To make her beg for more.
I push that image away hard. However appealing the fantasy may be, I’m not in the habit of taking women while they’re afraid for their lives.
I step back and let the space return, even though every instinct in me resents it.
“I’ll ask around about Rose,” I say.
She blinks. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I smirk. There’s a cost, of course. There’s always a cost. And she’s smart enough to know it.
“In exchange,” I continue, “you’ll have a drink with me. Tomorrow night, after closing. The pub across the street.”
Her brow furrows. Suspicion wars with hope. “That’s all?”
I shouldn’t be asking this of her. She’s already too close to my world, to a darkness far blacker than anything she’s ever experienced.
But I’m no saint. I’ve kept the beast at bay for a long, long time. If I don’t give it something now, I might not be able to control its hunger later. The next time we’re this close, I’ll really claim those lips. Much more, unless Amber asks me to stop. And I can’t bet a dime on that happening.
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” I add. “Don't make me wait.”
I don’t give her time to answer.
I turn and leave her like that—standing in the night, anger shaken into something quieter, something uncertain—before I do something I’ll regret.
5
AMBER
Ilie in bed, staring at the ceiling shadows that twist like smoke in the dim light filtering through my curtains. The clock on my nightstand ticks past four in the morning, each second dragging heavier than the last.
Sleep should come easy after the chaos of the night, but my mind won't shut off. Giovanni's face keeps surfacing, unbidden, his dark eyes piercing through the darkness of my room. That encounter in the alley replays on a loop, every detail sharper than it should be.
He'd grabbed me, his grip firm on my chin, pulling me close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Dangerous—that's the word that sticks. The way his voice had dropped low, laced with threat, promising consequences if I didn't back off. My heart had pounded then, not just from fear, but from the raw intensity of him. A man who could snap and destroy everything in his path.
Yet, there he was, moments later, offering help. Actual help. To find Rose.
Who pulls that kind of switch? Threaten to bury me one second, then throw me a lifeline the next?
It's like he's playing both sides of a game I didn't sign up for. Now, I'm left guessing which version of him will show up next.
I shift under the sheets, the cotton clinging to my skin from the light sweat that's broken out despite the cool night air.
My pulse still races when I think about his fingers on my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. Rough calluses against my soft skin, a touch that demanded attention. It sent a shiver down my spine, one that pooled low in my belly. Danger, yes, but something more primal stirred too. My body had tensed, muscles coiled tight, ready to fight or flee. But beneath that, a traitorous warmth spread, imagining what those hands could do if they weren't holding me in check. If they explored instead of restrained.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I roll onto my side, punching the pillow to fluff it, but it does nothing to chase away the thoughts. Giovanni isn't some knight in shining armor; he's tangled in some mafia web. And yet, here I am, heart fluttering like a damn schoolgirl over a simple touch.
The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as dawn creeps closer. I glance at the window: the sky outside is lightening to a bruised purple, the first hints of morning chasing away the night. Dusk will roll around too soon, and I'll have to drag myself to the bar, smiling through shifts while exhaustion gnaws at me.
I need sleep. Real sleep.
But Giovanni haunts me, his presence lingering like a shadow I can't shake. I vividly remember his broad shoulders filling the alley's narrow space. I try but I can’t forget the scent of his cologne, something woody and sharp, mixing with the rain-dampened streets.
