Caruso;
"Get the fuck out of the damn car." I glare, but it doesn't seem to have any effect on her.
I'd even gone out of my way to get the door for her like a fucking gentleman—something I know as fuck I am not.
Something I'll never do for a woman.
I'd rather shove my dick in a pipe.
She still doesn't comply, sitting there, lashes fluttering as her attention flicks to the fortress of the mansion at my back, then to my blood-soaked white shirt, and finally to me.
"You don't want to know what I'll do if I repeat myself." My jaw tightens, voice dropping with warning.
She's testing my goddamned patience.
"Okay, okay, I will…just—" she chews on her lower lip, nerves spilling through the small action, immediately dragging my attention to her mouth.
"Just please don't tell Romano and your father on me." The blue of her eyes glints, almost pleading.
So this is what it's about.
I study her for a silent minute, and she shifts under the weight of it, shoulders going rigid.
"That depends." My molars grind together.
A beat of hesitation—then she steps out, and I slam the car door behind her.
Her steps are uneven as she takes the lead, moving toward the porch. The moment a beam of light hits her, she freezes, spine snapping straight.
The crunch of gravel under heavy boots cuts through the silence.
"She's with me," I say, my words carrying easily.
Only then does the guard's attention shift fully, landing on me. "Boss," he mutters, bowing his head as he lowers the light.
The sharp rays bounce back to my face, and alarm flickers across his expression as his eyes track the blood soaking my chest. "Bo—"
I raise a hand, cutting him off, already moving past him toward the little viper still rooted to the door as though a fucking magnet holds her in place.
The moment she notices me closing in, she quickens her pace, almost stumbling in her urgency to put distance between us—as if standing next to me might leave a permanent mark.
My right hand suddenly burns—a dull, taunting reminder of where it's been.
I hadn't meant to go that far.
And now that I think about it—fuck.
A low groan slips past my lips, my jaw tightening.
But I don't regret it. And that's what makes it fucking messy.
I needed leverage—to keep that confrontation from turning into a bloodbath sooner rather than later.
And the softness of her skin…it felt like an antidote to the rough edges I barely keep chained.
The rapid slap of her feet against marble echoes as she tries to get away, completely abandoning her earlier plan of sneaking in unnoticed.
I haven't even questioned what she was doing at my club.
My tongue presses against the inside of my cheek; I'll deal with that later.
Pain shoots through my bones. Blood drips steadily, each tap…tap…tap grating on my nerves.
The irritation almost drowns out the burn in my chest.
At the top of the stairs, she tries to make a run for it—feet already pivoting toward the lobby.
Too late.
My fingers catch in the silky strands of her hair, fisting them. A sharp tug, and she slams back into my chest. The metallic scent of blood thickens as more spills from the wound.
I bite back a hiss.
"Ow—oh my God!" An airy yelp escapes her lips.
Her head tilts upward under my grip, eyes flashing with a glare I couldn't care less about.
"Where do you think you're going?" I rasp into her ear, her scent flooding my senses—it had taken effort not to bury my face in her at the club.
"My room?" she whispers, voice tight.
"You're coming with me." My tone is final, but her eyes widen in protest.
"Why?" she demands, voice soft but edged. Innocent tone, but I know she's anything but.
"Who's going to take care of my injury?"
Her wide eyes dart around nervously as my voice echoes off the walls. "Keep it down, please," she hisses, shoulders tensing.
Tilting my head slightly, I lean closer. "Then. Don't. Fucking. Argue." Each word clipped, controlled.
"Hush…" Her breath fans against my face from below as she presses a finger to her wet lips.
Fuck. Why did I notice that?
"My neck hurts, let me go." She tugs weakly at my grip, wincing when I don't budge.
Eventually, she stills, looking up through thick lashes, defeat settling into her features.
"But you had one of your men pull the bullet. What do you need me for?" A flush of irritation colors her cheeks.
I lift my gaze to the dark hallway ahead, keeping it there as I lower my head until my lips hover near her ear. "I heard a rumor you nursed my brother back to life." I pause, letting that sink in. "Since you're really good at it, I won't mind." A smirk pulls at my mouth, breath grazing her skin—drawing a visible shiver.
She goes quiet, processing, her breathing uneven.
"Fine…then let me go." Her throat moves as she swallows. That small motion does something violent to my head.
"Say please."
She hesitates—then forces it out, irritation lacing every syllable. "P-please."
Something dark stirs, curling deep inside me.
My grip loosens.
She stumbles away quickly, putting space between us, chest rising and falling hard.
Fear flickers across her face before she blinks it away.
But I catch it. I always do.
She strides the path toward my room like she's been there a hundred times, muscle memory guiding her.
It shouldn't—but it does something filthy to my thoughts. A dirty desire I should have no business having.
I follow.
At the door, she steps aside. And I open it.
Taking the cue, she walks in first—though not without casting a quick, wary glance around.
"This feels bad, Caruso." I hear the unease creeping into her voice, see it in the slight tension of her shoulders.
The click of the lock echoes as I twist it shut.
She jolts, wide-eyed.