Chapter 4

Clarissa stood frozen in the foyer. Her hands gripped the leather strap of her purse so tightly her fingers cramped.

She forced herself to take a breath. The air in the penthouse felt too thin.

"The traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge was completely stopped," she said. Her voice cracked, echoing weakly in the massive, empty living room.

Giovanny continued to swirl his drink. He didn't even blink.

"Do you think my time is cheap, Clarissa?" he asked softly.

"You gave me fifteen minutes!" she snapped, her fear briefly turning into defensive anger. "Your curfew was impossible, and you know it."

Giovanny's eyes darkened. The temperature in the room plummeted.

He slammed the crystal glass down on the side table. The loud crack made Clarissa jump.

He stood up. His massive frame seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room. He walked toward her, his steps slow and heavy.

Clarissa instinctively took a step back. Her bare heel hit the metal track of the elevator doors. She was trapped.

Giovanny stopped right in front of her. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his chest. The sharp scent of cedar and bourbon invaded her lungs.

He reached out. His long, strong fingers clamped around her chin.

He tilted her head up, forcing her to look directly into his eyes.

Her vision focused. Being this close, she noticed something she hadn't seen in the dark club.

Right below Giovanny's right eye, there was a tiny, thin red scratch.

It was a fresh cut. A piece of flying glass from Dwayne's shattered lowball glass must have grazed him downstairs during the violent scuffle.

Clarissa's breath hitched. Without thinking, she raised her hand. Her fingers reached up to touch the mark on his skin.

Before she could make contact, Giovanny's hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist mid-air.

His grip was like a steel vise. Clarissa let out a sharp gasp of pain.

A dangerous light flickered in his eyes.

"This," Giovanny whispered, his voice dripping with malice as he referenced the scratch, "is the direct cost of your stupidity tonight."

Clarissa's stomach twisted. The anger drained out of her, replaced instantly by a heavy, suffocating wave of guilt. She had caused this.

Giovanny released her chin. He looked down at her, his expression turning into a mask of pure authority.

"Since you caused this injury, you will take responsibility for my care tonight," he stated.

Clarissa's eyes widened. She pressed her back harder against the elevator doors. "That is sick!" she snapped, her voice shaking with humiliation and disbelief. "You cannot ask me to do that! I am your wife, not your servant!"

Giovanny leaned in. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear.

"Go to the master bathroom and run the water," he commanded, his voice a dark, husky rumble. "As punishment for being late, and for this scratch, you are going to wash my back tonight."

Clarissa's face burned. The blood rushed to her cheeks.

"No," she said, her voice shaking with humiliation. "I won't do that."

Giovanny straightened up. The dark amusement vanished from his face, leaving behind a terrifying emptiness.

"Santos Enterprises needs my signature tomorrow morning to extend their bank loans," he said smoothly.

Clarissa's heart stopped. Her father's company.

Her knees suddenly felt weak. Her body gave a violent tremble. He knew exactly where to strike.

She glared up at him. Tears of pure, hot fury welled in her eyes, but she clamped her jaw shut. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

Giovanny didn't care about her anger. He turned around and started walking down the long hallway toward the master bedroom.

He stopped at the end of the hall. He turned his head slightly.

"Move," he ordered. "My patience is gone."

Clarissa closed her eyes. She took a ragged breath, forcing the tears back down.

She dropped her purse on the floor. She peeled off her coat and tossed it onto the sofa.

Her bare feet felt like lead as she forced herself to walk down the hallway, following him into the lion's den.

She pushed open the heavy double doors of the master bedroom. The scent of his cologne was overpowering here.

She walked past the massive king-sized bed and headed straight for the frosted glass doors of the master bathroom.

She pushed the door open. The bright, sterile lights of the bathroom hit her eyes, blinding her for a second.

She stepped inside, her stomach churning with dread.