A housekeeper delivered the report in a trembling voice.
"Don Corrado, Miss Chambers moved to the storage room in the north wing today."
Domenico's expression darkened instantly.
He cut through the hallway in long strides and kicked the storage room door open.
The wooden door slammed against the wall with a deafening crack.
I'd been sitting on the edge of the bed watching the snow. I turned to look at him.
Domenico crossed the room in two steps, his gaze raking over the shabby space before landing on the deflated duffel bag resting at the head of the bed.
"What kind of stunt are you pulling now?" His voice was sharp, accusatory. "Olimpia only said she wanted the master bedroom. Who told you to move into a place like this? Are you trying to guilt-trip me?"
I stood and met his eyes levelly.
"All the other guest rooms are filled with Miss Ferrante's luggage. This was the only one empty. It doesn't matter to me where I sleep."
My flat, unbothered tone infuriated him.
He seized my wrist, his grip brutal.
My sleeve was wrenched upward, exposing a vicious scar that ran more than five inches along my forearm.