“What? Iz—”
“How much?” I hiss.
“I was about to kill him. The paralytic has just started towear off.”
“Paralytic?” I raise an eyebrow, twisting to look at him over my shoulder.
He shrugs. “I wanted him to feel a little of what you did.”
I nod. It’s a nice sentiment.
Shame I wasn’t here to witness it.
I pick up the pistol from the table, letting its familiar weight ground me.
Turning back around, I step in front of Derek. Tilting my head, I admire Enzo’s handiwork: his nose is clearly broken, blood crusting, there are tiny cuts in his skin over his chest, a few of his fingers are bent at awkward angles. His tongue is lying on the floor by his feet.
My fingers dig into his jaw as I pull him roughly toward me. I force him to look me in the eye as I sneer down at him.
He groans, his jaw unlocking, but of course, no actual words can escape.
“You don’t deserve to die,” I tell him. His brows rise—a little slowly from the paralytic. Enzo makes a noise of protest in the background, but I’m not done. “Ma non posso lasciarti vivere8.”
I untie him from the chair.
With the gun I motion for him to get up. He hesitates, then moves.
He runs—tries to—feet stumbling, tripping over each other.
“This is mercy.”
Bang.
He falls, hitting the floor just as he reaches the doorway.
Silence descends on the room.
“Get out,” Enzo barks, but his words are not to me.
Wordlessly, Massimo and Dante leave, dragging Derek's body away with them.
I turn back to Enzo, finding him watching me, something unreadable in his eyes.
My chest rises and falls rapidly as he begins stalking towards me with predatory grace, stopping directly in front of me so I have to lift my neck to look him in theeye.
He lifts a hand, dragging a lock of my hair away from my face. My lips part.
Then he’s crashing his lips to mine, his hands moving to my waist, dragging me closer to him. I can feel him hardening against me, his cock pressing into my stomach.
He lifts me, his hands coming under my thighs.
Nothing else matters but the feel of his lips against mine, the way his muscles feel under my hands. I explore the smooth planes under his shirt as I undo the buttons. He shrugs it off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.
Then he’s moving. My ass hits cool metal and I hiss, but before I can complain, he’s ripping my dress off and sucking a nipple into his mouth through the fabric of my lace bra.
I cry out as he bites down—hard.
He kisses along my collarbone, up my neck, before taking my lips again. His hands are everywhere. Mine are too. We’re a mess of desire and need.
