Tattooed and Manly
LILIANA’S POV
The city blurred past my window in streaks of gold and steel, the hum of my G-Wagon’s engine a steady purr beneath me. My fingers tapped against the steering wheel, slow and deliberate, as if keeping rhythm with my thoughts.
Ronny.
Even just his name rolled around in my head like a word I wasn’t supposed to taste, sharp and dangerous and addictive.
I could still see the way he’d looked at me—like I’d wandered into his world without knocking, and he was deciding if I was worth the trouble of letting stay. That taut jaw. Those narrowed eyes. The kind of body you could trace stories over with your fingertips.
And those tattoos… God help me. I’d seen enough of them peeking out from under his shirt to know they weren’t just for show. They were a map of everything I didn’t know about him yet—and everything I planned to.
By the time I swung into the underground garage of my building, the faint smirk on my lips hadn’t faded.
The moment I stepped out, the sound of my heels echoed against concrete, sharp and certain. I had a board meeting in three hours, a production review in five, and an entire line of handbags to approve before the week was out.
But first… I had to deal with Erica.
The elevator opened directly into the marble expanse of Liliana Boutique’s headquarters. White walls. Black trim. Minimalist art. The air smelled faintly of fresh orchids—courtesy of the florist who delivered to my office every Monday morning.
I was halfway down the hall before I heard her.
“So…” Erica’s voice floated behind me, pitched with way too much curiosity. “How’d your stalking go?”
I didn’t even glance back. “I wasn’t stalking anyone.”
“Mm-hm.” Her heels clicked a steady beat as she caught up to me. “You just happened to know exactly where to find him, exactly when he’d be there, and exactly where to park so you could block his car completely.”
I shot her a glare over my shoulder. “Coincidence.”
She arched a brow. “Right. And I suppose it’s a coincidence that the man looks like he was hand-carved by some dangerously bored god?”
A faint laugh slipped out before I could stop it. I pushed open the glass door to my office and stepped inside, the quiet swallowing us whole. “What can I say? He’s… fine.”
“Fine?” Erica closed the door behind her, dropped her purse onto the white leather sofa, and perched on the edge like she had all afternoon to pick apart my brain. “Fine isn’t the word you were thinking. Try manly. Or hot. Or maybe dangerous enough to make your spine tingle.”
I set my bag on the desk, shrugging as I slipped out of my jacket. “All three. And the tattoos…” I let the corner of my mouth curve, just enough to make her groan. “They don’t hurt.”
Erica’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “So you like him.”
I didn’t even bother to deny it. “Yes.”
For a moment, she just stared, probably cataloging this for the day she’d drag it out and use it against me. “But,” she said slowly, “you didn’t stop him in the middle of the road just because he’s attractive. So what do you actually want from him?”
My smirk faded.
I leaned back against the edge of my desk, folding my arms loosely. “I know my mother’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Her teasing expression shifted instantly into something more serious. “Liliana…”
“They closed the case in less than two months,” I said, my voice low but steady. “Signed off on it. Concluded it was an accident. And expected me to accept it.”
“You think she was murdered?”
“I don’t think,” I said, meeting her eyes. “I know.”
She studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “And this is where Ronny comes in.”
I nodded. “Every piece of research I’ve done—every lead I’ve chased—keeps pointing back to the fact that I need someone in the field. Not just good. The best. And Ronny…” My fingers drummed lightly on the desk. “He’s the best in the game.”
Erica tilted her head. “Then why not just tell him? Hire him straight out? You’ve got the money, the connections—hell, you've got everything.”
A laugh slipped out, soft and unhurried. “Because where’s the fun in that?”
She groaned. “This isn’t a game, Liliana. You said yourself—”
“I know what I said.” I straightened, moving around the desk and dropping into my chair. The leather creaked softly beneath me. “But you know me. I don’t walk up to someone and hand them my trust in a pretty little box. I need to see him first. Learn him. Push him a little. See how he reacts when the control isn’t all in his hands.”
“Translation,” Erica said dryly, “you’re going to torture him until he either walks away or falls into your bed.”
I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Preferably both.”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the flicker of amusement she tried to hide.
“What’s your deal with this guy, really?” she asked after a beat. “From the way you’re talking, it’s not just about hiring him.”
I rested my elbows on the desk, fingers steepled in front of me. “From the day I first laid eyes on him…” I let my gaze drift, remembering the first time I'd seen him stepping out of the restaurant while I was entering, the way the sun lit up his skin, his eyes like storm clouds. “I knew he was mine.”
Erica laughed outright. “Yours? Liliana, he doesn’t even know you.”
“He will,” I said, voice calm, almost serene. “He just has to see it.”
Her brows lifted, but she didn’t argue. Not really. She’d known me long enough to know when I’d already decided something.
I leaned back, letting my chair swivel slightly toward the window. Below, the city moved in its usual rhythm—people rushing, cars weaving, the endless noise of life going on. Somewhere out there, Ronny was probably cursing my name.
Good.
A man like that didn’t notice you if you were polite.
No, you had to wedge yourself into his path, make him look at you—make him remember you.
And I had every intention of making sure he remembered me for a very, very long time.
Erica stood, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. “Well, when he finally shows up at your door demanding answers, I’ll make sure to have popcorn ready.”
I smiled faintly. “Do that. And maybe a bottle of champagne. I think I’ll enjoy watching him try to figure me out.”
She shook her head, muttering something about my brand of crazy, and let herself out.
The door clicked shut behind her.
For a moment, the office was quiet except for the faint hum of the AC and the muted traffic below.
I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a thin leather folder. Inside, neatly organized, were photographs, police reports, and a death certificate. My mother’s face smiled up at me from the first page, frozen in time.
I brushed my fingertips over the image.
They thought they could hide the truth.
They thought I’d let it go.
But they didn’t know me at all.
And soon, neither would Ronny—until I decided exactly how much of me he was allowed to see.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
