Chapter Twenty-One #2
What a big, whiny baby. “Please. Flames can’t hurt the devil.”
“Well, you should’ve told me that before I ruined my suit trying to protect you from it.”
That earns an irrepressible snicker from me. “Touché.”
Muttering something under his breath, too low to catch, he finally steps back.
And only then do I allow myself to breathe. Because...holy freaking butterflies.
Without missing a beat, Stefano stalks over to where the Kims are huddled, grabs the uncle by the collar, and drags him to me like a misbehaving dog. “Apologize to her.”
Kim Hwan sets his jaw, all rigid pride and stupid defiance.
Smooth as silk, Stefano draws his gun and presses the muzzle to his temple. “Apologize. Or your nephews are going to spend the rest of the night licking your blood and marrow off this sidewalk until it’s fucking spotless.”
“Ew, gross,” one brother mutters. “Hell no. I’m not doing that.”
Exasperated, the other one shushes him, then pleads, “Uncle, please, just apologize. Why do you always do this? Just apologize!”
Tired of this whole ordeal, I switch to Korean, keeping my voice cool but composed. “Mr. Kim, I don’t need an apology. But Mr. Castello doesn’t tolerate disrespect. If your pride outweighs your survival instinct, you won’t make it home to your family.”
Kim Hwan’s hardened eyes dart between his pleading nephews and the gun kissing his temple. Then, finally, they settle on me. With a jagged breath, he dips his head and apologizes to me in his native tongue.
Appeased, Stefano shoves him back with enough force to send him sprawling on the pavement.
Right on cue, Stefano’s phone rings. He answers, listens for a moment, then looks to the Kim brothers. “We have the culprit.”
“Ah, o-okay. That is…g-great. Who is it?” one brother stammers.
Stefano puts the call on speaker.
A shaky, nervous male voice floods the air, babbling like a canary in full confession mode.
The gist of it all: a college techie, strapped for cash and trolling the dark web for quick jobs, took on a high-paying gig.
Normally, these jobs stay anonymous, but after getting burned a few times, the kid built backdoor traps into his correspondence, traceable fingerprints to ID the client.
And this particular job came from one Park Il-Bok, located in South Korea.
As for their missing driver, he was lured away under the guise of helping with a stalled vehicle, where he was then sedated with a quick jab to the neck and dumped inside a stolen car two streets over.
When the call ends, Stefano slips the phone back into his jacket and calmly states, “The kid will be delivered to your suite. He’s your problem now.
” He adjusts the cuffs of his jacket. “You brought your shit to my city, and then insulted my—” He pauses, jaw tight, glancing skyward for a breath that seems to cost him.
“My respect for Mr. Kim Min is the only reason you’re leaving here with your tongue still intact.
Goes without saying, I have no interest in moving forward with this deal.
” He turns on his heel. “You have twenty-four hours to get the fuck out of my city.”
With that, he strides off, sharp and smooth as a blade, snapping over his shoulder, “Raya.”
I offer the Kims a respectful half-bow. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”
Then hurry after him.
There’s a charged tension in the length of his stride, a storm building in the set of his shoulders.
So I hang back, giving him space to let the fire die down.
He’s pissed, rightfully so, and I’ve learned enough from a lifetime of experience with prideful, powerful men to know when to keep quiet.
Pride can ruin even the shrewdest of men.
If I utter a single word right now, I’ll get my head bitten off and possibly even blamed for everything.
Oscar is already waiting beside the Lincoln Navigator parked up the street, but Stefano blows right past him. Oscar lifts a brow at me in question, and I respond with a helpless shrug. He must be used to this though, because he simply gets into the vehicle and begins trailing behind us.
We walk in silence. The sound of Stefano’s footsteps firm and confident, the click of my heels barely keeping up, followed by the low hum of the engine cruising behind.
About ten minutes in, he stops in his tracks. So abrupt that I almost crash into his back.
He stares straight ahead for a long moment. Then slowly, deliberately, he turns and faces me.
Impassive dark eyes rake over my face, searching.
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I remain quiet.
In a single stride, he closes the gap between us, eyes never leaving mine. “Who are you?”
Guess he didn’t find whatever he was searching for.
Holding his stare, I lift my chin. “Raya Michel.”
Without warning, his hand comes up, fingers wrapping around my throat. Not to harm, just tight enough to threaten.
“Who. Are. You?” he grits out.
I don’t flinch, don’t back down, don’t break our gazes. “Raya Michel.”
His nostrils flare. “Did they send you?”
My brows pull together. “Who?”
“THE O,” he says. “They sent you to fuck with me, didn’t they?”
I blink. “The what?”
His answering sigh is thick with frustration.
“You know you’re a liar. I know you’re a liar.
And yet…” His gaze, now swimming with torment and hunger, drops to my mouth, as his hand around my throat loosens and glides up to cup my jaw.
Slowly, he drags the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip.
“Instead of chopping off these pretty lying lips of yours, all I want to do is…kiss them.”
Oh…wow. Of all the things I expected him to say, that’s not one of them.
But that’s the thing with Stefano Castello, nothing ever makes sense. He’s all fire and edge, steel and chaos. A wild card with no rules, just instinct.
His thumb lingers at the corner of my mouth, his breath mixing with mine as he murmurs, “Can I?”
I keep my tone even, careful. “Can you what?”
His gaze darkens. Melt like molten. “Kiss them…”
My tongue darts over his fingertip as I wet the very lips he’s still touching. “No.”
Something shifts in him, indignation flashing in his heated eyes. “Why?”
Because I like watching power squirm when it doesn’t get its way. Because I want to see how you react to rejection.
“Because ‘no’ is a complete answer.”
“If I stared at your tits all day like Gio, would you say yes?” His voice is flat, but his jaw is tight. “Is that why you let him kiss you?”
Oh, so this is a pissing contest. “I didn’t let him. He didn’t ask, he just took. Had he asked, I would have said no.”
His tone is edged with accusation when he bites out, “You kissed him back.”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “He’s a good kisser.”
Stefano steps in even closer, slow and deliberate, until his lips hover a hairsbreadth from mine. The sliver of air between us is searing, and I’m sure he’s going to do it…take what he wants anyway.
Not that I would stop him. I’ve imagined kissing him a million times, a hundred different ways. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
But if he did, I’d be…disappointed. Because for me, the sexiest thing about a man is self-control. The kind of control that pulses beneath desire. Power wrapped in restraint. A man who can resist, even when he doesn’t want to, no matter how deep the desire, is sexy as hell to me.
That’s strength. That’s power. That’s leadership. That’s hot.
What can I say? My kinks are different.
For several long, loaded beats, he just stares down at me, jaw tight, breaths shallow, eyes burning.
Then he mutters a curse under his breath, shrugs off his jacket, and drapes it over my shoulders. Voice clipped, he orders, “Get in the car.” He jerks his chin over my head. “Have Oscar take you back to the villa.”
I look back to the Lincoln idling a few feet away, engine low and waiting.
By the time I swing my attention back around, Stefano’s already walking away.
“Wha—Where are you going?” I call after him.
Without a backward glance, he calls back, “Anywhere you aren’t.”