Page 27 of A Game So Reckless

I was bluffing in the fountain earlier. When I dared her to scream and let her father see us together. Sure, she’d probably get in shit.

But I’d be the one with a bullet in my belly by the end of the night.

It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t plan on fucking her.

Even though that’s precisely the first goddamn thought that came to mind when she ripped her face from my grip and asked, “What do you want from me?”

I want to fuck you.That’s what I’d thought. Instantly. More instinct than intellection. Lust pounding through me like poison.

I can’t even remember the last time I wanted to have sex with any one particular woman. Sex is purely a physical need that I satisfy with whichever non-specific female is currently flitting through my orbit. I can’t even recall the name of the last woman I fucked. I can barely remember her face, and it wasn’t even that long ago.

But being with Valentina tonight, with her wet, half-naked body pinned beneath my own, my sudden, bludgeoning desire wasn’t just about fucking.

It was about fuckingher.

“I’m not fucking her,” I say with quiet venom.

“Just murdering men because of her.”

I whirl around, anger flaring. Rowan is my most loyal soldier and the closest thing I have to a friend in this world, but even he can push me too fucking far. But his expression stops me in my tracks. It’s one of grave concern.

“Be careful.”

Careful. I don’t need him to tell me to be careful. Finding my Da swinging at the end of a rope was the only warning about being careful I ever fucking needed.

I don’t get wrapped up in women.

I’ve never wanted a specific one.

Until now.

Because at least one stupid, shit-for-brains part of me wants Valentina.

Words from earlier echo like an anthem, like an omen.

The split-fucking-second I decide I want something…

She’s already mine.

Chapter16

Valentina

“Is that what you’re eating for breakfast?” Mamma asks with a slight purse of her lips.

“It’s breakfast time,” I say, “and I’m eating it, so…” I take another bite of thecornetto con crema, chewing the flaky pastry with its cream filling while Mamma turns away from me to make herself a cappuccino.

“Where did you even get that?” she asks as she pours milk into the steam pitcher.

“Deirdre brought them over yesterday,” I reply.

I think Deirdre goes a little stir-crazy at home when Elio’s not there. When she’s not practising violin or getting ready for her next university term to start in September, she’s in the kitchen with Rosa learning how to make Italian food.

She’s getting pretty good, if this delightful little pastry is any indication. I finish it up as Mamma steams her milk then gets her espresso ready. Once she’s done pouring the milk into the dark liquid, she angles herself to face me. She’s free of makeup this morning, her hair pulled up into a knot on the top of her head, and she’s decked out in leggings and a tight pink tank top.

I groan internally, already knowing what’s coming next.

“I’m going to do a workout. Why don’t you join me?” Her gaze snags on the pastry crumbs on my plate. I hear a small puff of air come out of her nose, like the tiniest, most disappointed sigh in the world. “And we’ll have a light lunch later, eh? Maybe some of that low fat cottage cheese with fruit. And some lemon water? I can make a whole pitcher.”

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