Page 136 of Their Reckless Thief
With her silent approval fueling me, I turned to the man, my fist connecting solidly with his face. The impact jarred up my arm, and he slumped forward, momentarily unconscious. When he came to, groggy and disoriented, Vincenzo wasted no time, leaning forward with a knife glinting in his hand.
“You’re going to answer my questions,” Vincenzo hissed, his voice lethal, his fangs flashing menacingly. “And maybe, if you’re smart, you’ll keep what’s left of your fingers.” He held the knife a little closer to the man’s face, letting him see just how sharp it was.
“Tell me,” Vincenzo continued, “what The Shadow wants with the information you’re feeding him. What’s he planning?”
The man sneered, feigning bravado, but fear lurked in his expression. “Fuck if I know. I just feed him what he wants. I’m not part of his strategy team.”
Vincenzo tilted his head, a twisted smile curling his lips. “Fair enough.”
He seized the man’s hand, pressing it against the leather seat as he lined the knife up against his middle finger. The man’s eyes widened, panic finally setting in.
“No—” His scream filled the SUV as the blade came down, severing the finger cleanly. Blood spurted, splattering across the seat, and he let out a strangled cry, clutching his hand as Vincenzo picked up the severed digit.
The metallic scent of blood permeated the air. Vincenzo leaned forward, pressing the bloody finger into the man’s chest, his expression merciless. “Deliver this to The Shadow. Let him know he’s fucking with the wrong drug lord.”
The man was pale, shivering with pain and fear. His good hand clutched the bleeding stump, blood dripping from between his fingers, but he nodded, too afraid to defy Vincenzo’s command.
Luca’s shadows dragged the shaking man from the car and dropped him in a heap on the road.
Celeste’s face was still calm, almost detached. Pride surged through me. She didn’t flinch, didn’t balk. I knew, at that moment, she was one of us. No one else but her could handle this kind of world, this level of loyalty and brutality. She was stronger than she realized.
As Vincenzo signaled for us to drive off, I leaned back, watching the man shrink in the rearview mirror, still clutching his hand, fear etched into every line of his face.
41
VINCENZO
Havingdinner on the terrace felt like a gamble after I’d cut off a man’s finger in front of Celeste. The memory clung to me like the faint iron scent of blood that never quite left my senses, a reminder of what I was and the lines I didn’t hesitate to cross. She hadn’t flinched at the sight—hadn’t screamed, hadn’t run. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t disgusted. I had thrown caution to the wind when I invited her to dine with me, expecting rejection, a scoff, maybe even a well-aimed insult. Instead, she’d surprised me. She said yes.
The staff had outdone themselves, though I suspected their efforts had more to do with fear of disappointing me than any sense of hospitality. The table was draped in crisp white linen that made even the smallest stain a statement. Crystal goblets reflected the flicker of low candlelight, and the aroma of roasted herbs and wine-soaked sauces filled the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of night-blooming jasmine from the gardens below.
It was an intimate setting, deliberate in its design, though part of me still wondered if the effort was wasted on someone as sharp as Celeste. She wasn’t the type to be seduced by ambiance, and yet here she was, seated next to me, her gaze as steadyand cutting as ever. A soft hum of music drifted through the air, violins and piano weaving together in a melody meant to calm. It failed miserably—at least for me. The steady ache of her presence was enough to fray my nerves in ways a blade never could.
I picked up my goblet, swirling the viscous, dark liquid. The blood caught the candlelight, gleaming like molten rubies as it coated the glass. I took a slow sip, letting the metallic tang settle on my tongue. The familiar taste set me at ease, much like an anchor in a moment that felt dangerously unsteady. Her warmth brushed against me beneath the table, subtle but enough to send a ripple of awareness through my skin. How could she sit so close, so casual, as if the tension between us wasn’t thick enough to choke?
I set the goblet down and turned my gaze on her. She looked stunning, though that word felt inadequate. Celeste wasn’t beautiful in the way mortals used the term—she was something else entirely. Her beauty was sharp-edged, a weapon she wielded with precision.
Her presence was intoxicating in a way I hadn’t expected, and I fucking despised how easily it unbalanced me.
Her fingers toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “You don’t seem like the type to have romantic dinners.”
I smirked. “And you don’t seem like the type to accept an invitation from a man who makes a spectacle of dismemberment.”
Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “You’re not wrong.” She glanced at her wine, swirling it absently before taking a sip. “But here I am.”
“Here you are,” I echoed. It felt like a small victory, the way she stayed, the way she met my gaze without flinching or retreating.
Her presence was a contradiction—calming and electric, soothing and maddening. It unsettled me how much I wanted to sit in this tension, to let it stretch between us until something broke. I leaned back in my chair, tracing the rim of my goblet.
“You’re an enigma, Vincenzo,” she said, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. “One moment, you’re cutting off fingers without blinking, and the next, you’re orchestrating a dinner like this.” Her eyes flicked to mine, searching. “Why?”
The question hung between us, cutting through the music and candlelight. Why? It was a simple word, but it carried the weight of everything I wasn’t ready to admit.
Because you calm the chaos in my head. Because you see the monster and stay anyway. Because I don’t deserve this, but I want it all the same.
But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I picked up my goblet and took another slow sip. “Why not?”
It was a coward’s answer, and I hated myself for it. If she saw the truth—the need and the ache buried beneath centuries of control—she might realize how dangerous it was to stay.
