Chapter 21
ROMEO
> She smiled at me.
> Breach confirmed.
> Logic override requested.
> Denying request…instability rising.
> She’s not your girlfriend, fuckface.
I spend the entirety of the forty-five-minute trip to the city thinking up new ways to fuck with Riccardo.
I’d rather saw off both testicles with a blunt knife than let him near Gabi.
On a related note, I shouldn’t be near her either.
If anything, today only proved that I can’t trust myself with her.
Logically, I shouldn’t even be here after what happened.
But I’ve reasoned that my failsafe will be enough to let me indulge this fucked up fantasy for a while longer.
Julian has explicit instructions to put me down permanently if I ever lose my shit when I’m alone with her.
I haven’t had an episode since the night I interfered with Imperium’s plans for Gabi, and only by some stroke of luck was I able to bring myself out of it before I touched her.
Today, all it took was Riccardo getting near her to send me over the edge.
If Angelo hadn’t stepped in, I probably would have painted the ballroom floor with his blood.
I can’t keep her for myself. But I’m also certain I’ll have to murder every other marriage prospect her stepfather tries to arrange.
It grates on me that Michael allowed this clusterfuck of an engagement to happen in the first place.
So with that thought in mind, I rifle through my stash of dirty little secrets and fuck up his week, too.
A minute later, Gabi’s sperm receptacle of a mother receives a string of anonymous photos, letting her know that her husband has been fucking his sidepiece at the club every night.
It’s not a fatal shot, which is what Michael really deserves, but it’s enough to make his life uncomfortable for a while.
When I’m done with that, I move on to Riccardo.
Everything I’ve done to fuck with him so far has been a temporary fix for the homicidal rage I’ve had since he made an offer for Gabi.
It isn’t enough, and if Angelo doesn’t secure this fucking deal with the senator soon, I might have to implode his plans.
I doubt Emilio would still be amenable to helping us curry favor with the senator if I brutally murder his son. But at this point, I don’t really care.
I scroll through Riccardo’s search history over the past few days, noting it’s even more pathetic than usual.
How to tell if a woman’s faking it.
Why won’t women come when I fuck them?
How to be the alpha male in the room.
Testosterone supplements.
How to tell if a paid escort really likes you.
Alpha male workout routine.
I screenshot that for more ammunition later, then make another large transfer to Jasmine and Honey with instructions for tomorrow night.
Riccardo is hosting a networking summit, and it will be the perfect opportunity for a public scene in front of his investors.
While most of them have their own skeletons, they prefer to keep them in the closet.
It isn’t a good look to have two sex workers calling you out at a business event about money owed for services rendered.
I have ample leverage on Riccardo from the last month alone, and I’ve seen enough of his micro-dick to last me a lifetime. It’s time to give him a cold, hard reality check. Even the women he pays can’t pretend to like him.
Next week, I’ll send those pictures to his parents, right about the time I start leaking evidence of his scams to his already shaky investors. And until he backs off from what doesn’t belong to him, I will continue systematically destroying his life.
I hear Gabi arrive at the penthouse, and I give her some time to get settled in. She goes to her studio to finish up some work before classes tomorrow.
When Julian texts me to let me know he’s going to bed, I give him a heads-up that if he hears Gabi screaming tonight, it’s not because I’m murdering her. Then I sit and wait for her in the dark.
Her room smells like her, and it gets me hard just thinking of all the ways I want to defile her.
For years, my imagination supplied countless ideas of the ways I’d fuck her if I could.
But nothing could compare to the real thing.
Now, knowing I’m the only one who’s ever been inside her is fucking with my mind. The animal in me keeps whispering…more.
Take everything.
Claim her.
Make her yours.
Today, that voice was louder than it’s ever been. Seeing her in that little black skirt and tights, pressing her against me and watching her blush—it took every ounce of restraint I had not to drag her into my dungeon so I could fuck her until my cock gave out.
Gabi isn’t ready for that yet. Not as Romeo. She made that abundantly clear today when I tried to be nice to her. It freaked her out so much, she dragged Eros into the conversation to use as a buffer.
