Shielded Wrongs (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 4)

I couldn't look back at the guards by the gate, couldn't see if they treated it like a prison as much as it felt. Logically, I knew the aim in a community like this was to keep people out. I also knew they weren't normally armed with rifles.

Would they keep me in?

The motorcycle revved underneath me as Enzo slowly continued down the winding road.

He drove all the way to the back until we'd long since passed the last house. The only things to look at on either side of the road were empty fields that faded into the night in the distance.

Until, at the very end of the road, there was a house that was a boxy mix of wood, stone, and a smooth stucco face. He touched a button on the handle of his bike, the garage door opened quickly, and he pulled the bike in. The minute it closed behind us, a beeping sound counted down through the space and he hurried off the bike and to a panel on the wall.

He pressed his left thumb to the unit, and I watched as the screen lit up in green and a robotic voice sounded through the garage as the beeping stopped. "Welcome home, Enzo."

He came back to where I sat stupefied on the bike, tugging the helmet off my head and placing it gently on the top of a toolbox. I winced, eyeing the hook above it where the helmet was undoubtedly meant to hang. His helmet followed, sitting next to the one I'd used and distracting me just enough that he tugged me off the bike and pulled me toward the door to the house without another thought. Snagging my bag with his free hand, he looked comical carting my blush tote around like a purse.

The house door closed behind us, and he turned to another panel on the wall. All the locks snicked closed audibly, and something like blinds dropped from the ceiling to cover the massive windows. "Bulletproof," he said, his tone uninterested like it would be obvious.

Because everyone had bulletproof blinds.

As soon as he turned on more lights, I stepped further into the kitchen and eyed the space. My hand ran over the clean counter, admiring the simple lines and the lack of clutter on the open main floor.

There was nothing unnecessary. Nothing out of place.

Except for the fruit bowl on the counter. I nudged it as I trailed my hand over the smooth marble, subtly straightening it so that the angle of the corner aligned with the angle of the counter itself.

"You like it?" Enzo asked, and I turned to look at him. His brow was furrowed as he studied me too closely.

"It's beautiful," I admitted, and even I knew it was an odd choice of words for a woman to use to describe something so square. The lines and the angles were all sharp and perfect, with varying tones of grey and black to accompany the woodwork in the floor and beams of the ceiling.

"Most women think it's cold and boxy," he said, a smile tilting his lips up. It seemed significant to him, somehow, that I would like his house.

I ignored the jealousy I had no right to feel, hating the way my heart clenched. I didn't know him. I had no claim over him.

So why did the thought of other women being in his house bother me so much?

"No! The angles are all so perfect." The living room faced a huge art canvas, the navy and blush colors working like such a perfect pop of color in the otherwise monochromatic space that I wanted to cry. It was clearly a woman's touch.

I didn't know a single man who would choose art with blush in it. That it was my favorite color must have been a random coincidence. It was probably his girlfriend's favorite too.

Unlike most of the Bellandis, he seemed like just the type to settle down. Far more than Matteo, Lino, and Ryker had, anyway.

"The angles?" he asked, his voice rising with a chuckle as he tested the words. I could practically feel his eyes studying me.

I stilled, spinning to give him an awkward smile. "Ninety-degree angles are my favorite."

Of all the things I could have said, I scoffed inside my head. Who the hell had a favorite angle?

He did me the favor of ignoring the weird statement. "It's late. I'll take you to your room and get you settled," he said, scratching the back of his head and leading the way to the stairs at the front of the house. I sighed with relief as we climbed them. One never knew quite what to expect from Bellandi men. "I'm not going to rape you, Sadie. You can tell me when you're ready."

"Ready for what?" I squeaked, my voice raising to a level I was fairly certain I hadn't heard in decades. There was something about him that disarmed me, that made me care too much. I always wanted to hide my quirks and the disorder they came from. But with him, it felt like he saw right through every cover that usually worked.

Like he saw right through to the very core of me.

"Ready for me to fuck you so hard you forget your own name and only remember mine," he murmured, and I tripped on the top step. Nearly falling to my face like an uncoordinated boob was not on my list of accomplishments for the night.

I'd single-handedly taken down an attempted kidnapper. I could handle walking.

Most days, but those words made my thighs clench up on me.

Mayday, Mayday. Abort mission.