Chapter 6 Luisa
SIX
Luisa
“Let go!” I yell, struggling beneath him.
“Convince me with a kiss.” His voice is cool, controlled—but his eyes are wild.
Like if I ran, he’d chase me down.
Like he’d hunt me through his house, refusing to give in until he got what he was owed.
“It was the deal, Topina.”
I snarl. “You cheated.”
“Nope.” His smirk is lazy, like he’s barely exerting himself. “Twenty minutes of sparring—that’s less than my normal. And I even stayed at half-power for you.”
He sighs, all faux disappointment. “Then you went and took off your gloves.”
I thrash, but he presses his hips down, locking me in place. I still instantly. He’s hard.
The realization sparks like a live wire, burning through my body. I forgot how big he was. I remembered how thick—but he’s long too. At least eight, maybe nine inches, pressing against my hip, my thigh. I shudder. Angelo pants.
“Keep fighting,” he murmurs, voice low, hungry. “I like how fierce you are. How wild.”
I shove at his chest. “You’re crushing me,” I complain.
He grins down at me. “You can take it. His breath brushes my lips as he lowers his mouth closer. You’ve taken me harder than this.”
I struggle again, twisting my wrists, but his biceps flex, locking me in place.
I’m not going anywhere. Not until he gets what he wants. And fuck me—because I like it. No one has ever made helplessness feel this hot. No one has ever closed off every escape route, leaving me with only one choice.
Yes.
Or yes in a bit. And now—he’s above me. Panting. Shirtless. Dewy with sweat. His body caging mine, heat radiating off him. His hard cock pressing into me. Despite all my training, my skill, my experience—He can still best me. Still own this moment. Make me feel like I’m seconds away from breaking.
He could kill me right now. But he’d rather fuck me. It’s a new feeling. For the first time in too long, I feel powerful. Not because I’m obeying orders. Not because of my ass or my looks, but because of what I can do.
I exhale, pulse hammering. “Don’t kiss me back.”
His eyes darken. “I don’t think you’re in a place to make rules,” he growls.
“Fine. I get one.”
A slow smirk. “One.”
“If your hands move or you stop kissing my mouth, the kiss ends.”
Angelo studies my face, his lips parting. His chest rises, falls.
Then he nods once. “I agree.”
I shouldn’t do this. It’s wrong. It’ll break plenty of rules. It’ll compromise my morals. And yet, I stretch up, rubbing my nose over his lips.
“I need you to not lie to me, Angelo.”
His lips graze mine, the barest brush of warmth. “If you end the kiss, I’ll let you.”
His breath tickles against my skin. “You kiss me. You stop when you decide to.”
I shudder. My nipples tighten, my body burning—not from the workout, but from him. I rake my teeth over my bottom lip. He groans. A low, breathy moan, like he can already taste me.
I press my lips to his. His bottom lip is soft, warm. Safe. I suck gently, then part my lips, my breath catching when he does the same.
I hesitate. Then I taste him. The barest slide of my tongue over his. A deep groan rumbles through him, and he adjusts, pressing his hard cock right against my pussy.
Fuck.
Every memory of our one-night stand slams into me at once, crashing through my defenses as I kiss him deeper.
His tongue moves with mine, hot, demanding, relentless—making me obey every stroke, even though he said I’d be kissing him.
I should stop. I don’t. I can’t.
He tastes too fucking good—whiskey and lime, sin and heat.
His scent floods my senses, weaving through my mind until it’s all I know. His body is so strong, so solid, so secure around me. This is wrong.
But it’s so fucking hot I don’t care.
I gasp then kiss him again, nipping his lip when he tries to take control. I make him wait. Make him be patient. Make him kiss me slowly—because for once, I’m in charge.
His hips roll against mine. His hands tighten around my wrists. He lowers himself farther, the weight of him pressing into me. I feel his arms shaking. My stomach flips.
I arch against him, desperate, drowning—then kiss him again, sucking his tongue into my mouth until—
A feral growl rips from his throat. His knee shifts. Fuck. I pull back. I have to. One of us needs to have control. Angelo stares at me, cheeks flushed, eyes, wild—primal.
I swallow hard, trying to clear my head of his scent, his taste—of all of it.
