Page 64 of Read This Before the Villain falls in Love with You

Combat boots stomp hard against marble tile as two guards haul crates of ammo toward the foyer. A rifle magazine snaps home with a sharp metallic clack, followed by a shouted argument over thermal blankets near the pantry. Luca's warm palm presses flat against the small of my back, guiding me past the chaos without breaking stride.

The garage hits us with a wave of cold concrete and raw gasoline. Twin matte-black SUVs idle in the shadows, their exhaust vibrating through the floorboards while the empty stalls echo. Up above, muffled laughter rings out from the kitchen, but down here we are completely alone.

Luca shuts the side door. The latch clicks hard.

I turn, backing up against the cool metal of the nearest SUV. "We have maybe fifteen minutes before someone needs a signature."

"Ten," he growls, and then he is on me.

His mouth slams over mine, teeth scraping against my lower lip with a rough, hungry bite that tastes like whiskey and raw heat. He drives me backward until my spine hits the passenger door with a dull thud. Cold steel bites through my shirt while his hands grip my waist, hoisting me up until my boots barely graze the seat.

"Clothes," I mutter against his mouth. "I am not explaining ruined trousers to your Nonna."

A low, gravelly vibration rumbles in his chest against my ribs. His blunt thumbs flick the metal clasp of my belt free, popping the waistband open with a quick, practiced twist. I peel the heavy wool of his coat off his shoulders and let it drop onto the concrete. When my bare fingers slide beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, they snag on the crust of stiff gauze taped across his collarbone. Luca flinches with a sharp hiss through clenched teeth, his spine locking rigid.

"Easy," I warn, feeling the thick ridge of surgical tape under his cotton shirt.

"Do not order me around right now," he grunts against my earlobe, his breath scorching hot as he yanks at my zipper.

"Someone has to manage your reckless ass," I pant, digging my fingers into the solid meat of his shoulders. "Your survival instincts are absolute garbage."

He lifts me clean off the seat. "Then fix me."

He gets my jeans down far enough. I kick one leg free. Practical. Messy. Perfect. His belt is next. I help because I am a team player when the stakes are high and the clock is vicious. When he finally pushes inside me it is one long slide that punches the air out of both of us at once.

"Fuck," I breathe.

"Watch your mouth," he murmurs, but he is smiling against my throat, and then he is moving, hard and shallow and exactly as fast as three stolen minutes allow.

The SUV rocks. My hands fist in his shirt. Every thrust knocks a small sound out of me that I would deny later if asked under oath. He hooks one of my knees higher, changes the angle, and the next stroke lands so clean my vision sparks white at the edges.

His fingers tangle into my hair to tilt my chin upward. "Look at me."

I do. His eyes are dark and furious and something softer underneath that he will never name while the engines are running. I hold his gaze and take what he gives me and give it back in the squeeze of my body and the bite of my nails at his shoulder.

"Bellini thinks you make me weak," he grunts against my jaw, his breathing rough and heavy. "He's dead wrong about that."

"Good," I gasp out, holding on tight. "I don't play second fiddle to anyone."

He lets out a dark, guttural curse and kisses me again like the conversation is closed. The rhythm turns brutal in the best way. My head knocks lightly against the window. I do not care. Every muscle in my stomach clenches until my belly cramps with pressure, and then it snaps, and I come with my mouth open against his collar so I do not shout and alert half of Sicily. He follows a handful of strokes later, forehead pressed to mine, breath harsh, body locked hard against me as he empties everything he has been holding since the tablet lit up in the library.

For a few seconds neither of us moves. The garage smells like sex and gasoline. Somewhere above us a door slams.

"Two minutes left," I wheeze, still trying to catch my breath. "Maybe one and a half if Matteo is already looking for you."

Luca pulls out carefully. He rights my clothes with surprising care for a man who just fucked me against a company vehicle. I zip him up because fairness is important. He finds his jacket on the car floor and shrugs it on like nothing happened.

I run my fingers through my messy hair, checking my face in the dark glass and giving up right away. "Tell me the truth. Do I look like a mob boss's secret weapon, or like a girl who just got messed around with against an SUV?"

"Both," he decides. His eyes scan my face with dark amusement. "It suits you."

Footsteps on the stairs. Matteo's voice, too loud, complaining about the focaccia being gone. Luca opens the passenger door for me like a gentleman who did not just ruin me in a car. I climb in. My legs still feel unsteady. I like it.

He gets behind the wheel. The engine settles into a low idle. Through the windshield I can see Adrian coming down with a tablet and that same serious face. Enzo trails him, checking a magazine.

Luca glances sideways at me. "Ready?"

"To go hunt down the goon who wants to use me as a bargaining chip?" I click my seatbelt shut with a sharp snap. "I've handled worse bastards than him before breakfast. Step on the gas."