Maybe that’s why the list of people I’ve called back is so small. I’m the kind of person who needs to be stopped, to be… challenged. If not, I’ll continue making up my own rules for whatever twisted game I’m playing.
I find my torn dress, briefly consider the impossibility of wearing it home, then spot his closet. I help myself to a black button-down shirt that falls to mid-thigh on me—decent enough for the ride I’ll call from the lobby.
The shower is still running as I quietly slip my shoes back on and grab my things. Then I push the button for the elevator, nervously tapping the edge of my shoe against the floor while I wait for it to arrive.
Chapter 4
Matteo
Steam billows out behind me as I step from the shower, water droplets racing down the black ink etched across my chest. I hum to myself as I catch them all and dry off.
Fuck, I can’t wait to get my hands on Raven again. I wonder what part of the country has produced a woman like her; quick-witted and sexy as sin. And if she noticed my prosthetic eye, it never once seemed to bother her.
Not once.
While I prefer my eyepatch, the prosthetic is better when going out. Still, most people can sense the wrongness.
It’s not that I haven’t gotten my dick wet since losing my eye. Of course I have. But unlike Raven, those women knew about myinjury and put up with it because of my name. Bagging a Russo would be their life’s dream.
That’s what I get for picking up women at the Leone Room.
I pause, one hand absently drying my hair with a towel, the other reaching for a clean pair of boxers. I’ve just managed to pull them up when I hear the soft mechanical ping announcing the elevator’s arrival.
Throwing open the bathroom door, I shout, “Raven?”
I’m out of the bathroom and across the bedroom in only a few strides. I make it to the living room just as the elevator doors slide shut, and I catch a glimpse of blonde waves and defiant brown eyes.
Her middle finger rises in a salute, lips curving into that smirk as she blows me a kiss.
“Thank you for all the orgasms,” she says, grinning widely.
Then she’s gone from view.
“Fuck.” It lands like a laugh.
A part of me—a significant part—appreciates the audacity. Most women linger, hoping to stretch one night into something more permanent. Raven does the opposite, slipping away like she’s the one who got what she wanted and now she’s done with me.
But I’m not done with her. Not even close.
I get dressed in record time before grabbing my keys. My fingers skim over the hidden drawer near the elevator where I keep my weapons. Without taking the time to think it through, I pick a blade—thin, six inches, sharp enough to split a hair.
Since she’s using the elevator, I exit through the front door and run toward the stairs. The stairwell door slams behind me as I take the steps three at a time. Twenty-seven flights.
I could wait for the other elevator on the landing, but something primal is buzzing under my skin, urging me faster.
By the twelfth floor, my breathing is still even, but sweat coats my skin. My mind catalogs the possibilities. She could be calling a car, waiting in the lobby, maybe already outside. If I’m lucky, she’ll still be there. If I’m not…
The knife is cool against my palm. The burn scars on my face prickle the way they do before sex or blood.
Rather than heading for the lobby, I swerve left and burst through the emergency exit into the side courtyard, the pre-dawn air chilling my damp skin. The building’s elaborate stonework creates shadows upon shadows, but my one good eye adjusts quickly.
Movement draws my attention to the left. A flash of blonde hair catching the glow of a street lamp. Raven. And she’s not alone.
Two men flank her, one with his hand tight around her throat, pressing her back against the rough brick wall. The other looms beside them, scanning the area like a guard dog. Even in the dim light, I recognize the set of their shoulders, the aggressive stance.
These men, whoever they are, mean business.
My blood turns to fire, and I move before I’ve consciously decided to. The dog sees me too late; shock registers on his face a millisecond before I’m on him.
