Valeria Capello.
Beautiful. Arresting.
Evil.
She doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there in her six-inch heels and surveys the scene like it’s a gallery opening. The dealer’s body, throat crushed. The woman sprawled like a broken doll, apron soaked dark.
Valeria’s lips curve. “Had a minor slip-up, I see.”
I don’t answer. I just stare at her from the ground, letting the hate burn through the high.
She tilts her head, amused. “At least you know how to take care of a nuisance.”
Nuisance? Is that what a mom is these days?
I push off the wall, my legs feeling like they’re floating an inch above the ground. “I got this under control. You don’t need to be here.”
“I was in the neighborhood.” She steps closer, heels clicking sharp on the concrete. “Thought I’d drop by and check in on my favorite problem-solver.”
I don’t flinch when she reaches out. I want to. Every instinct screams to rip her hand off, but I don’t. I can’t. Not while she has the only thing left that still matters to me.
Her fingers close around my jaw, nails digging in. I jerk my head back with a snarl, but she doesn’t let go. She yanks me forward, down until our faces are inches apart, paint smearing on her fingertips.
“You’re high,” she purrs, thumb stroking the black streak across my mouth. “What did my husband tell you about mixing drugs with jobs?”
I bare my teeth, don’t say a word.
Her smile edges into something cruel as she closes the distance, the streetlight catching the deep creases around her eyes, every wrinkle a betrayal of the age she’s spent years trying to bury.
I’m forced to move, my back pressing against the brick. The cold stone bites through my shirt, and her body molds to mine—soft where it wants to be, hard where it needs to be. It makes my fucking skin crawl.
“You’re sad for her, aren’t you?” she murmurs, nodding toward the woman whose throat I slit.
I don’t answer. I don’t move.
“You’re sad. You’re high.” One hand slides down my chest, lower, her long, bony fingers curling around my cock. She squeezes. “I know how to make it all feel better.”
She kisses my neck, slow, teeth grazing. My cock stays soft under her hand, dead and disinterested. She knows it. “I’ve always wanted to fuck you with your face like this. Painted. Ruined. Mine.”
I snarl, low and feral. “Get your hands off me.”
She laughs against my throat. “When are you going to give me what I want?”
“I told you.” I grab her wrist, peel her hand away with bruising force. “I’ll never fuck you. Not willingly.”
Her eyes flash. “Stop being so stubborn. We’ll be so good together.”
“I will never. Fuck you, Valeria.”
She jerks free, her smile ice. “There are ways to make you more…willing.”
“I’m well fucking aware.” I lower my face so it’s inches from her, my voice low and lethal, hoping she can feel my hatred for her. “But like I told you so many fucking times—if you drug me, do anything that gets my cock inside you… I will kill you, and then I’ll kill myself too. I can’t care about consequences when I’m dead.”
“Oh, Nazareth. You keep on saying that, but I’m starting to think I should call your bluff.” She leans in, lips brushing my ear. “After all… she’s pregnant now.”
The world stops. My heart stutters once, hard. Then again. “What?”
“She didn’t tell you?” Valeria’s voice is pure smug satisfaction. “She’s ten weeks pregnant. And she’s so excited. We all are.”
