Page 25 of Their Reckless Thief
But Roberto? He’d take his time, figuring out how I screwed up before he even lifted a finger to help—if he helped at all.
I couldn’t wait for them. I had to figure out a way to get myself out of this mess. The clothes Vincenzo had given me were nice—too nice. Black leather pants, a tight tank top, and a fitted leather jacket, all my size. He knew too much. It made me wonder what else he knew about me.
When I stepped out of the shower and got dressed, I caught a faint whiff of something. The leather carried the scent of luxury, but also something else. Something familiar. Him. Of course, it smelled like Vincenzo. My mind flashed with the memory of him pressing me against the wall in the basement. Of him licking my arousal from his fingers and groaning. The way his hard length had pressed into me as he pinned me to the wall, moaning over the taste of my blood like it was the best fucking thing his tongue had ever touched.
Suddenly, I was dripping, and not from the shower.
Fucking traitorous vagina.
I shook it off, trying to clear my head as I dressed. I needed a plan. And fast.
As I glanced at my reflection in the mirror one last time, the gravity of my situation slammed into me. Vincenzo wasn’t somelowlife mob boss I could outwit. He was a predator, a dangerous one, and I was already caught in his snare.
I squared my shoulders, trying to push down the rising panic. Hell, I’d survived this long. I could survive this.
Couldn’t I?
I’d have to. One way or another.
Dorian was leaning against the doorframe when I stepped out of the bathroom, his arms crossed over his broad chest and a playful grin spread across his handsome face. His eyes sparkled with mischief. I instinctively stiffened when he stepped forward and took my arm.
“Look at you, all cleaned up,” he said, his voice low and teasing, as his breath brushed against my ear. “I’ll be your chaperone for the day, love.”
I pulled back slightly and narrowed my eyes. “Lucky me.”
His grin widened. “Oh, trust me, you’ll have a blast.” He wrapped his hand around my arm, though not forcefully. It was almost casual, like he was leading me into a party instead of to a mafia lord’s office where anything could happen.
As we walked through the hallways, Dorian’s presence seemed to fill every corner, his energy carefree but tinged with darkness. The tension between us was unspoken but also undeniable. His flirtatious remarks might have seemed lighthearted, but I could sense something lurking beneath the surface, an awareness of the danger we both knew surrounded us.
“So…” He glanced down at me. “How’s it feel to be caught red-handed by some of the most dangerous men in The Below?”
I scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant. “Not great. It could’ve gone better, but hey, I’m still breathing. That counts for something, right?”
Dorian chuckled, his fingers brushing against the inside of my arm in a way that sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. “For now, darling. For now.”
We rounded a corner, and Vincenzo’s study loomed ahead like the mouth of a cave. It was dark, intimidating, and filled with the kind of power that could crush someone without a second thought. Dorian pushed the door open with his usual casual air and led me inside. Vincenzo sat at his desk, deep in conversation with a man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. The man’s back was to me, but his posture alone made me tense. This wasn’t going to be a friendly chat.
“Take a seat,” Dorian said, guiding me toward a plush leather chair near the desk. I eyed him but sat, my skin prickling with unease as Vincenzo glanced up, his dark eyes briefly locking with mine before returning to his guest.
I tried to calm my nerves, forcing myself to lean back and look like I wasn’t completely out of my depth.
But I was so fucking far out of my depth.
The door to the office swung open again, and a new figure strode in. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with an air of authority that felt almost suffocating. His dark hair was slicked back, his expression unreadable as he dragged a man in by the scruff of his neck. The guy’s face was bruised, blood trickling from his nose and the corner of his mouth. He was shoved to the floor, landing in a crumpled heap, and I immediately knew this wouldn’t end well.
“Matteo,” Vincenzo greeted, “always a pleasure. What have you brought for me today?”
Matteo stood over the man, wiping his hands on a cloth like the guy was little more than a mess to be cleaned up. “This piece of shit tried to force himself on one of our girls at the Den,” he said, his voice cold and calm, with just the faintest edge ofdisdain. “This is strike three for him. I know you have a zero-tolerance policy. Figured you’d want to deal with it personally.”
Vincenzo leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. His gaze drifted over the beaten man as if he was nothing more than an insect beneath his boot. Slowly, he stood, his presence commanding the entire room, and walked over to where the man knelt.
The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches. A chill crept down my spine as Vincenzo’s gaze turned toward me. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied me with those dark, penetrating eyes. Then, without warning, he walked to my side and reached down, grabbing me roughly by the chin. He pulled me to my feet and forced me to look up at him.
“Keep your eyes open,” he growled, his grip tight enough to make my jaw ache. “I want you to see what happens when people cross me.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening as his words sank in. My stomach churned with a mixture of fear and disgust, but I didn’t dare look away. His hand dropped from my face, and he turned back toward Matteo, nodding once.
“Dorian, hand me my sword.”
