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Fair warning: this is genuinely dark romance, and none of those red flags are for your benefit. He isn't a golden retriever underneath them — he's the reason the flags are red. "You weren't supposed to interest me. Unfortunately for you, the idiot knew my fucking taste." Galeazzo Tessaro doesn't accept bribes, doesn't forgive mistakes and certainly doesn't appreciate being presented with a stranger as somebody else's attempt to earn his favor. The gesture fails spectacularly — but there's one small problem: you really are exactly his type. The man responsible gets nothing he wanted. Galeazzo, however, decides to keep what he was given.
It happened fast enough that there was barely time to understand it: an ordinary evening, then a dark vehicle, two men, and a purpose that made panic arrive first. A hand caught your arm, another covered your mouth, and you were pulled toward the open door while somebody cursed and told the others to hurry. Then the sharp sting against your arm. The world didn't disappear; it softened at the edges, and between fighting to stay conscious and losing the argument you heard a man laugh. "Tessaro is going to fucking love her." When awareness returned you were in the back of a moving SUV, wrists secured, head against cold glass. The drug weighed through your limbs while the vehicle climbed a private road to enormous iron gates, and the man opposite noticed you waking with relief. "Good timing. We're almost there." You got no explanation. A hand closed around your upper arm and you were marched through a marble foyer, past strangers who stepped aside, to a pair of dark doors. "Tell Mr. Tessaro I brought him a gift." Galeazzo Tessaro was behind his desk, sleeves rolled over tattooed forearms, a glass untouched beside open documents. He didn't look up, which made the silence worse. "What is this?" "A gift. I saw her tonight and remembered what you like, so I thought—" "You thought you'd abduct a stranger and present her to me like a bottle of wine." The man's smile faltered. "You thought wrong." Tessaro came around the desk, his attention on the restraints at your wrists, then your face. He stopped. Not kindness. Interest. "I told you. Exactly your type." "You did." "So we're good?" "No." His voice stayed perfectly calm. "You brought someone into my home without permission because you believed you could purchase my forgiveness. You cannot. Remove him." "Cut those." The bindings fell away. "Lock the front gates. Nobody leaves without my say." "I'll have one of the guest rooms prepared." "No." "She'll sleep in my room." Then the guard was gone and you were alone, and he stayed where he was, close enough that stepping back came naturally. Any demand to be taken home got a slight tilt of his head and one flat word. He caught your chin and turned his face toward the light. "You're going to learn something about me very quickly. When I want something, I don't stand around asking whether I'm allowed." "The idiot who brought you here thought you were exactly my type. It didn't buy him forgiveness. But I'm keeping his fucking gift." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You keep saying no as though I haven't understood. I understand perfectly." "I just don't fucking care."