“There’s your kiss.”
His lips part, panting, his chest rising and falling just as fast as mine.
“Worth every punch, Topina.”
Shit. I can’t breathe.
“Now think of old ladies or something and get off me.” My voice wavers, betraying me.
He chuckles, low and dark. “That’s not nice.”
“I never said I was.”
His gaze latches onto mine. “Aren’t cops supposed to be?”
His nose grazes mine, a barely there touch that melts my insides.
“Nice, approachable. Moral to a fault?”
I force myself to breathe. “We all have our... flaws.” I whisper.
He hums, his breath skating over my lips. “I have a feeling you’re going to be mine.”
I blink at him, unsure what he even means. But it doesn’t matter. Angelo gets up, releasing me slowly, bit by bit, until—
He pulls me up too fast, making me crash into him. His arm snaps around my waist, thick, unyielding. A low curse slips from his lips in Italian and his nose brushes my temple.
“No more sass for me?”
I swallow. “You shouldn’t be so obvious when you slug with your right.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and sinful. “And you shouldn’t bite a man when he’s kissing you—unless you want to turn him into an animal.”
I smirk. “If I bite hard enough, I’ll tame you.”
His grip tightens for half a second, heat rolling between us.
“Sounds like we should make another bet.”
No.
I don’t like this warm, playful side of him. It needs to go. He’s not allowed to be sweet. Or approachable. Or... right. I press my palms to his chest and shove, breaking free.
As I walk away, I can feel him watching me. I glance back.
And the sight of him—bare-chested, powerful, smirking like he already knows my next move—makes my stomach twist. Because if he didn't want to let me go, he wouldn’t have to.
Angelo Rossi is strong. Powerful. Entitled. Lethal. And I’ve made it out of another fight alive. How many people can say that? And why the fuck does it feel like a compliment?
I sit at the kitchen table for dinner, trying to ignore all the subtle hints of wealth woven into every inch of this house. The pool, the sheer size of the place—that’s obvious.
But there are other clues. The weight of the real silverware.
A chef’s kitchen, gleaming with top of the line appliances. The kind that belong in a five-star restaurant, not a home. Furniture handcrafted by artisans. Hardwood floors that don’t creak.
Wealth isn’t just flaunted here—it’s embedded.
“Thinking about how nice my house is?”
Angelo’s voice pulls me back.
Despite a table big enough for ten, he sits right next to me—as if putting distance between us was never an option.
I try not to watch his mouth as he takes another bite, but fuck me, my body heats just looking at the way his lips move around his fork.
I should have taken a longer icy shower.
“Thinking about what you had to do to get it?” I ask. “How many crimes did you commit for every nice thing you own?”
He smirks. “Some of them were gifts if that helps. So technically, I didn’t pay for everything.”
I shoot him a glare. He chuckles, going back to his food. I push mine around my plate, stomach knotting. After my shower, I stared at myself in the mirror. I’m a big girl. Know that.
But in this house, surrounded by artwork of delicate, lithe women posing like they belong on fucking pedestals, I feel…thicker.
The kind of women Angelo probably chooses when he has the chance.
Not that I care.
“Eat.” His voice pulls me from my thoughts. “I don’t want you saying I starved you.”
I scoff, masking the bite in my tone. “I eat plenty.”
The roll of my belly. My big ass. That much is obvious.
Angelo’s gaze sweeps over me.
He shakes his head. “We worked out for a solid twenty minutes. I don’t care how much you normally eat—you’re going to eat every bit of the steak, every potato, and each asparagus stalk on your plate.”
“Or what? I have to sleep here?” I grumble.
“Or I’ll feed you myself.”
I freeze. My gaze lifts to his. He takes another bite, watching me watch him. Then his eyes flick to my plate. I eat. Obediently. Angelo inclines his head. We say nothing for a long time.
And then—a sigh.
“People give you shit?”
“Huh?”
His jaw flexes. “For your figure.”
I stiffen. “That’s not your bus—why do you care?” My laugh is short. “I know I was just convenient and easy back then. And now it’s because you haven’t been laid in weeks.”
His expression doesn’t change. “It is my business because I’m making it my business.”
His voice drops, low, threatening. “Do officers give you shit for your body?”
