Amira couldn’t tell for how long she had been unconscious, but the next time her eyelids flew open, she realized, much to her surprise, that instead of waking up in a cold, dark, stinking cell where most kidnappers kept their victims, she was lying back in the soft leather seat of an… airplane?

As she tried to grasp her head around the situation, the door opened and in walked the devilish tycoon holding a bottle of water. He had his black sleeves rolled to his elbows, giving a good glance of his tattoos inked into both arms and all the way up his neck.

Her eyes narrowed in rage. She should have known it was him. Montez De Vitalio. All six foot seven of him. Only he would pull such a stunt as this.

“What’s the heck is going on?” she growled, pushing the soft mattress away from her. An action she instantly regretted. That fabric was pretty comfortable. “Why have you kidnapped me?”

“Kidnap you? Now, don’t be delusional.” A small smirk escaped his lips as he handed her the water bottle. “Here. You should be thirsty given you’ve been knocked out for a while now.”

“I don’t want this. I want you to tell me why you’ve kidnapped me, you animal!”

“Come on now, why would I kidnap you when we’re in the middle of a very important deal?” he asked, staring at her with an expression she couldn’t understand.

“Maybe afterwards…” he smirked. One that didn’t reach his eyes. His smiles never did. They were always a beacon of twisted intentions. “…I could kidnap you because then I’d have no other use but to kill you.”

Her breath hitched at his words and she stiffened. Bastard! They’d see who killed the other first.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Milan.”

Her eyes flew open. “Rome?”

“That’s where I live,” he added, and all of a sudden, his eyes trailed her frame from her head to her toes.

Amira suddenly felt the need to wrap her arms around herself as his burning gaze was enough to strip her vulnerable.

Then he looked away in disgust before bringing his eyes back to her. “The least you could have done was not look homeless.”

“What?” She suddenly remembered her disheveled state that morning.

Oh shit! She must still look a mess with her rumpled dark hair all over the place. Not to mention, she was still in her Hello Kitty pajamas. Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment.

“Well, you didn’t give me a heads-up. Not to mention, your men rough-handled me out of the house.”

“What the hell did you just say?” His eyes darkened and he lowered down to her level on the chair. “Say that again.”

She flinched at the sudden air that enveloped him. It was suffocating. Just why did he look like he wanted to strangle someone? “I was manhandled.” She rolled her eyes, trying not to act affected.

“Are you bruised?” he asked, jaw clenched.

“No. It was just a wild goose chase, I wasn’t physically assaulted.”

She saw a muscle in his jaw tick. Why was he so worked up?

“Good.” He straightened to his full height. “Because if there was so much as a scratch on you, God help me, I would have painted this craft red.”

What did he mean? No, he didn’t care about her that much. He didn’t even know her.

“Who knows what the press would have put out there if they caught a bruise on you? Urgh.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by the mere thought. “Rest up. We land in a few hours.”

And with that, he turned around and strode out of the suite.

Now she got it. The murdering scum didn’t care about anyone, he only cared about his reputation. If the press had sneaked out a picture of a bruise on her body, he would have instantly been rumored to be an abusive lover, making the situation all the worse for him.

Amira leaned back into the leather seat with her eyes looking out the window at nothing but clouds. Oh, she hoped she walked out of this deal with her head intact. One thing was certain—she didn’t trust that man. He was neck deep into something far more sinister than he let the world see, and she intended to expose his secrets.

The moment they landed, bright flashes of camera lights came from all directions. His bodyguards formed a wall around them as they walked through the crowd to the black Rolls-Royce Boat Tail waiting for them.

The next destination was Vitalio’s mansion, and Amira’s jaw dropped at the magnificent sight of modern elegance with a hint of historical architecture. Several servants lined the entrance, bowing as Montez stepped down from his car, arm in arm with her.

Ignoring them, he walked inside, making sure to keep her beside him.

“You don’t have to respond to them,” he murmured when he saw her smiling back at the servants.

“They’ve put up all these efforts to welcome you home,” she said, staring at him in disbelief. “The least you can do is acknowledge them.”

“Hah!” He let out a low chuckle, leading her up the stairs. “What efforts? Standing idly for a few seconds? That’s part of their paycheck, amore mio.”

The pet name caught her off guard, and usually she’d cringe when men used endearments with her, but the words rolled off his deceptive tongue so smoothly that it felt natural. Felt like he meant it. Well, he didn’t.

“These people don’t love me,” he continued. “They’d pull the trigger on me if given half the chance.”

“Given how many people you’ve wronged, I can probably see why that is,” she said in a sour tone.

“You really do think the worst of me, don’t you?” He smiled faintly.

“What I think is why a man would keep people who he knows could kill him around himself?”

“You know what they say.” His facial features hardened as he turned dead serious. “Keep your friends close and your enemies…?”

“…closer.” She swallowed.

This also applied to her. Given her initial plan for being here, was she really the one in charge with what he had just threatened her with? Yes, that was an absolutely smooth threat.

He stopped in front of a door on the third floor and swiped the key card on a slot over the knob. The door opened.

“Your bedroom,” he offered, gesturing that she go in first.

Such a gentleman. She let out a scoff. They both knew he was none of that.

The space, however, was breathtakingly beautiful. A queen-sized bed stood proudly on one side, and everything was green-themed with just a hint of grey. Wait, this couldn’t possibly be unintentional.

“How did you know green was my favorite color?” she asked, whipping him a skeptical look, eyes narrowed.

“I’m about to live four months with a woman who sued me to court for false crimes, of course I made sure I knew every detail about you.” He simply shrugged.

“They weren’t false.”

“Oh yes? Prove it, then.” He raised a cocky brow.

She wanted to slap him right now and send all that puffed-up arrogance shattering. “Just how much do you know about me?”

“Enough to know that Luca isn’t even your biological brother. Mommy and Daddy got you off on a Safari adventure?” He looked at her with mockery spread across his face.

Her eyes widened in shock. “Shut up!” she gritted.

“You were adopted and you aren’t even Italian to begin with. That explains why you’re a complete contrast to him in appearance.”

She fought back the emotions as pictures of Luca’s pale skin and bright blue eyes full of life rushed through her memory.

“It also makes me wonder,” his eyes pierced into hers with a burning intensity, “why you care so much.”

“Shut the fuck up!” she yelled out in anger. “Don’t you dare speak to me in such a manner ever again.”

She reached out and grabbed him tightly by both collars. “Do you understand?” She glared at him like she would very much like to kill him, but the bastard was ever composed and didn’t even move a muscle.

Montez pried her fingers away from his shirt like she had soiled them. “Just so we’re clear,” he began, walking towards the door but stopping just before he left. He turned to her.

“One word to the press about this being fake, one funny move from you, Amira Santis…” His eyes darkened, and she felt her heart clench in fright.

“And I’ll bury you alive.”