He found me. At my job of all places. Okay, that shouldn’t surprise me considering where we met. And I guess it doesn’t. But having him show up here, and so blatantly accusing me of theft. It’s… offensive.
Yes, I did technically steal from him. But that doesn’t mean he gets to call me out in front of my boss. That’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed.
I jump when my phone starts ringing, Piper’s face flashing across the screen. But it’s not her face I’m frowning at. It’s her initials. PR. I changed her contact name after she got married to Lorenzo Russo.
Shit…
My friend confessed her husband’s family is… what’s the correct term? Mafia? Mobsters? Crime lords. Oh, who fucking cares. This is bad. No, beyond bad. Worse.
The elevator reaches the lobby, and I stumble out, my normally confident stride uneven and hurried. The security guard gives me a concerned look, but I push past without explanation.
Outside, the Cleveland air hits my face, a shock of reality. I keep walking, directionless, just putting distance between me and the building. Betweenhimand me.
I don’t cope with trauma or problems—I run from them. Pin it away for later. But there aren’t enough mental pins in the world to hold down what just happened. What’s still happening.
Matteo has found me. And… he’s a Russo.
I fucking stole from the Mafia.
Fuck.
Chapter 9
Raven
The pounding at my door drags me from sleep like a body hauled from the depths—violent, breath-stealing, wrong. I bolt upright, heart hammering against my ribs, disoriented in the darkness of my bedroom.
For a moment, I think it’s part of my dream—the one where I’m walking through endless corridors while looking for a bathroom—until the sound comes again, hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Nope, definitely not a dream. Someone’s trying to break my door down at—I squint at my phone—almost two in the morning. Gah, I’ve only slept an hour max.
After bolting from the office I came straight home and made myself very good friends with almost every bottle of booze I have. Avoidance at its finest.
Knock. Knock.
The actual fuck. I fumble for the lamp, knocking over a water glass in my panic. But I can’t care about the spill now.
My feet hit the cold floor as I slide out of bed, tugging my oversized sleep shirt down over my thighs. It’s all I’m wearing, but whoever’s at my door at this ungodly hour can deal with my bare legs or go fuck themselves. Preferably option two.
“I’m coming!” I shout, voice still rough with sleep. “Christ on a cracker, calm down.” The pounding pauses, but the silence that follows is somehow worse.
I grab my neon green umbrella from my closet. It’s not even remotely intimidating, but neither are my empty hands. My pulse throbs in my throat as I approach my front door. Through the peephole, I see a distorted face that sends ice slivering down my spine.
Matteo.
Well… fuck. I should have grabbed the knife from under my pillow.
“Go away,” I squeak, immediately hating how small it sounds. Great. Terrified chihuahua energy—exactly the impression I was going for. “I’m armed, Matteo. Don’t make me prove it.”
“Open this fucking door, Raven. Or I swear I’ll kick it the fuck down,” he roars back.
I force my trembling fingers to steady so I can unlock the door and crack it open, keeping the chain engaged. “Do you know what time it is?” I demand, injecting as much annoyance into my voice as I can muster.
Matteo fills the doorway like heat after lightning—too bright, too close. The hallway light slides across the burn-scars on hisneck and over the surface of his left eye, catching on it just enough to look unsettling in the half light.
In one hand, he holds a cup, steam curling from its lid like a beckoning finger. Maybe I’d have asked for a sip if I hadn’t stolen from him, and, well, if he wasn’t looking at me with that angry glare.
“Good morning, Little Thief.” His voice is soft velvet wrapped around broken glass.
