"...you think she's dead?"

"Non ne sono sicuro, è uscita da un po'."

"Maybe we should call a doctor."

"Colpirla o qualcosa del genere."

"What? You want me to poke her?"

"Si."

"You do it."

"No, you do it."

"You're older."

"La spaventerò, fallo tu."

Warm breaths fanned over my face, slowly drawing me out of the depths of my sleep. I groaned and twitched. My lids were heavy and my head banged.

"Wait, I think she's waking up."

"Grazie al cielo!"

Sounds of soft whispers tingled my ears, making me flutter my heavy lids open and the two sets of eyes I found staring down at me made me choke on my breath.

My eyes snapped wide.

Two men, dressed in black, looming over me like vultures.

My heart tore through my chest as I screamed out in mortified horror and jolted upright. "Who the hell are you?!" I shouted, scrambling back and away from them.

"Sorry to scare you, ma'am." The younger-looking one said, taking a step forward.

"Don't!" I bellowed, pulling the sheets over myself. "Stay away!"

He moved back instantly, his hands raised in surrender.

What the hell was going on?

And why did my throat feel so sore?

"Facile lì, signorina," the older man spoke. "We just here to make sure you okay, sei incosciente da un po' di tempo."

Huh?

"He means you've been unconscious for a while now."

Unconscious?

"What do you mean I was unconscious?" I asked, my gaze shifting suspiciously between the two men as my befuddled brain struggled through recent memories.

They shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uneasy glances. The younger one spoke again. "Ma'am, we don't know all the details but your fiance told us you drank too much last night and that's why you passed out."

A shiver ran down my spine.

Since when did I have a...

Suddenly, the fog in my mind began to clear and the memories of last night assailed me, making me catch my breath.

My hand instinctively went to my throat. I had been choked by the very man they claimed was my fiance. I could recall everything. He did this to me; that ridiculously handsome, 6-foot-tall man choked me nearly to death.

Did he bring me to bed too?

I immediately lifted the sheets, examining my body for any cuts or signs of sexual assault. Thankfully there were none. I was still in my night dress. Everything seemed in place, everything but the two men still standing in my bedroom.

I looked back up. "Who are you two then?"

The younger one stepped forward. "Pardon my manners. We both work here. I'm Keith, the house carer. A pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Err...

Why did Tristan have a guy as his carer?

Now that I wasn't in a state of panic, I did a double-take. He looked my age, except taller, and slender, and his hair was a mop of frizzy blonde curls.

"And this." He gestured to the older man who now sent a small smile my way. "This is Guiseppe, he's the cook. He doesn't speak much English."

A cook?

An awful feeling began to churn in my stomach.

Was this a man cave or something?

"Un piacere conoscerti, signorina. Sei così bella."

Keith smiled. "He says you're beautiful."

I smiled regardless of my discomfort. "Thank you."

My smile must have given him confidence because he stepped forward as well. "You hungry, no? I'll make hangover soup for your head. Sei così bella, da dove vieni? Come hai fatto a conoscere Larsen junior?"

I cocked my head to the side. He didn't look that old. He was presumably in his forties and he bore the distinct features of an Italian heritage. His olive skin spoke of sun-kissed days, and a scattering of crow's feet around his hazel eyes hinted at a life marked by experience. Dark, wavy hair framed his face, graying at the temples, adding a touch of wisdom to his countenance.

"Please don't mind him." the young one chirped in. "He's just so excited because this is the first time our boss is bringing a lady home."

I shifted on the bed and forced a smile.

I didn't know how to feel about that.

"Well, thank you..." shit I forgot his name.

"It's Keith."

"Yes sorry, Keith. thank you, Keith."

He chuckled. "We'll leave you now."

When the door shut on their retreating backs, I instantly slumped down on my bed and heaved out a sigh of relief.

What the hell was all that?

My hand went to my throat, and the realization that I could have died yesterday made me shiver.

What kind of strength did he possess for him to have choked me to the point that I passed out within seconds?

I couldn't say it was fully his fault. I mean, I did swing a knife at him. He was just as shocked and on alert as I was.

But then again, who could entirely blame me for swinging my knife?

He was supposed to be away on a business trip, not parading half naked around looking all sexy and intimidating.

My mind replayed images of the vivid outlines of his body. Clean-shaven, smooth clear skin, a head full of thick black hair resting on his shoulders, a broad and rock-hard chest, an abdomen carved like marble. I must have been screwed in the head; checking out a man when he had his hands around my throat. I couldn't help it. He was the sexiest thing I'd seen in a long time. His biceps practically bulged with strength. Every contour of his body exuded a hard, defined, and finely toned allure, free from any excess fat.

For his age, he was drop-dead gorgeous, looking all six feet tall; like a Greek God, specifically a love child of Adonis and Aphrodite.

And those tattoos, jeez, how could a vibrant medley of colorful ink be so devastatingly sexy?

Never had I seen something so exotic. I wanted to know which other places he housed such vibrant tattoos.

Did he by any chance...

Oh hell no.

