Page 66 of Broken Crown

A thick fur blanket draped across my lap, the plush softness a stark contrast to the cold air whipping around us. The scent of frost-kissed earth and pine needles filled my lungs, sharp and cleansing against the leather and cologne that clung to the car's interior.

Sebastian glanced over, his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, but not the curve of his lips. "If I wanted you dead, dolcezza, I wouldn't waste a perfectly good fur."

The road curved sharply, and his hand moved from the gearshift to my thigh, squeezing once then returning to the wheel. Even through the layers of blanket and clothing, his touch burned.

Leaving me acutely aware of every inch where his fingers had pressed. The ghost of his touch lingered, a phantom brand that made me shift restlessly in my seat, my body unconsciously seeking more.

"Where exactly are we going again?" I asked, my voice catching slightly as his eyes flicked from the road to my face.

"Chieti. A small medieval village. You'll like it." His certainty both irritated and disarmed me.

"You seem very certain about what I'll like." I pulled the fur higher, hiding my face up to my nose, grateful for the barrier it provided against his penetrating gaze.

The rumble of his laughter vibrated through the car. "I know exactly what you like, Sabrina.”

I swallowed hard. "That's…presumptuous."

His words conjured vivid recollections that made my skin prickle with awareness. The bruising pressure of his fingers digging into my hips, the cruel precision with which he'd mapped every sensitive spot on my body.

My thighs clenched involuntarily beneath the fur, a reaction he noted with that infuriating smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

The Maserati hugged the curves of the mountain road as we climbed higher into the Abruzzo region. Rows of winter-dormant vineyards stretched across the hillsides. Olive groves dotted the landscape, silver-green against the russets and golds of the November terrain.

Tendrils of morning mist still clung to the valleys below, transforming them into ethereal lakes of fog that swirled and parted as the weak sunlight fought to penetrate their depths. The air grew thinner, crisper, with each mile we ascended, carrying the distant smell of woodsmoke from unseen farmhouses.

"I've never thought to come to this part of Italy," I admitted, lowering the fur just enough to speak clearly.

In the rare times I dreamed of seeing Italy, it was always Rome, Milan, or Florence.

"Few tourists venture here, especially in winter." Sebastian downshifted as we approached a particularly sharp curve. "They're missing out."

"Is that why you brought me? To show me something even most Italians don't appreciate?" I tried to sound casual, but the question landed heavy, settling between us.

"I brought you because some things need to be experienced away from Rome. Away from…everything."

I held my breath, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, I exhaled slowly. "That's evasive, even for you."

"Would you prefer I lie?" His eyes remained fixed on the road, but his attention pressed against me, nonetheless.

"I'd prefer the truth, for once," I said, hating the tremor of fear that ran over my body.

He remained silent for so long I thought he wouldn't respond. "The truth is rarely simple, piccola."

The non-answer lingered as the landscape opened up, revealing a breathtaking panorama of the Majella mountains, their peaks dusted with early snow that gleamed in the sunlight.

The harsh beauty of the mountains stood in stark contrast to the gentle rolling hills beneath them—unforgiving stone sentinels watching over a land softened by centuries of human cultivation.

Golden light spilled across the valley, catching on frost-rimmed stone walls that partitioned the countryside into a patchwork of fields and pastures, now barren in the grip of approaching winter.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

"Beauty should always be appreciated." His eyes glanced toward me briefly. "Worshipped, even."

My body was a traitor, responding to him without my permission. The wet heat between my thighs a constant reminder of the power he wielded over me, a power I resented and craved in equal measure.

"Is this the part where you compare me to the landscape? Because that would be incredibly cliché."

"I was referring to the mountains," he replied dryly. "Not everything is about you, piccola."