“I told you already I’m not free,” I snapped.
“Except I know that you are.” His voice lowered, softer, too perceptive. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I kept my eyes on the liquor labels instead of his face. “I just don’t want to spend time with you.”
A chuckle – warm, maddening. “You don’t want to spend time with me? C’mon, really?Everyonewants to spend time with me.”
His grin was sharp. Charming. The kind of grin that won over women.
Heat flared up my spine. Anger, jealousy – I couldn't tell the difference. I stepped closer, voice a hiss for only him.
“No. I don’t,” I bit out. “Not even your own brother likes you.”
The words left my mouth like a blade thrown too hard.
His expression didn’t change.
Not his jaw. Not his mouth.
But his eyes –God– his eyes did.
Something fractured there. Pain flashed quick, silent, raw before he shuttered it behind a blankness so cold it made the air between us ache.
He didn’t speak.
Just stared at me like I’d touched a wound I didn’t know existed.
My throat tightened. My chest burned. Guilt – unwanted and sharp – stabbed beneath my ribs.
Rocco emerged from the back room like he’d been listening for exactly the right moment to make me hate today more. His shirt was half-untucked, cigar still wedged between his teeth, and when he saw my face – saw the shine in my eyes I was desperately trying to blink away – his lips curled.
“Weak cunt.”
My pulse stuttered, breath locked in my chest. And before I could even process what he’d muttered under his breath, my eyes flicked to Matteo – instinct, like muscle memory, like something deeper.
One second Rocco was sneering, the next his body hit the wall with a sound I felt in my bones.
Matteo’s hand grabbed hold of his head, slamming his skull into the rock once.
Twice.
Crack.
Wet and final.
The room went silent.
Rocco’s body slid down the stone, leaving a smear of red like some macabre signature. A problem erased. Permanently.
My glass slipped from my hand, shattering red across the floor.
It shattered, shards skittering like little stars across the tile.
But I was already gone.
I moved on autopilot, heels hammering up the stairs, through the dim hallway, past the men who parted for me like I was a storm. The heavy door gave way with a rush of cold air and I was outside – running – running like the building was burning down behind me.
