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“Let me go, or I’ll slit your throat and paint the sidewalk red, Garrix. Don’t fucking test me.”
She pulled a knife on me in the middle of the street. Fuck, she’s so fiery, so badass. So perfect. I bare my throat to her as I lick the taste of her from my lips.
“Somehow I doubt that. You’ll bring the sky above you down. Don Vettore’s influence only goes so far—he may be able to help you dodge a murder charge, but he won’t be able to keep the entirety of The Brigade at bay when they avenge my death…”
The knife presses to my skin, and little drops of blood escape, rolling down my neck. She scowls at me, and if looks could kill, I’d be trapped in an urn collecting dust somewhere.
“Come on, little killer, do it. Slice me open. I’m into knife play,” I taunt her.
The fire in her eyes only burns brighter as she considers it. She doesn’t move the knife, and I run my hands down her sides, resting them on her hips. I tilt my head down, so our lips are a hairsbreadth apart.
“You can threaten me all you want,” I say, grinding my hard length into her stomach, “but I know you like the way I taste, the way I feel against you.” I grip her hips harder. “If we weren’t in public, I'd pull your skirt up and find a soaked pussy waiting for me to lick it clean, wouldn’t I? Tell me I’m wrong…”
She huffs, flipping her knife closed and putting it back in her pocket. “You’re dead wrong. You’ll never touch me again. If you do, I’ll chop your fingers off one by one and collect them. Fuck off, Garrix.”
She wrenches out of my hold, her chest heaving with deep breaths. Her nipples are hard through her blouse and a flush creeps up her exposed neck. My little killer liked being manhandled.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” I wink at her, and she crosses the street on her way back to her office.
My entire body thrums with the overwhelming impulse to go after her. Catch her. Take her for myself and find out exactly how wet she really is. I want to find out what she’ll sound like when I devour between her thighs. How her silky skin will taste. One kiss didn’t satisfy me. I don’t think any amount of her could ever be enough.
I summon every ounce of my self-control and trail her back to her office. She turns, spotting me after about a third of a block. She doesn’t stop to confront me or speed up.
She’s a block away from her building when Gabriele finally catches up with her. The moron left her alone for over thirty minutes, anything could have happened. I need to discuss her security details with her. He doesn’t seem worried about her safety, or the fact that she seems agitated.
And he also doesn’t seem worried about the two men who look like gangsters watching Maddalena from outside her building. The one blends into the crowd of suits decently, but the other sticks out like a sore thumb with his worn leather jacket and tattoos. He didn’t even dress the part. These are not Vettore’s men—they have more finesse and the common sense to do their jobs right. The question is, who do they work for?
Maddalena’s gaze zeros in on me right before she passes through the front doors, and I give her a little wave and a grin. She only gives me a stone cold glare—a promise of something I’m sure will be one hell of a painful, good time—before disappearing into the building.
I send a text to Whit. Whoever is watching my little killer needs to be dealt with.
Me: I want eyes and protection on Maddalena Vettore around the clock. Get Holls and Jack on it ASAP. Tell them to be discreet and to report back to me if anything seems off.
Whit: Got it.
Maddalena
Ilie in bed staring at the ceiling, my head a mess of churning anxious thoughts. The bed in my brother’s guest room feels like a cloud, but I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Garrix Cameron. His mouth, his hands, his brooding face and dimples. How his tousled, wavy hair falls over his forehead. The way his eyes lit up when they locked with mine and trailed over my body like a caress, leaving me wanting more. And the way they practically caught on fire when I had my knife to his throat earlier today.
He’s a ghost who haunts my waking moments and permeates my dreams.
I shake my head to break these distracting thoughts. He’s part of The Brigade—they’re so secretive and unpredictable that it would be foolish to disrupt such a new, precarious relationship.
But despite all of that, I still think of his handsome face, how his body is the definition of male perfection. The way his sleek suit clung to his muscular frame. My mind wanders to what the planes of his muscles would feel like, how he’d feel inside me.
My skin heats, and my pebbled nipples rub against the soft fabric of my sweatshirt. The room feels like a sauna as I kick my blankets off. I’m only having these thoughts because of stress. The famiglia isn’t a nine to five, and it takes over my life more often than not. Add on the stress of my stalker and having my life turned upside down, and no wonder my anxiety is heightened. The wheels in my head are always turning.
My body demands a release of all the pent-up energy thrumming inside me. I take off my sweatshirt, and the cool night air sends shivers down my spine. Teasing my thumbs over my hardened peaks, I close my eyes and let images of Garrix have free rein in my mind. I imagine his calloused thumbs flicking and pinching them to the point where it’s almost too painful to bear. His lips trailing over my neck, kissing and biting me until I’m begging him to kiss something else…
A creak slashes through the silence of my bedroom as the balcony door slides open. Grabbing my gun from the side table, I sit up, pointing it at the intruder standing in the doorway. His face is shadowed by the room’s darkness, but I see his index finger raise to his lips, demanding silence. His other hand is empty of weapons.
“Were you thinking of me when you touched yourself, little killer?” a deep, rasping voice asks.
It couldn’t be.
As if my dirty thoughts summoned him like a demon from the underworld, Garrix Cameron stands in my bedroom. A beam of moonlight illuminates his handsome face, and I gasp. The contrasting shadows make his high cheekbones and crooked nose even starker.
“Don’t hold out on me, now. Sharing is caring,” he muses, stepping closer.
