Killing Two Birds With One Stone
LILIANA’S POV
I walked him to the door because, well, that’s what polite people do. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
In truth, I just wanted more time to look at him.
Ronny moved like he carried the weight of a thousand bad memories on those broad, tattooed shoulders. Every step of his was deliberate, heavy without being sluggish, and I was drawn to it the way some women are drawn to storms—half in awe, half terrified they’ll be swept away.
God, those tattoos. I tried not to stare, but my eyes betrayed me, drinking in every inch of ink that crept down his forearms and disappeared beneath the cuff of his shirt. I wanted to know what each line, each shadow meant. Who he’d been when he got them. What they covered up.
And then there was his neck—strong, defined, with just the barest hint of more ink curling up from under his collar. My mind betrayed me instantly, imagining what it would feel like to press my lips there, to taste the heat of his skin while his hand tangled in my hair and—
I bit my lip hard. Too hard.
Stop it, Liliana.
I forced myself to release it and school my face into the same cool, unreadable expression I’d worn all night. The last thing I needed was him catching me daydreaming about him when I’d just begged him to investigate my mother’s death.
The elevator dinged softly, pulling my gaze from his arms back to his face. That face. Always so serious, like every word out of his mouth had to be weighed against the possibility it could destroy someone.
“I’ll look into it,” he said, his voice deep enough to crawl right under my skin, “and get back to you as soon as possible.”
That voice. Rough and warm at the same time, like whiskey over ice. I could listen to him read a grocery list and still shiver.
I nodded quickly, reminding myself—again—that this was about my mother. “Yes.”
He studied me for a beat longer, like he was searching for something in my eyes. “If you remember anything—anything at all—call me.”
“Sure,” I said, my tone lighter than I felt.
“Goodnight,” he murmured, and the way the word rolled off his tongue made me want to pull him back into the room and see how many more ways he could say it.
Instead, I stood there, keeping my features calm, watching him step inside the elevator. The doors began to slide shut, and I let the word slip from my lips in a whisper, too soft for him to hear.
“Goodnight.”
The doors closed, and I stood there like an idiot for a second, smiling like a lovesick teenager. Then I turned and actually skipped back toward the penthouse, my bare feet making soft thuds against the polished floor.
I collapsed onto the couch with a dreamy sigh, staring up at the ceiling like it held all the answers to my life. Two birds with one stone—that’s what this was. I’d get justice for my mother, and maybe… maybe I’d get the man of my dreams in the process.
I could already picture it—those strong arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his chest until there was no space left between us. Or maybe his hand would be at the back of my neck, keeping me exactly where he wanted me while his lips claimed mine, deep and demanding.
And God help me, the place I ached for him most wasn’t my heart.
I wanted those lips in the place I ached for him the most. I don't know how or when it started, but Ronny has taken total control of my mind and body and he didn't even know it yet.
A sharp beep jolted me out of my fantasy, and I reached for my phone with a smile that faded as soon as I saw the sender. My stupid ex. Of course.
His name alone was enough to sour my mood. I opened the message out of morbid curiosity and was greeted with his usual brand of arrogance—something about “missing what we had” and “we should talk.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt and tossed the phone back onto the coffee table. The man had always been a self-absorbed jerk who thought the world—and I—revolved around him. I didn’t even know why I’d wasted so much time on him.
The penthouse was quiet again, the only sound the faint hum of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I let my eyes close for a moment, thinking of Ronny’s expression when I’d said “sure.” It was like he’d been trying to read me, to figure out what game I was playing. If only he knew the truth—there was no game.
At least, not yet.
A sudden, sharp ring cut through the silence.
I frowned. The doorbell.
For a second, my heart leapt stupidly—had Ronny forgotten something? Maybe he’d come back with another question, maybe he’d—
I stood quickly, smoothing my dress as I walked to the door. My bare feet made almost no sound against the cool marble. My pulse quickened.
I unlocked the latch and swung the door open, already half-smiling.
And then my smile died.
It wasn’t Ronny.
It wasn’t anyone I wanted to see.
My blood boiled the instant my eyes landed on the figure standing there.
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