I clambered out of bed and waded to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face. His looks and physique didn't matter. What mattered was that he didn't have to choke me that hard.

What if I'd died?

It was clear he wasn't the kind of man to be toyed with. I needed to keep my distance.

After my shower, I lathered my skin with oil and stood in my dresser, agonizing over what to wear for a solid twenty minutes. It was like a maze of colors and fabrics in here. I eventually settled on a chic two-piece printed sundress that ended just above my thighs and was snatched around the waist.

I had just meticulously finished arranging my hair and was just about to pack it up in a ponytail when a sharp knock, more demanding than expected, resonated through my room.

"Coming." I said as I casually walked over to the door and opened it, half expecting to find Keith or Guiseppe but I was rendered instantly speechless by the sight of the tall, burly man adorned with muscles that rippled through his black sleek suit, standing on the other side of the door.

What the-

"Who are you?" I managed to stammer, my voice barely rising above a whisper.

He stared at me with a cutting edge, his deep voice rumbling as he dismissed my question and spoke. "Boss has been waiting for the past thirty minutes and wants you in the dining hall now."

My throat tightened with anxiety as I swallowed hard. "Tell him I'll be down in a few minutes, I just need to finish up my hair."

"He needs you there now." His response was unyielding, a stern command that left no room for negotiation but I pressed on.

"I just need a minute,"

"Now,"

"It won't even take long, I just-"

"Now."

I frowned. "What's your problem, I said I need-"

"Now."

His swift movement caught me off guard and my world spun when he effortlessly lifted me off my feet and threw me over his shoulder.

Oh my!

A yelp escaped from my throat. "Are you out of your mind!" I shrieked, desperately trying to catch my breath but the adrenaline coursing through me made it difficult. My fingers clutched at the fabric of his suit, my nails digging into the hard material. "Hey! put me down!"

But he paid no attention to my feeble attempts to break free as he continued through the hallway and down the stairs,

I futilely wiggled my slender legs. "Keith, Guiseepe! someone help!"

"Quiet!" He knocked the doors of the opulent dining hall open and carried me over to the chair. When he deposited me unceremoniously on it, fury welled up within me, and before I could think, my hand lashed out, delivering a resounding slap across his face.

"Are you insane?!"

His response was a guttural growl. "Bitch!" He cursed, grabbing me by the neck of my dress and lifting me up.

My breath caught in my throat. I cried. "What the hell are you doing?!"

He lifted his hand like he wanted to strike me back and I flinched, expecting the hit but the chilling timbered voice that reverberated across the room stopped him.

"Ryder, that's enough."

The hand poised to strike hesitated, and then, slowly lowered. Murmuring something underneath his tobacco-scented breath, he put me down and I slumped into the chair, chest heaving.

What the hell just happened?

He was going to hit me.

"She's offlimits."

I swiftly turned to the voice and my insides tightened. It was Tristan, and he was walking towards the table, wearing a cobalt-blue cashmere sweater and plain black slacks that shouldn't have been intimidating but he looked extraordinary, exuding authoritarian power from every pore.

His strides were unhurried and gracious, and his cologne; it enveloped me, making my stomach tighten.

"What's the meaning of this?!" I snapped at him, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and trepidation. "First you strangled me to near death and now you have whoever this is toss me around like I'm some ragdoll!"

Unperturbed by my outburst, he graciously walked over to the table and sat on the chair opposite mine. "Thank you, Ryder," he said calmly. "You can leave us now."

What?!

"Mr. Larsen, I asked you a question!" I hissed, getting up. "Is this how you treat your guests?!"

His stoic expression remained unchanged as he ignored my outburst yet again and grabbed his cup of pitch black coffee.

Oh, the audacity of this man!

His gaze finally rose, locking onto mine, and they blazed with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. "Ms. Bardot, please sit."

"No."

"I said sit." He ordered, not expecting a refusal but getting one.

"What am I? A dog? I will not sit."

He suddenly got up and leaned forward and if I thought I was short he just made me feel even shorter. This man towered over me, making me feel so small it made dread chrun in my stomach. I'd never been this close to him before, now that I was, I noticed his eyes were neither blue nor grey. They were somewhere in between and they were piercing mine, shrinking me. "I'm not one to make a habit out of repeating himself, Ms. Bardot. I said sit down." He demanded, his tone raw with a threat icy enough to intimidate anyone into submission.

I almost buckled but the fiery feminist within me stood her ground. "And I said I won't."

His jaw twitched. "If I have to repeat myself one more time..."

Calling him on his bluff, I stiffened my spine and kept glaring at him without moving. I was not going to be bullied.

A moment passed.

Followed by another.

"Very well then." He leaned back and turned to the door. "Ryder?"

A shiver of dread slithered down my spine.

He couldn't be serious.

The door swung open immediately and he returned, his dark eyes narrowing down on mine.

My heart pounded with panic, but I fought against succumbing to it.

Tristan settled back into his seat, looking at me as he spoke. "By all means, why don't you finish what you started?"

My body stiffened.

When he started charging at me with clenched fists, I panicked and immediately sat.