Page 82 of Their Reckless Thief
No matter what it took, I would protect her. And tonight, Roberto would learn just how far I was willing to go to do that.
I flewthrough the tear in the Veil, the cold night air biting at my skin as I passed into the human world. The darkness here was heavier, more stifling, but I had no need for light tonight.
The tools I had chosen for tonight’s work pressed against my skin under my jacket, the cold metal igniting a low hum of anticipation. My hands itched to use them, to let them do what they were meant to do. First, I had to make my entrance. I wasn’t here for a quick kill. No, this was going to be slow and methodical. I was going to exact the kind of torment that lived in a man’s eyes even while he was dying.
Roberto’s house was a small, unassuming place on the outskirts of the city. It didn’t fit the man, though I suspected that was exactly the point. He’d chosen this location to blend in, to go unnoticed while he conducted his filthy business, hidden away from prying eyes. Well, he couldn’t hide from me.
I landed silently, my wings folding back as I approached the house. No lights were on, but I knew he was inside. The stench of filth clung to the air. Roberto was used to having power, used to thinking he was in control of everything around him. That was about to change.
The lock on the back door nearly made me laugh out loud. I picked it with ease, slipping into the dark kitchen without a sound. The house was cluttered with old takeout containers, stacks of papers, and half-empty bottles. This was the man who thought he could own Celeste? Who thought he could touch what was mine?
I moved through the house like a shadow, silent and invisible. Roberto was upstairs, sleeping, unaware of what was about to descend upon him.
I didn’t go straight to his room. First, I wanted him to know I was here. I wanted him to feel the fear creeping in.
Step one: scare the shit out of him.
I started small. The creak of a door left slightly ajar, the scrape of metal against the floor. Sounds a groggy mind could easily dismiss, but unsettling enough to disturb sleep. I knocked over a vase in the hallway, listening to the crash as it shattered on the floor below.
I heard him stir—the rustle of bedsheets as he woke, his heart rate picking up speed.
“What the fuck…?” he murmured.
I grinned, pulling the blade from my jacket, letting the metal catch the faint light coming through the window. Slowly, I began to ascend the stairs, each step measured, deliberate, loud.
I flicked a picture frame off the wall, and it crashed on the stairs, the glass shattering. I heard Roberto stumble out of bed, his breaths becoming faster as the fear took hold.
“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice shaky.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I let my shadow stretch across the wall at the top of the stairs, just out of his view. I wanted him to see it, to wonder what kind of nightmare had walked into his home.
“Who the fuck is there?” Roberto’s voice rose, panic seeping into it.
I stepped into the doorway, my silhouette blocking the faint moonlight filtering in through the window. Roberto froze, his eyes wide as they locked onto me.
“Vincenzo,” he squeaked.
“Roberto,” I said calmly, stepping farther into the room. “Nice place. A little modest for a man with such grand delusions.”
He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet as he reached for the bedside table. His hands shook as he fumbled around fora weapon, a gun he kept stashed in the drawer. Pathetic. It would be no use against me.
“You… you can’t be here,” he stammered. “This isn’t The Below. You have no jurisdiction here. You can’t… hurt me here.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” I stepped closer. “And tonight, what I want is you.”
He raised the gun, his hand trembling so violently I almost laughed. Almost. I was far too angry for laughter tonight. The fury simmering inside me was on the verge of boiling over, but I kept it leashed. For now.
I moved faster than he could react, swatting the gun out of his hand before he even had a chance to aim. It clattered to the floor and slid under the bed.
“Please…” he started, his back pressed against the wall as I closed the distance between us. “Please, we can make a deal. Whatever you want… I can make it happen. I have connections. I have resources.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growled, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall. His head hit the plaster with a satisfying thud, terror filling his eyes.
This was the part I liked. The begging, the realization that no amount of power, no deals, no promises could save him now. I tightened my grip on his throat. His face turned red, veins popping along his temples as he struggled to breathe.
“You put your hands on her. You thought you could break her. Hurt her. What the fuck were you thinking?”
His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, gasping for breath, but I wasn’t done yet. I slammed him down onto the bed, tying his hands and feet to the posts before he could gather himself enough to move. He thrashed, but it was useless.
