Page 16 of Forbidden Vengeance

Prey recognizing predator.

Or maybe predator recognizing predator—with Elena, it’s hard to tell sometimes.

My little planner, who plays both sides so perfectly. Even now, probably calculating angles and exits, weighing risks and rewards. I’ve watched her do this dance for months through surveillance photos and encrypted messages. But nothing compares to watching her in person, especially when she thinks she’s alone.

“You should be in Boston,” she says without turning, but her voice holds none of its usual control. The slight tremor betrays her—desire or fear or both.

With Elena, it’s always both.

I almost smile. Such bravado from my little planner, especially after our confrontation in her apartment, after our moment in the garden. The memory of her throat beneath my palm makes my fingers itch to touch her again.

“You shouldn’t be playing games you can’t win.” I move closer, drawn by that magnetic pull that’s been building since she first caught my eye outside her office. Back when she was just an event planner, before I recognized the predator behind her perfect smile.

“Anthony Calabrese, the Irish mob, my brother’s empire—you’re juggling lit matches, little planner.”

She spins to face me then, and the fire in her eyes steals my breath. Gone is the polished professional who manages New York’s elite. This is the real Elena—dangerous and desperate and so fucking beautiful it hurts.

“I learned from the best,” she spits, closing the distance between us. Her perfume hits me again, mixing with the lingering scent of hospital antiseptic. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Someone on the inside, someone they’d never suspect?—”

I cut her off with a kiss that’s been six months in the making.

There’s no preamble, no hesitation—just pure, raw need. Our lips crash together like a storm breaking, her sharp gasp swallowed by my hunger. It’s not gentle; it’s a battle of dominance, all teeth and tongue and unspoken emotions that have simmered for too long.

Her lips are soft but unyielding, matching me stroke for stroke, her hands fisting in my hair as though she’s as desperate to taste me as I am to devour her.

I press her against the cold concrete wall, the unforgiving surface contrasting with the blazing heat between us. Her gasp sends a shiver down my spine, but I’m too far gone to slow down. My hands slide down to her hips, gripping them tightly as though she might vanish if I let go. The expensive fabric of her dress clings to her curves, moving against my skin as I explore every inch of her.

She tastes like cheap hospital coffee, the kind you choke down just to survive, but beneath that, there’s a flavor that’s all her own—dangerous and addictive, like the sharp sting of whiskey on a cold night. Something primitive in me roars at finally claiming what I’ve been watching for so long. Her body fits against mine perfectly, all soft curves and sharp edges.

When I bite her lower lip, dragging my teeth slowly across the plump flesh, she moans, a low, throaty sound that echoes in the empty space around us and nearly undoes me. Her nails dig into my scalp, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through me as she pulls me impossibly closer, her body molding against mine like we were made for this moment.

Her legs shift, brushing against mine, and I take the hint, lifting her effortlessly until her thighs are wrapped around my waist. She gasps against my mouth, her chest heaving as I press into her, pinning her firmly in place with the weight of my body.

My lips trail fire along her jawline, down the column of her throat. Her pulse thrums beneath my tongue, wild and frantic,matching the pounding of my heart. I drag my teeth against her skin, not hard enough to mark but enough to leave her trembling. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, pulling me closer, as though she can’t bear even an inch of distance between us.

“Elena,” I growl against her skin, the sound rough and unrecognizable even to myself.

Her fingers tug me back up, and our mouths collide again, fiercer this time, more desperate. Her lips are swollen now, her taste darker, richer, like something forbidden. The rhythm of our kiss turns chaotic, a mess of tongues and teeth and ragged breaths, but neither of us cares.

Her body arches into me, her curves pressing against every hard edge of mine. I grip her tighter, my fingers tracing the curve of her waist and the dip of her spine, committing her to memory as though I could forget. She moans again, softer this time, a sound that vibrates through my chest and sets my nerves on fire.

When we finally break apart for air, she’s a mess of contradictions—her cheeks flushed, her perfect ponytail disheveled, strands falling around her face like a halo. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with desire, and her lips—those perfect lips—are kiss-swollen and glistening.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” she manages, but her body betrays her as she pulls me closer.

My laugh is dark against her throat. “Plans change, little planner. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

She shivers as I nip at her pulse point, her heart racing beneath my lips. This woman, who plays both sides so perfectly, who manipulates everyone around her with calculated grace, comes undone so beautifully under my touch.

The taste of her, the feel of her body against mine, the way she responds to every touch—it’s better than any intelligence she’s ever gathered, more valuable than any territory we mightclaim. Her hands clutch at my shoulders as I trail kisses down her neck, each gasp a victory.

This wasn’t part of my plan either, but plans are made to be broken. And Elena Santiago might just be worth burning everything down for.

She pulls back slightly, those intelligent eyes studying my face. Looking for lies, for manipulation, for the game beneath the game. “Your brother will kill us both,” she whispers, but there’s a hint of excitement in her voice. The same thrill I hear when she passes along classified information, when she plays both sides against the middle.

“My brother,” I murmur against her skin, “has forgotten what real power looks like.” I capture her lips again, softer this time but no less hungry. “But you haven’t, have you, little planner? You see exactly what’s coming.”

Her hands slide inside my jacket, warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. “The Irish modernization, Anthony’s shipping routes, Siobhan’s quiet coup…” She gasps as I nip at her ear. “It’s all connected.”

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