MATTEO
Returning to this den of excess feels like walking into a fever dream I can't wake up from. It's been too long. My mind is still stained with the memory of the last time I had Sin pinned under me. I wondered if she'd finally tucked tail and run after the mess we made, or if she was still lurking in the shadows of this club, waiting for a round two.
In a place where "no faces" is the golden rule, most of these girls would sell their souls for a handful of hundreds. But Sin? She's a different breed of stubborn. A lock I can't pick, no matter how much pressure I apply.
The air in the VIP lounge is thick with expensive gin and desperate sweat. I'm forced to buy my way into the back just for a moment of peace. I put out feelers, but the word is she's been a ghost. Maybe she finally realized how badly she fucked up. Or maybe she's just waiting to enjoy the look of pure irritation on my face when she reappears.
I sprawl out on the silk sheets, letting a trio of girls swarm me. Their hands are everywhere…skin-on-skin friction meant to numb the brain…but I'm stuck on the Caruso deal.
Caruso. I've seen him at the high-stakes galas…radiating that primal, terrifying aura that follows every Don in this city. He's a shadow; no digital footprint, no family records. Does he have heirs? Or is he a man with nothing left to lose? Those are the most dangerous…the ones who move without a pulse because they have no anchor to the world.
A hand wanders too low, too soon.
"Fuck!" I snap, my fingers clamping around the girl's chin with bruising force. The terror in her eyes is instantaneous. "Don't fucking touch me there unless I tell you to," I growl. "Am I clear?"
They flinch as if I'd struck them, nodding frantically. The silence is broken by a sharp, rhythmic knock.
"Come in," I bark.
The door creaks open, and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. A woman stands there, encased from throat to toe in slick, black rubber that maps every curve of her body like a second skin. Her face is a mystery behind a shimmering purple mask.
Sin.
The other girls don't need to be told; they vanish like smoke, leaving the air humming between us. I slide off the bed, my head tilting as I track her. "Sin?"
She doesn't move at first. Then, a slow, wicked smirk carves its way across her lips.
"I hear you've been looking for me," she purrs.
I let out a dry chuckle. "What, did you go into hiding? Scared I was actually going to follow through on those threats?"
She steps into my space, her hand finding my arm. Her touch is light, agonizingly slow as she traces the veins from the back of my hand up toward my shoulder.
"The other girls... they hate you," she whispers.
I couldn't give a damn about them. I want to break her for the insolence, but there's another heat rising…a sharp, addictive pull I can't name.
"You should be nicer," she says. The audacity of her being this close, this untouched by my reputation, is staggering.
My hand moves instinctively, catching her waist, but I hesitate…disgusted by my own lack of control. Suddenly, she lunges, grabbing my wrist and slamming my palm against her throat. She holds it there, her pulse drumming against my skin, her smile feral.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" she dares me, her voice muffled by the pressure of my hand. "To choke the life out of me?"
The sight of those painted lips and the flash of her eyes behind the mask is intoxicating. I wrench my hand back. "Don't you ever grab me again, or I'll take that hand as a trophy. Understand?"
I turn my back on her, reaching for my coat. I need to end this before I burn the whole club down.
"Why the rush?" her voice drifts from behind me, dripping with mocking sweetness. "What are you... a virgin?"
I spun around so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash, my hand snaking out to crush her throat as I slammed her against the cold wall.
"Don't you fucking call me that," I growled.
"It's only a question," she rasped, the pressure on her windpipe barely even registering as a threat.
"A fucking question that should never be asked."
"Why? You'd have my tongue for it too?" she mocked. She was playing with fire, practically begging for the burn.
I studied her, my brows furrowed. "People fear me," I stated, more to myself than her.
"Rightfully so," she murmured. Her tongue swept over her teeth…a slow, predatory gesture. "But where's the fun when everyone does the same thing? Isn't that why you're obsessed with me, Matteo?"
My grip loosened. The word 'obsessed' hit like a physical blow. She chuckled, peeling herself off the wall with feline grace and sauntering past me.
"Let's get one thing straight," I said, my voice regaining its edge. "I'm not obsessed with you."
She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Okay, Matteo Ricci."
The way my name rolled off her tongue was criminal. It sounded like a secret and a curse all at once. She sat on the edge of the bed, crossing one long, rubber-clad leg over the other.
"This is fucking absurd," I muttered.
"What is?"
"Talking to you with a fucking mask on," I snapped.
She rose from the bed and glided toward me until we were inches apart, her heat radiating through the tight suit. "Matteo Ricci," she said again, her voice a velvet caress. "What do you want from me?"
I was speechless. What did I want? It wasn't just the sex. I was possessed by an agonizing intrigue. She had me in a psychological chokehold without even showing me her face.
Suddenly, the harsh vibration of my phone shattered the tension. "Fuck," I hissed. The caller ID flashed a name that made my stomach drop. "Alessandro?"
He never calls. Not unless the world is ending.
I snatched my coat, the adrenaline of the hunt replacing the haze of the room. I could feel her eyes on me. For a split second, the mask seemed to falter, and she looked almost... worried.
But I couldn't dwell on her. If Alessandro was calling, blood had already been spilled, and I had a war to finish.