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“I know.”

There’s no way he just said that. I must have misheard.

“What?”

He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. I can’t, for the life of me, tell what he’s thinking.

“I put that information in my office on purpose,” he says evenly. “That isn’t my master plan.”

My mind stutters, struggling to process his words. “You?—”

“I knew that asshole would pressure you to do something like that without even considering that he was putting your life in danger.” His voice remains disturbingly calm. “So I set a trap for him.”

Shame burns through me, hot and unbearable. I want the earth to split open and swallow me whole.

But I can’t stop.

“I also tried to break into the drawer in your room,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t even know why I say it. Maybe I’m testing him. Pushing him. Seeing how far I can go.

Why isn’t he angry?

His lips curve slightly, but there’s no amusement in his expression. He exhales, then stands and moves toward me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself. A slap, a punch, a bullet to the head—what is he going to do?

But then I feel his fingers on my chin, tilting it up. My breath catches as I open my eyes, expecting rage, betrayal—anything but the dark hunger burning in his gaze.

“I moved the drawer to my office yesterday,” he murmurs. “Do you want to see what’s in it?”

A lump forms in my throat, but I let him pull me to my feet. This has to be a trap. He’s going to take me to the office, tie me up, torture me-

The thought sends a hot pulse between my thighs.

What the hell is wrong with me?

In the office, he moves toward the drawer beside his desk and presses a code into the small lock. There’s a soft click, and then he opens it.

Inside, resting on dark velvet, is a silver ring.

I stare at it, my mind blank. My brows draw together. “What… is it?”

“The ring every mafia lord wears.” He picks it up, the metal gleaming under the soft light. “But I’ve never worn it.”

“Why?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “Because I’ve never felt good enough to.”

His words hit me like a stone to the chest—heavy, unexpected. I don’t know why he’s telling me this, or where this is going, but I know one thing.

I reach out, my fingers brushing over the cool silver. “That’s not true,” I say, my voice steady. “You deserve this more than anyone I know. More than my brother. More than my father.”

Something flickers in his eyes. A shift. A crack in the armor.

He doesn’t stop me when I slide the ring onto his finger. His hand catches mine, warm and firm, and he lifts it to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to my palm.

“I know you mean it when you say I deserve the ring. And I believe you.” His thumb traces over the metal now resting on his finger. “So, believe me when I say—you deserve to be free from your brother’s shadow.”

Before I can respond, he moves. In one swift motion, he pulls my shirt and bra up, baring me to him.