Page 36 of Their Reckless Thief
My gaze landed on the bathroom door.
I bolted toward it and ripped through the bathroom drawers, tossing the contents over my shoulders. Nothing. Not even a razor. I gripped the sink to keep my hands from trembling and stared into the mirror. There had to be a way.
The bathtub caught my eye.
I knew I wasn’t in the right mindset. I knew it was the panic talking, the lack of Phantomine in my system, but I didn’t care. I was so fucking tired, tired of being a puppet, tired of this sick game, and tired of running. This way, I would be in control, not Vincenzo. My hands trembled as I turned on the faucet, water rushing into the tub with a dull roar that matched the chaos inmy mind. I stripped my clothes off in a frenzy and climbed in before the tub was even full.
The cool water calmed me as I sank lower, submerging myself completely. The sounds of the world disappeared as the water filled my ears. My hair floated around me, and I closed my eyes, letting the weight of the water press down on me.
This was it. No more running. No more being anyone’s tool.
I began to release the air in my lungs, letting the water consume me.
Suddenly, strong hands wrapped around my arms and dragged me out of the water with a force that left me gasping. I sputtered, coughing up water as my head broke the surface.
Vincenzo Moretti’s frantic eyes came into view.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled, but beneath the anger in his voice, I heard something else. He was shaken. His hands trembled as he settled me into his lap, and he didn’t seem to notice—or care—that his shirt was getting soaked. His grip on me tightened, like he was afraid I might slip away again.
Water dripped from my hair and lips as I coughed. Suddenly, I wasn’t spiraling anymore, but I was confused. Vincenzo Moretti. Frantic. Concerned? His hands moved over my face, his eyes searching mine.
Was he worried? About me?
I tried to make sense of the strange mix of emotions playing out across his face. He was probably just scared of losing his newest tool. The human who would help him in his war against The Shadow.
But his hands were shaking. This man, who killed without blinking, who commanded an empire with fear and violence, was shaking.
We sat like that for a long time, his arms wrapped around me, his heart hammering against mine. He didn’t say anything,didn’t demand an explanation, just brushed his hands over my wet skin, his touch unbelievably gentle.
Once he was convinced that I was okay, he grabbed a towel and started drying me off, the tension in his body still obvious. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Hell, I didn’t even know why I was crying anymore. Maybe it was the shock of everything. Maybe it was the realization that I was still alive—for better or worse.
He carried me back to the bed and set me down with a care that left me speechless. This man—this dangerous, heartless man—was handling me like I was made of glass. He picked through the mess I’d made until he found suitable clothing and silently helped me dress. His hands were still trembling, and that shook me to my core.
When I was dressed, he left only to return with a hairdryer. He sat beside me on the bed, gently running his fingers through my wet hair as the warm air dried it. The sensation was oddly comforting.
I didn’t say anything—I couldn’t. The tears had slowed, but they hadn’t stopped completely, and I was too overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all. Vincenzo Moretti, drying my hair after I’d tried to drown myself in his bathtub. It was all so fucking surreal.
Finally, he set the dryer down. “Lie down.”
I obeyed without protest, my body too exhausted to fight. He covered me with the blankets, then sat beside me. I’d thought he would leave, but he stayed, and his presence grounded me in a way that made no sense.
When the tears finally stopped, I drifted off to sleep with the most paradoxical man I could imagine sitting by my side.
11
VINCENZO
Her face wassoft and relaxed in sleep, as if she hadn’t tried to drown herself a few hours ago. The steady rise and fall of her chest was a reminder that she was still here, still alive. Because I’d dragged her out of that tub. Because for some inexplicable reason I cared enough to stop her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
My thoughts were a mess, a web of confusion and rage. I couldn’t begin to unravel. Seeing her under that water, so fragile and broken, had sent me to places I’d sworn I would never go again. It had unlocked doors I’d sealed shut years ago. The memory of being out of control, of losing someone who meant everything to me, had taken over my body. I’d acted on pure instinct. Knowing that a life was in danger, that someone I didn’t want to die was about to have their light snuffed out forever, was enough to throw me into a tailspin.
The memory hit me like a blade between the ribs—sharp, cold, and relentless.
Two hundred years ago, my father’s bellowing voice echoed through the halls of our estate, shaking the very foundation beneath my feet. He’d been enraged before, but this wasdifferent. There was panic beneath his fury, a rare crack in his iron façade.
“Find her, Vincenzo!” His words were a guttural roar as he slammed his fist against the hard oak of the dining room table. “Find your sister, or so help me, you’ll rue the day you were born!”
