“I had a revelation.”
He says it against my throat. His voice is wrecked.
“About what?”
“About what actually matters.”
His mouth moves down. His teeth catch the lace at the top of my bra. My voice isn’t mine when it comes out next.
“And what—what is that?”
His hand slides between my thighs.
“That onlyyoumatter. That onlythisfucking matters.This. You wet for me at eleven in the morning in your work blouse with your boss’s hand inside you.” His fingers find me through the fabric and push. “Thisis what I was born for. Not the firm. Not the famiglia. Not the chair I’ve been polishing for some other man’s son for twenty fucking years. This.”
His mouth is at my ear.
“I was born to fucking worship you, Bea.”
I’m dripping for him. He knows it.
I’m rocking against his hand and, without thinking, have brought my own hand down to the front of his trousers. He’s hard for me. It’s exhilarating.
My fingers are working the belt before either of us has decided we’re doing this here, against this wall, in the kitchen, in full daylight.
“Raffaele—”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him? What happened to Martinez?”
He stops moving for a fraction of a second. Just long enough that I feel him decide to answer.
He lifts me. Picks me up like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist and my back slams against the wall. He stares at me with blue fire raging in his perfect eyes.
“Dead.”
He pushes inside me on the word.
“Choked. On his own floor. With my hands.”
He’s not gentle. He fucks me against the wall with my back grinding into the plaster and my forehead pressed into the side of his neck, and every thrust drives the next sentence out of him in a hot, low murmur against my hair.
“The bastard thought there was a version of this where you were a piece of leverage. Thought he could reach over and take what’s fucking mine, like I would just let him.” A thrust, hard. “I disabused him of the notion.”
“Did—did he deserve?—”
“I don’t ask that question.”
He grips me harder.
“I’m a criminal, Bea. I’m a killer. I haven’t askeddid he deserve itin twenty years.” His mouth is at my ear. “Anyone who reaches for you is going to die. That’s the only rule in my life that matters anymore.”
He pulls back enough to look at me.
“You’ve ruined me,” he says. “You have fucking ruined me, Bea Mendez.”
I clench around him. And the words come out in a rasp before I can stop them.