I can’t say that I blame her. I’ve been a world-class dick to her for so many years, her wrath is the least that I deserve. But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about being buried deep inside her, unmasked, as she cries out my name.
Trying to distract myself from those thoughts, I use my flashlight to rifle through more of her things. She has a veritable buffet of lip balms on her nightstand. Cotton candy, gummy bear, and sugar cookie. I open each of them and smell them, and it doesn’t help the situation with my dick.
I’m getting antsy, so I check the camera in the studio, noting she’s taken off her cardigan. Now all I can think about is peeling that tiny tank top off her while I put my hand up her skirt.
She’s hyper-focused on her work, and I don’t want to interrupt her because I know the feeling well.
One of the few benefits of having my brain scrambled by high voltage is heightened pattern recognition and obsessive focus.
In that way, it’s helped me understand Gabi better than I ever could have attempted to before.
I keep myself busy by yanking her journal out from beneath the mattress and reading it. There have been a few more updates since my last perusal. I’m pleased to see I’ve been mentioned more than once—both as Eros and Orion. She’s giving me a god complex.
I check the camera in the studio again and find her putting her things away for the night, so I take out my phone and text her.
Eros415: Good day, little shark?
BiteSizedGabi: Define good?
Eros415: Did you think of me?
She starts typing, then pauses, and when I check the camera in her studio, she’s biting her lip and staring at her phone with a guilty expression.
BiteSizedGabi: I did. But you know the guy I told you about before?
Eros415: The asshole? What about him?
BiteSizedGabi: He’s not really an asshole. I mean, he has his moments…but my point is that I think you should know I saw him today.
Eros415: And?
On camera, she gets up and starts pacing, at war with her conscience.
This is the difference between me and Gabi.
She’s so soft-hearted, she feels the need to hold herself accountable for every perceived slight or sin.
Meanwhile, I’m getting off on the fact that she’s twisting herself up in knots over either of my identities because I’m a sick fuck.
I want her to think of me, any way I can get it.
Eros415: Did you flirt with him, Gabi?
BiteSizedGabi: Maybe? I don’t know. It was very confusing. But I feel like I should tell you, just to be transparent.
I get an alert on my phone for the camera hidden in the hallway, letting me know she’s coming.
I leave that message on read as I edge myself between the door and the wall, waiting for her to enter her room.
When she does, I grab her from behind before she can turn on the lights, scaring the crap out of her.
That little shriek she lets out goes straight to my cock, and I press it against her ass as I drag my fingers up over her throat.
“Did he get a smile from you today, Gabriela?” I bury my mask against her neck, aching to breathe her in.
“I…yes,” she blurts.
“Good.” My voice dips. “Now I’m going to get your screams.”
“What?” she pants.
“Run.”
It takes a moment for the command to register, but when she realizes I’m in the mood for a hunt, she lets out a breathy little whimper and bolts into the hallway. The sight of her fleeing triggers every cell in my body, activating the predator in me.
I stalk after her, watching her glance over her shoulder as she spills into the lounge area. Her eyes widen with panic as she tries to make a split-second decision. She heads for the stairs, and I follow, not even trying to silence the sound of my boots as they echo off the walls around us.
She darts down the second hallway, and as luck would have it, mine is the first door she stops at. When she tries to open it and finds it locked, confusion settles over her face. If she took the time to explore the penthouse, she’d know that door wasn’t locked before.
Regardless, there isn’t time for her to mull it over now. As I narrow the distance between us, she runs all the way to the end of the hall and into the primary suite, heading into the closet she used to make her escape once before.
When I close in on her and grab her around the waist, she screams.
“You didn’t try very hard.” I bundle both of her wrists in one of my hands, pinning them behind her back. “You must want to get fucked.”
A soft whimper escapes her as I drag a finger across that inch of bare skin along her midriff that’s been taunting me all day. She shivers, and it ratchets up the tension in my balls.
“Close your eyes,” I growl.
She complies, and I watch her in the mirror as I shift my grip and peel off my gloves, tossing them to the floor. Once my hand is free, I slide my palm up beneath her tank top, grazing her bare breast.
No fucking bra—again.