Marta pushed open the heavy oak doors of the master guest suite. She bowed her head and stepped aside.
Giovanny pulled Clarissa into the room. He reached behind him and pushed the door shut.
Click. He threw the deadbolt. The sound echoed like a prison cell locking.
The room was massive. A huge fire roared in the stone fireplace, casting dancing orange shadows across the walls. The air was thick with the heavy, sweet scent of amber and rose incense.
Clarissa ripped her wrist out of his grip. She ran to the far side of the room, pressing her back against the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. She wrapped her arms around her chest, breathing hard.
Giovanny didn't look at her. He pulled off his damp shirt and threw it onto the Persian rug.
His bare chest glowed in the firelight. He walked over to the crystal decanter on the wet bar and poured himself a glass of scotch. His eyes tracked her in the reflection of the mirror.
A soft knock came from the door.
Giovanny walked over and unlocked it. A young maid stood in the hallway, her cheeks bright red. She was holding a sleek, black velvet box.
"From Madam Genevieve's personal closet, sir," the maid whispered, handing him the box. "For the young miss."
Giovanny took the box. He shut the door and locked it again.
He walked to the center of the room and dropped the box onto the massive, velvet-covered bed. He pulled the silver ribbon.
The lid popped open.
Inside the black velvet lay a breathtakingly elegant, floor-length white silk nightgown. It was undeniably high-quality, trimmed with delicate French lace, meant to make a woman look both pure and devastatingly desirable.
Clarissa stared at the box. All the blood drained from her face. Her stomach twisted into a violent knot.
Giovanny reached in. He hooked his index finger under the delicate silk and lifted the elegant garment into the air.
The fire in his eyes ignited. It was dark, hungry, and completely unhinged.
"Go to the bathroom," Giovanny ordered, his voice thick and low. "Put it on."
Clarissa shook her head frantically. "No. Your mother is sick in the head, and so are you. I won't do it."
She pressed herself harder against the glass. "We have a prenuptial agreement! Section seven, the No-Contact Clause. You cannot touch me. You cannot force me to do this!"
At the mention of the contract, Giovanny's jaw clenched. The lust in his eyes hardened into pure ice.
He dropped the silk onto the bed.
He walked over to his leather briefcase resting on the armchair. He pulled out a sleek, silver tablet.
He tapped the screen rapidly. He opened a PDF file and walked toward her.
He shoved the screen in front of her face. It was their fifty-page prenuptial agreement.
"Section seven," Giovanny read aloud. "No-Contact Clause."
Clarissa let out a shaky breath. She thought he was finally listening to reason.
Giovanny looked her dead in the eyes. He smiled, a dark, hollow expression. He didn't even bother looking at the screen. He simply tossed the silver tablet over his shoulder. It hit the hardwood floor with a sharp, echoing crack, the screen splintering into a spiderweb of dead pixels. "That piece of paper," Giovanny said, his voice a deadly calm whisper, "only matters when we are equals. Right now, it is nothing but trash. I am the one who dictates the rules here."
Clarissa's eyes widened in sheer panic. "You can't do that! That's illegal! You can't just delete a legal contract!"
Giovanny stepped forward. He closed the distance between them in two strides.
He placed both of his hands flat against the cold glass of the window, trapping her completely between his arms. His bare chest brushed against her wet coat.
He leaned down until his nose almost touched hers.
"In New York," Giovanny whispered, his breath hot against her trembling lips, "I am the law."
