Someone’s watching us.

CAMILA

.^.

The front door slammed shut behind us and the sound echoed through the room. King’s grip on my arm became firm, almost bruising me, as he pulled me back inside, his hazel eyes scanning the shadows beyond the windows.

The cold air was clinging to my skin, raising goosebumps, but it was his words, “Someone’s watching us”, that sent a shiver straight to my core. My heart pounded and I yanked my arm free, spinning to face him.

“Who?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “Who’s out there, King? And don’t tell me you don’t know—this is your house, your rules, your mess.”

He turned, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble on his face. The chandelier overhead cast jagged shadows across his features, making him look more like a predator than a man—dangerous, unyielding, and far too calm for the panic clawing at my chest.

Claire hovered near the dining room, her hands were twisting in her apron with wide eyes darting between us like she wanted to run but didn’t dare.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice low, controlled, but there was an edge to it that made my stomach twist. “Not yet. But I’ll find out.”

“That’s not good enough!” I snapped, stepping closer, my hands balling into fists. “I heard footsteps last night outside my door—someone breathing, watching me—and now this? A glass doesn’t just fall, King. Someone’s screwing with us, and you’re acting like it’s nothing!”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something; anger? guilt? crossing his face before he masked it. “It’s not nothing,” he said, his tone hardening. “But panicking won’t fix it. I’ve got people… men who handle this kind of thing. They’re already on it.”

“Men?” I blinked, the word sinking in slow and heavy. Men who handle things. The reality of who he was—a Mafia leader, not just some eccentric painter—hit me like a slap.

I’d known it, signed the contract anyway, but hearing it now, with the threat so close, made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. “What kind of men? What are you even into, King?”

He stepped toward me, closing the gap until I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze, his heat seeping into the space between us. “The kind who make problems disappear,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, laced with a promise that sent a shiver down my spine. “You don’t need to worry about it, Camila. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Safe?” I laughed, a bitter, shaky sound. “I don’t feel safe. I feel like a damn target, and you’re not telling me why. Katherine’s already got it out for me, Leonard’s dropping creepy hints, and now someone’s lurking outside? I deserve to know what I’m in for.”

His hand lifted, hovering near my cheek, then dropped back to his side, his fingers curling into a fist. “You’re in for what you signed up for,” he said, his voice rougher now, like the words were being dragged out of him. “To be here. With me. That’s all that matters.”

I stared at him, my chest tight, torn between the urge to shove him away and the strange, stupid pull that kept me rooted there.

His eyes held mine intensely, and for a second, I saw it again—that flicker of something raw, something that made me think he wasn’t as untouchable as he pretended to be. But it was gone too fast, replaced by that cold, controlled mask I was starting to hate.

Before I could argue, Claire cleared her throat, her voice small and hesitant. “Master King, should I… call someone? The police, maybe?”

“No,” he barked, his head snapping toward her so fast she flinched. “No police. I’ll handle it. Clean up the glass and go back to your room.”

She nodded, scurrying off with a mumbled “Yes, sir,” leaving us alone in the foyer.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the house settling. I crossed my arms, my skin prickling under his gaze, and tried to piece together the puzzle he wouldn’t let me see.

“You’re hiding something,” I said finally, my voice quieter but no less firm. “And it’s going to get me hurt if you don’t start talking.”

He didn’t answer right away, just watched me, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped closer, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath against my forehead, and my pulse stuttered. “I don’t hide to hurt you,” he said, his voice low, almost tender. “I hide to keep you here. You’re… important, Camila. More than you know.”

My breath caught, his words sinking into me like a hook, tugging at something deep and unsteady. Important. Necessary. He’d said it before, in the studio, and it still didn’t make sense—but the way he said it now, soft and rough all at once, made my heart ache in a way I didn’t expect. I opened my mouth to push back, to demand more, but a sharp knock at the door cut me off.

King’s head whipped toward it, his body tensing like a coiled spring. “Stay back,” he ordered, moving to the door with a grace that screamed control, danger. He yanked it open, revealing Leonard, his brown hair damp with morning mist, his suit rumpled like he’d been up all night.

“Trouble?” Leonard asked, his eyes flicking past King to me, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Heard a crash. Figured I’d check in.”

King’s posture stiffened, his voice cold. “We’re fine. What are you doing here this early?”

Leonard shrugged, stepping inside uninvited, his gaze lingering on me a little too long. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I saw someone skulking around the gate on my way in. You know, usual California weirdos.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and my stomach twisted at the casual way he said it—like it was normal, like it didn’t matter.

“Someone?” I cut in, my voice sharp. “Who? What did they look like?”

Leonard’s grin faded, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Didn’t get a good look. Dark clothes, fast mover. Could’ve been nothing. Or…” He paused, glancing at King. “Could’ve been one of yours, keeping tabs.”

King’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, just stared at Leonard with a look that could’ve cut glass. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken tension, and I felt like I’d walked into a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear.

“One of his?” I pressed, stepping forward despite King’s warning glare. “What does that mean? Who’s watching us, Leonard?”

Leonard chuckled, a low, uneasy sound, and held up his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, Kate. Just saying what I saw. King’s got his fingers in a lot of pies—some of ‘em don’t like being stirred.”

“Enough,” King growled, his voice a whip-crack that made me flinch. “Go back to your room, Leonard. I’ll deal with this.”

Leonard lingered a moment longer, his eyes flicking between us, then nodded and sauntered off toward the stairs, his footsteps fading into the house. King turned back to me, his expression stormy, but before he could speak, a soft thud came from upstairs—a muffled sound, like something heavy hitting the floor.

“What now?” I muttered, my nerves fraying, but King was already moving, his hand brushing mine as he passed, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through me.

“Stay here,” he said again, heading for the stairs, but I ignored him, following close behind, my heart in my throat. We reached the landing just as another thud echoed down the hall—this time louder, closer, from my room.

King pushed the door open, his body blocking my view, but I caught a glimpse over his shoulder: my window wide open, curtains fluttering in the breeze, and on the floor, a single shoe lying in a puddle of shattered glass. Someone had been inside.

“Camila,” King said, his voice low, lethal, as he turned to me, his eyes blazing. “Get behind me. Now.”

But before I could move, a shadow darted past the window, a figure, fast and dark, vanishing into the morning fog. And then, from somewhere outside, a laugh, high, wild, unmistakably Katherine’s, cut through the silence like a blade.