I don’t want to sound as nervous as I am sitting across from Matteo Russo. But it’s hard to sound confident when every nerve in my body feels like it’s tuned to the edge of a blade.
“You know my family,” he says, tilting his head, that gray eye studying me like I’m something to dissect.
“Everyone in Cleveland knows the Russos,” I reply, rolling my eyes for effect. “Though I’ll admit, I didn’t know until after… everything.”
“After you stole from me,” he clarifies, enjoying the flush that creeps up my neck. “After I killed for you.”
The words hit harder than I expect.Killed for me.My stomach twists, but I keep my expression neutral, tightening my grip on my wineglass until it stops trembling.
“Those men weren’t there for me,” I clarify as though it makes a difference.
No… not as though. It most certainly makes a difference. I work with optics, for fuck’s sake. I know the importance of spinning a point of view, and this is one of those times where it really does matter.
“No,” he agrees, voice smooth as glass. “But they would have hurt you to get to me. Same difference.”
He reaches across the table and catches my hand before I can pull it back. His thumb starts tracing lazy circles against my wrist. My pulse jumps, and I know my face portrays how shocked I am.
“You need to be a better actress than that,” he murmurs, leaning forward until I can feel the whisper of his breath against my skin. “What if we’re being watched and you look like my touch repulses you? Put your game face on, Little Thief.”
My throat works as I swallow, my pulse thrumming against his thumb. “What does that even mean?” I manage, though my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.
“It means remember how good you felt when my cock was buried inside you two weeks ago,” he murmurs, his tone almost a growl. “I need you to look as blissed out as you did when your cunt milked the cum from my balls.”
The words sear through me. The color drains from my face, only to come roaring back like a slap. And no, I’m not embarrassed. God, I wish I was because the wetness gathering between my thighs is so wrong.
My fingers tighten on the stem of my glass, the urge to throw it at him just to have something to do is almost overpowering.
But that would mean losing control, and if there’s one thing I won’t do in front of Matteo Russo, it’s break. I can do that later when I’m back home. For now, I’m pinning stuff as hard as possible.
I jerk my hand from his, ignoring the faint sting where his thumb had been. “What’s the real reason for this charade?” I snap. “I mean, you don’t strike me as someone who has to force women to join you.”
Piper’s words come back to me.“He’s got this whole scarred bad-boy thing going on that makes women throw themselves at him.”And for some reason, they bother me now.
“You’re right,” he says, leaning back like he’s granting me air. “I need your eyes and ears. Someone close to me is leaking information they really shouldn’t. You’re going to help me find out who.”
I blink, trying to process that. “You want me to spy for you?”
“I want you to listen,” he corrects. “You’re observant, Raven. I want you to watch and then report back to me.”
“That’s a lot more than one favor,” I dutifully point out, lifting my chin. My pulse is still unsteady, but at least my voice sounds calm now.
His shrug is both effortless and infuriating. “Better than ten separate ones,” he smirks.
The servers return, clearing plates and replacing them with the next course. I notice that I never actually ordered anything—of course I didn’t—and yet somehow my favorite, chicken piccata, sits steaming in front of me.
Coincidence or intimidation tactic? Hard to tell with him.
“So I pretend to be madly in love with you,” I summarize, cutting into the chicken harder than necessary, “while spying on your people.”
“Not all of them,” he says. “Just the ones at my club. It’s called the Leone Room—”
I stop mid-cut, staring at him. “You own the Leone Room?” My tone comes out more shocked than I intend, but excitement flickers anyway. “Wow.”
Something shifts in his expression, almost softening. “I do.”
“The Leone Room,” I repeat, shaking my head with a disbelieving laugh. “One of the most exclusive and talked-about scenes. Damn.”
I down the rest of my wine in one go, needing something to do with my hands.
