His Savior Was Never My Sister

The hallway outside my father’s study was cold marble and silent portraits of dead Castellanos. My heels struck the floor in a sharp rhythm. I needed to reach my rooms before the adrenaline drained and left me shaking.

I almost made it.

The turn into the west corridor brought me face-to-face with him. Nicholas.

He leaned against the wall, waiting, as he always did. Impeccable suit. Perfect posture. Storm-gray eyes swept over me in a quick assessment.

“Miss Castellano,” he said, pushing off the wall. His voice was its usual low baritone, a sound that had once tied my stomach in knots of longing. Now it just felt like a vibration in the air, meaningless. “Your father asked me to ensure you returned to your quarters.”

“Did he?” I kept walking, forcing him to fall into step beside me. “How thoughtful. I’m perfectly capable of walking fifty yards alone, Nicholas. Or has my ‘delicacy’ suddenly become a concern?”

A faint frown touched his brow. I never used that word, my father’s word for Isabella. “Standard protocol, Miss Castellano.”

We walked in silence for a few steps. I could feel his gaze on my profile. Was he looking for signs of tears? Of the hysterics he undoubtedly expected from the spoiled princess he thought I was? I kept my face a smooth, pale mask.

“There’s a change to your schedule tonight,” I said, my voice crisp, businesslike. “The Gilded Cage auction. I’ll be attending.”

He stopped walking. I took two more steps before halting and turning to face him, one eyebrow arched in question.

“The Cage is… volatile, Miss Castellano,” he said, choosing his words with the care of a man defusing a bomb. “The security is tight but the crowd is mixed. Family and non-affiliated entrepreneurs. Your father usually prefers you avoid such events.”

“My father,” I said slowly, savoring the words, “has just agreed to a great many of my preferences. I wish to attend. I have a specific piece in mind.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I’ll need to clear it with Don Castellano and arrange additional detail.”

“You will do no such thing.” The command in my voice surprised even me. It froze him. “You will accompany me. Alone. You are, for a few more hours at least, still my personal security. You will follow my orders.”

The silence between us stretched, taut and humming. He was reassessing me. Good. Let him wonder what had happened in that study.

“As you wish,” he finally said, the word devoid of inflection. But his eyes were wary.

I resumed walking, my mind racing. I needed a lever, a reason he wouldn’t question. An excuse for my sudden interest in a dangerous, underground auction. Inspiration, bitter and perfect, struck.

“Isabella mentioned an interest in seeing the Cage’s collection,” I said airily, watching his reflection in a gilded mirror we passed. I saw it—the minute flare in his eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders. A predator hearing the name of its mate. “Something about a legendary sapphire that was once part of the Russian crown jewels. She thought it sounded romantic. I suppose I’m curious to see if it lives up to the hype.”

It was a masterstroke. By invoking her desire, however fabricated, I was giving him a mission. His loyalty, his focus, would be elsewhere. Exactly where I wanted it.

“I see,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “I’ll prepare the armored car for nine.”

“See that you do,” I said, reaching the door to my suite. I turned the handle, then paused, looking at him over my shoulder. He stood a respectful distance away, the perfect, impassive bodyguard. “And Nicholas?”

“Miss Castellano?”

“Wear the black tie. The one from Brioni. We should look the part.” I offered a mistress’s smile, the kind used to order a servant. Then I slipped inside my room, closing the door firmly between us.

I leaned back against the solid wood, my breath finally escaping in a shuddering wave. My hands were trembling. I pressed them flat against the cold paneling, forcing stillness.

I had just manipulated the man I loved into escorting me to a den of thieves, using his love for another woman as the bait.

Tonight, I would walk into the lion’s den on the arm of my own personal Judas. And I would do it with a smile, while inside, the girl who loved Nicholas Rossi quietly disappeared.