She scoffs. “Bullshit. You don’t even know me.”
Reaching for her face, I brush my thumb across her cheek. “I know enough,” I rasp. “I know you’re chaos in human form. I know you stole my lighter because you wanted a piece of me, not because you needed it. I know you’re not afraid of blood or violence—you watched me cut off a man’s fingers, and you got wet from it.”
Her breath catches, pupils dilating at my words. “You’re delusional,” she whispers, but there’s no conviction behind it.
“I know you dyed your hair pink because you were hurt and angry, because you wanted to become someone new.” My hand slides to her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my palm. “And I know you’re here right now, half-naked and furious, because some part of you still wants me as much as I want you.”
For a second, I think she might crumble, might let me pull her against me and end this standoff. But my Little Thief is full of surprises.
“You,” she says, the word precise and cutting, “are the most arrogant, manipulative, psychopathic asshole I have ever met.”
Her hands push against my chest, creating space between us.
“And if you think I’m going to forgive you because you cut off some creep’s fingers or because you say pretty words, you’re even crazier than I thought.”
I can’t help it, I smile. “There she is,” I murmur. “There’s my chaos.”
Her palm connects with my chest in a sharp slap that echoes through the empty club. Then another. And another. She’s unleashed now, pink hair flying as she pounds her fists against me.
“You manipulative…”
Punch.
“Arrogant …”
Punch.
“Piece of shit!”
Her knuckles catch my collarbone, and pain blooms bright and beautiful. I let her continue, absorbing each blow like a gift. The violence of her is intoxicating—all that controlled chaos finally breaking free, directed at me like a storm finding land.
“You don’t get to decide what I feel,” she snarls, punctuating each word with another hit.
I count seven blows before I decide enough is enough. On the eighth, I catch her wrists mid-strike, feeling the delicate bones beneath my fingers, the rapid flutter of her pulse against my thumb. She struggles, twisting in my grip, but I hold firm.
“Are you done?” I ask, my voice steady despite the fire burning through my veins.
“Fuck you,” she spits, attempting to knee me in the groin.
I expect the move, turning so her knee grazes my thigh instead. In one fluid motion, I move us, pinning her against the nearest wall. My hand leaves her wrist to wrap around her throat, squeezing until her breathing becomes ragged.
“Listen to me,” I growl, bringing my face close to hers. “You’re the fucking love of my life. And I’m sorry about Tony. You’re right, I should have warned you. But don’t you ever question how I feel.”
Her body presses against mine, warm and vibrant even through the layers of clothing between us. My suit jacket is completely open, leaving her chest bare against my shirt. I can feel her heart hammering, a wild rhythm that matches the pulse throbbing in my own throat.
“Prove it,” she challenges, eyes burning into mine. “Prove you love me.”
“How?” The word comes out rougher than I intend. “You want flowers? Fucking poetry?”
She laughs, the sound sharp and without humor. “I want honesty. I want you to stop pretending you’re in control all the time. I want to see the real Matteo Russo, not this…” she gestures at me with her free hand, “… calculated bullshit.”
Something shifts inside me, tectonic plates of restraint grinding against the pressure of her demand. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I warn, my fingers tightening slightly around her throat.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she smirks, and the worst part is I believe her. “I’ve seen what you do to people who cross you.” Her eyes flick to the bloodstain on the stage. “Show me who you really are. No holding back.”
I fight against my temper, against the urge to give her exactly what she’s asking for. Because once that door is opened, there’s no closing it again. My thumb traces the delicate line of her jaw, a gentle touch at odds with the tension vibrating between us.
“You think I’m holding back?” I ask, leaning closer until our breaths mingle. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, Little Thief.”
