Chapter Fourteen
Evelyn lay back against the hospital pillows, the weight of her situation pressing down on her. Refusing Sandro's offer outright felt foolish, a stubborn act that would leave her vulnerable and potentially homeless while still recovering. Yet, accepting his generosity felt like stepping into a lion's den, trading one set of uncertainties for another, potentially more dangerous one.
She studied his face, searching for any hint of ulterior motive beyond his vague explanation of goodwill. His expression remained impassive, his dark eyes holding a depth she couldn't decipher. Was this a power play, a subtle way to assert control over her? Or was there, perhaps buried beneath layers of his formidable persona, a genuine sense of responsibility for what had happened?
"What kind of apartment?" Evelyn asked cautiously, her voice betraying her suspicion.
"A penthouse," Sandro replied simply, his gaze unwavering. "In one of my buildings. It's… spacious. Private. You would have everything you need."
A penthouse. The image conjured up luxury, isolation, and an even greater sense of being under his thumb. It was hardly the anonymous refuge she needed to continue her investigation.
"And the location?" Evelyn pressed, needing to assess the implications of such a move.
"Overlooking the city," Sandro said, a hint of something unreadable in his tone. "Not far from here."
Evelyn hesitated, the internal battle raging within her. The rational part of her screamed danger, warning her against becoming indebted to this man, against placing herself in such a potentially compromised position. But the pragmatic side acknowledged the immediate relief it would provide, the time it would buy her to heal and regroup.
"There would be no… expectations?" Evelyn asked, her voice barely above a whisper, needing to make this crucial point.
Sandro's gaze intensified. "My only expectation, signorina, is that you focus on your recovery. Nothing more." His tone was firm, leaving little room for misinterpretation, yet Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface.
After a long moment of tense silence, Evelyn made her decision. She couldn't afford to be prideful to the point of self-destruction. Accepting his offer, while remaining vigilant, seemed like the only viable option.
"Alright, Signor Moretti," Evelyn said slowly, her eyes locked on his. "I will accept your… generous offer. But I want to be clear. This is a temporary arrangement. And it does not change anything else."
A subtle shift occurred in Sandro's expression, a flicker that might have been satisfaction, or perhaps something else entirely. "Understood, signorina," he replied, his voice smooth. "I will make the arrangements for your transfer once you are discharged."
As Sandro made a call on his phone, his low Italian a language Evelyn was still struggling to fully grasp, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just made a deal with the devil. She had secured a roof over her head, but at what cost? She was now living under the same roof as the man she was investigating, a situation fraught with danger and unforeseen complications. The game had just taken a dramatic and perilous turn, and Evelyn knew she had to tread more carefully than ever in the luxurious confines of Sandro Moretti's penthouse.