deep now.

A furious debate flashed across the older man’s face before he released Dante and stepped aside.

Glaring at her, Dante straightened his clothing with a few rough tugs.

“With all due respect, Finestra.” The grizzled older man bit her title short. “Do Signora Renata and Signor Miyamoto know about this?”

“Of course.”

Captain Papatonis puffed his chest out. “He can’t walk around looking like that.”

“Then have someone send up something more suitable, Captain.”

The man’s dusky skin flushed beneath his beard, and he gave a jerky salute before storming off.

Alessa’s hesitant smile only made Dante’s scowl deepen.

When they reached her suite, she dropped her key, fumbled to pick it up, then couldn’t get it out of the lock.

“Need help?” Dante said, his words clipped.

“No.” She yanked, and the key popped free, sending her stumbling back into a wall of muscle. She jumped forward, grabbed the handle, and turned it with a vicious twist.

“Looks like you did.”

What was she supposed to say? He made her nervous? She was still shaking from their confrontation with the Captain? That she’d broken more rules and told more lies in one day than she had in the previous five years and she wasn’t sure whether to feel horrified or elated?

As soon as the door closed behind them, Dante locked it and eyed the metal brackets on either side. “These are meant for a barricade. Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

He snatched a lace parasol from an umbrella stand and shoved it between the fixtures, glowering. “I’ll find something better.”

Alessa stared as he stalked the perimeter of her suite like a caged animal.

“What are you doing?” she finally asked.

“Assessing the security.”

She didn’t know much about bodyguard duties aside from “stand outside the door and look grumpy” which he seemed perfectly suited for, so Alessa bit her tongue as Dante examined everything she owned.

It wasn’ttoouncomfortable watching him investigate the main section, which held a cozy sitting area and a small kitchenette with a bistro table and glass-fronted cabinets, but she couldn’t help squirming as he passed the doors to her closet and bathing room, or the standing privacy screen concealing the sleeping area.

Pulling open the balcony doors, he strode out and leaned over the side. She took a moment to admire his backside, not realizing until it was too late that he was about to massacre beauty. With no care for the orange and white roses climbing it, he grasped the top of the metal trellis and yanked the structure back and forth, loosening it until the bolts came free with a crumble of stone.

“Hey,” Alessa said, hurrying to the balcony. “Those roses were planted by the first Finestra.”

“Then they’re hardy enough”—he pulled his lip between his teeth—“to survive”—a final tug—“the fall.” The trellis parted from the wall with a scream of metal and clattered to the paving stones below.

Two guards ran around the side of the building, looked at the broken trellis on the ground, then up at her.

“Everything all right, Finestra?”

She gave them a small wave. “Sudden gust of wind!”