Page 15 of Their Reckless Thief
Camilla gave a short nod, the movement making her red hair gleam under the low light. “We’ll handle it.”
I didn’t need to tell them twice. They knew what failure meant in my world, and my men—mypeople—knew better than to expect leniency. They’d broken the chain, and they’d pay for it. Alessandro and Camilla would ensure that with their particular brand of efficiency.
“Review the footage. Find out who was responsible,” I growled, tapping my fingers against the desk. “Make sure they understand, in no uncertain terms, the consequences of failure. Severest order. You know what to do.”
Alessandro’s smile was cold and sharp. “Understood, boss.”
As they slipped out of the room, I headed for the door that led downstairs. I wasn’t done with the human woman. Not by a long shot.
The ancient stairs creaked under my weight as I descended into the basement. The air grew colder, the scent of old stone and leather filling my nostrils as I headed down the narrow hallway. This specific side of the basement was a testament to the things I’d done and the power I possessed. The walls were lined with various tools of the trade—torture devices I’d used countless times. Chains hung from the ceiling, a bloodstained table sat in the center, and iron shackles caught the dim light. It was a room built to break even the strongest.
The woman was tied to a chair near a table under a singular, harsh lamp, the light shining right into her face so she couldn’t see shit. Her face showed desperation, fear, and unmitigated anger. Dorian and Luca stood nearby, watching as she struggled against her restraints, her eyes narrowing against the glare. I took my time, watching her for a moment. She was a sight—gorgeous, fierce, and determined, despite the circumstances.
Most would’ve been pissing themselves by now, but not her. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry. She just sat there, defiant as hell, her chin raised in a silent challenge.
The corner of my mouth twitched.
She wasn’t too scared.
She would be, though.
Stepping into the light, I crossed my arms, letting my gaze rake over her. “You’re an interesting little thing, aren’t you?”
Her head snapped in my direction, but the light was too bright for her to make out anything beyond my silhouette. I took a few more steps, just enough so she could finally get a good look at me.
“Let her go,” I said.
Luca moved without hesitation and cut the ropes that bound her wrists. She rubbed her skin, her eyes darting between the three of us like a cornered animal assessing its options. Instead of cowering, she stood up slowly, holding my gaze the entire time. Impressive, if reckless.
“Follow me,” I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument. My gaze dragged down her body before I moved toward the side of the basement that was less ominous, more inviting. My den.
She didn’t move. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head, trying to figure out an escape route, trying to decide if she could take us.
I gave her a slow, dangerous smile. “I won’t ask again. You follow me, or I drag you. Your choice.”
With a muttered curse under her breath, she started walking, her chin held high.
We moved through a side door into a part of the basement most didn’t know about. It was worlds apart from the torture chamber she’d just been in. It was all dark wood, leather chairs, and overflowing bookshelves. A well-stocked bar stoodin the corner, cigars and expensive whiskey arranged neatly and untouched. The fridge held the most exclusive blood bags. It looked like a private library, a room of luxury and indulgence, far removed from the brutality of the other side of the basement.
“This,” I said, gesturing around the room, “is where I’d rather be. You can take a seat, or I can toss you back into the other room. Your call.”
She glanced at the plush leather couch, but instead of sitting, she crossed her arms and remained standing. “I’m fine here.”
I cocked my head to the side, amused. “Suit yourself.”
I walked over to the bar, pouring a goblet of whiskey mixed with blood and lighting a cigar. The rich, smoky scent filled the room, and I took a long drag. I exhaled slowly, watching her as I sat down in one of the leather chairs and crossed one leg over the other.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked, my voice low, almost casual. Luca and Dorian stood in the shadows, watching with as much curiosity as was plaguing me.
She didn’t flinch. “I know you’re part of the mafia,” she said, trying to sound cool and indifferent, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—uncertainty, perhaps. Good.
I let out a cold laugh. “Partof the mafia?” I leaned forward, my gaze locking on hers. “Oh, sweetheart. Iamthe fucking mafia.”
She stiffened, but she didn’t back down. I liked that about her. She had fire, something most people didn’t have when they were sitting across from me.
“Would you like a drink…? I’m sorry, I believe we skipped introductions. Please tell me your name, love.”
“Celeste. And whiskey. Neat.”