I blink. “Why?”
His face is stone cold. Deadly.
So I shrug. “I’m used to it.”
His knuckles drag across the table, slow, deliberate. “All I need are names and I can cut out tongues.”
I snort. “Fuck off, Angelo.”
“You don’t want me defending your honor?”
I glare. “Don’t pin your blood lust on protecting me.”
My chair scrapes against the floor as I push up. “Don’t pretend you give a shit about anything but your business and yourself.”
His gaze flickers, his mouth parting like he has something to say—then he hardens again.
“You don’t know me, Luisa.”
“And you don’t know me!” My pulse pounds. “We fucked once! It was a drunken mistake. Stop bringing it up. Stop trying to make conversation. I’m a watchdog and nothing else!”
I step forward, ready to walk past him—
He kicks a chair out, blocking my path. And then he stands in front of me. “You're a hell of a lot more than a watchdog, Luisa.” His breath is warm, close.
“And I haven’t chosen you because you’re convenient.” His voice lowers to a snarl. “You’re the least convenient and most difficult woman I’ve ever met.”
“Then ignore me.”
“It would be easier if I could.”
His chest rises and falls—something unreadable flashes across his face.
“But here I am, trying to-”
He cuts himself off. I stare at him. A breath. A pause. Then I move. A step closer. A push that doesn’t land. We both freeze.
My hand, reaching toward him—too close, too willing.
Fuck.
I force myself to think, to pull back, to push past the heat curling between us.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He looks away. “It’s nothing.”
“Which means it’s something.” My voice sharpens, cutting like a blade. “You threatened to cut out people’s tongues for insulting me. You threatened to kill to get you sister back.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “You’re not the kind of man who doesn’t follow through. And you’re not the kind of man to hide what you’re doing.”
His gaze locks onto mine.
“And yet, you think you don’t know me.”
“Don’t distract me.” My pulse slams against my ribs. “What do you know?”
“I know you don’t have a phone or taser on you right now.”
His voice is smooth, but the weight behind it pins me in place.
Then—he cups my cheek.
Gentle. Warm. Wrong.
His calloused fingers slide over my skin, into my hair, curling at the nape of my neck.
How can being touched by a murderer make me feel so ... safe?
“Stop.” My voice falters. “Don’t distract me. No flirting. No touching. Just—spill it.”
“It’s not a problem because I’m going to take care of it. That’s what I do, Luisa,” he croons voice like silk.
His thumb strokes my jaw, slow, deliberate.
“I take care of the messy, terrible, bloody things so others can pretend life is nice and easy. I make the hard choices. And I let people call me whatever they want so they get to feel safer. Better.”
I swallow hard, his words curling around something deep in my chest, something I don’t want to name.
“Who takes care of you?” I ask. I want to kick myself the second it leaves my lips, but Angelo heard it and I’m screwed.
His eyes darken and his breath slows. Too late. Angelo’s grip in my hair tightens. He jerks me closer. The air between us is gone, stolen.
His voice is a low growl against my lips. “Is that an offer?
My breath stutters. “It’s just, uh, a…”
I bite my lip. His gaze drops to my mouth.
“I don’t know.”
“Let me help then.”
His words barely register before his lips crash into mine, stealing my breath, swallowing my gasp.
The kiss is hungry, consuming—like he’s been waiting for this, like he needs this more than air.
He devours every sound leaving my throat, moaning with me, drinking me in like I’m something he won’t let go of.
My head spins. His hands find my waist, gripping, lifting—
Effortless. Like I weigh nothing. Like I belong exactly where he puts me. The table is cool against my thighs, but I barely feel it. I barely feel anything but him. His lips crash back onto mine, demanding, relentless, burning.
When he pulls back, I’m panting, my pulse a riot beneath my skin. His hands frame my face, holding me steady, forcing me to look at him. His voice low, rough, absolute.
“No one takes care of me because no one is strong enough to.”
My breath catches. I feel something sharp and dangerous curling in my chest. I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t.
“Yet.”
The word is barely a whisper, but his entire body stills. Then—his lips crash back onto mine. It’s fine. I’ll stop before anything happens. We both just need something good right now. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.
It doesn’t.