My chest tightened with guilt.
I'd brought the boogeyman to her door.
The only person who'd ever loved me without conditions...
Without wanting something in return.
I kicked. I scratched.
The only thing I didn’t do was scream. I didn’t want Mrs. Grahm hurt trying to save me.
I tried to fight harder.
But the darkness swallowed me whole.
And the last thing I heard was her worried call fading into nothing.
Chapter Five — Vinny
The smell of cigars and expensive bourbon perfumed the air. I sat at Lady of Rage’s place, positioned at the conference table in her dining room for another after-dark meeting. The room was packed with people with hard faces, cold eyes, and hands resting on weapons as if they were extensions of their own bodies. These were Rage’s people. She sat at the head of the table, her voice slicing through the air like a razor blade as she laid out her plans.
She'd stayed in Florida after Bael handed his father's empire over to her, running it with an iron fist.
But my mind wasn't in this room—it was back at my apartment with that woman. Why the hell had I taken her? She definitely wasn't Sophia. Sophia had been sweet, soft-spoken, the kind of woman who'd blush at a compliment. Petite, dainty, soft in a way that made you want to shield her. That woman? Nothing like that. She wasn't really afraid of me. Sure, there'd been fear in her eyes, but buried under layers of defiance. When I told her I had to kill her, she didn't beg or cry. She just looked at me like she was okay with it—but only if she could take me down with her. It was so attractive, I couldn't stop thinking about fucking her. Hard and fast. I couldn't remember ever wanting to consume Sophia that way. I'd made love to Sophia. Carefully. Tenderly.Like she might break. That woman? I had a feeling she wouldn't break, no matter how deep or hard I went.
I could have had her if I wanted. I understood exactly what she was offering me when she asked what she could do to change my mind.
“Vicente.”
Lady of Rage’s voice snapped me back to the present. I looked up, meeting her calculating gaze. I knew she’d noticed my distraction.
“You with us?”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, all’s good.”
“You take care of that problem?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “She’s somewhere at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico by now.”
Rage studied me for a moment, then nodded, turning back to the papers spread across the table. I forced myself to focus, to listen to her commands, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Jamie. That’s what the old lady had called her.
I’d left her shackled to my bed, her wrists bound with thick metal cuffs. She’d been unconscious when I locked my apartment door, her breathing slow and even. I’d made sure she was secure, but now I couldn’t stop wondering if she’d woken up during the long hours I'd been gone. If she was struggling against the steel. If she was finally scared.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This wasn’t like me. I didn’t get distracted. I didn’t let personal shit interfere with business. But there was something about her, something that had gotten right under my skin, and it wasn’t just because she carried my dead wife's facial features.
Maybe it was the way she’d looked at me. Maybe it was the way she’d fought back, even when she was completely outmatched. Maybe it was because I saw the exact same darkness in her eyes that I saw in my own.
The meeting dragged on as Lady of Rage barked orders and went over logistics. I nodded when I was supposed to and chimed in when necessary. By the time it finally ended, I was itching to get out of there, desperate to get back to my place and figure out what the hell I was going to do with her.
I drove home in silence. The streets were empty; it was barely five AM. My apartment sat on the top floor of a nondescript industrial building, surrounded by matching, hollowed-out structures. It was the kind of place that didn’t draw attention. I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding against my ribs. When I reached my door, I paused, taking a deep breath before punching my code into the keypad and stepping inside.
The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. I moved through the living room and pushed open the bedroom door.
She was awake.
Her eyes snapped to mine the second I entered. She was sitting up against the headboard, her wrists still cuffed to the bed frame. She looked pissed.
“You gonna kill me now?” she asked, her voice casual, like she was asking about the weather.
