2. Santino
2
Santino
Despite the night being one of the most boring and forgettable, I’d finally found a spark of excitement when I spotted this woman slipping off somewhere she shouldn’t be.
I shouldn’t have bothered myself by being the one to follow her, but the thought of someone else telling me about a new purchase, or an update on a family matter, or whatever the fuck that Aloise bastard was going on and on about made my feet move on their own.
I could have stopped her at any point, but I kept my distance and stalked her silently.
Maybe it was the smell trailing behind her that mixed up my priorities. Something sweet that made my mouth water. Or, it was that quick glimpse of caramel-colored hair that caught the light at the right angle before she dipped into the darkness.
Normally, women don’t call out to me. Not like this. However, my steps felt more fueled by desire than with worries of what she could be after.
Could she be trying to seek one of my men, lure them into the shadows to release pent up energy? It’s happened before. Many times, actually. I’ve lost count of how many pairs of lace underwear I find littering my garden after these gatherings. Even now, if I stop and listen, I’m willing to bet I’ll hear the distant sounds of moans.
However, all it took was her rushing to hide to reveal her true goal. Rather than someone, she’s after something.
Those little telltale frustrated sighs told an entire story. The closer and closer she came to my office, the more it made sense. Instead of going straight to me to get what she wants, she’d rather dig deep for information.
It’s a good thing too, because the sweet scent up close may have truly dulled my senses.
I gave her a two-minute head start once she slipped inside my office. Enough time to catch her in the act to give me the answers to the questions building in my mind.
Now, this little intruder is looking at me like a deer caught in headlights. She immediately lifts her hands and surrenders without warning. Her skin pales instantly, her chest heaving from what I guess is the start of a panic attack.
There’s a muffled thump. Whatever item she held must’ve fallen from her grip and hit the carpet below. It could have been a paperweight, for all I know. Or it could’ve been a weapon that slipped from her grip.
No one wanders into this room unless they have a death wish. Even if one of my guests drinks too many glasses, my office is too deep into my home to mistake for something else accidentally. Off limits to all but myself and those I invite inside.
This little bird got herself caught in the lion’s den. From the way her eyes dart around, she knows it too.
“Do you know who I am?” My question spills from my lips slowly, like a deep sigh after an exhausting day.
Very few outside of my world can say they do. Unlike many people at my party, she looks like she has never received an invitation. From her nervous swallow, I am left to wonder why I’ve never encountered her before. If she’s familiar with my life, why does her face seem completely foreign?
I hate not having an answer to an unsolvable question. It makes me want to pick at my brain and dig until I can pull out something satisfying. With each second passing by like a lifetime, I’m sure I can find the time to pluck out some sort of memory. However, I’m confident I won’t find anything.
I couldn’t possibly mistake her for someone else. Her appearance is unforgettable. I’ve already burned her to memory.
Is there a point, though? Will I see her again after today, or will this be a one-time meeting with a devastating goodbye?
If I want to get my hands on her, and that much I do, I could easily wrap my fingers around her slim throat, and squeeze hard enough to hear her chirp. I bet I would feel her racing pulse against my fingertips.
Would she beg me to let her live?
Would I cave and look the other way?
She avoids answering my question, her body subtly shifting, as if she’s trying to conceal something. Maybe she’s got a pistol attached to her thigh. Hell, my life could be in danger. Yet, I don’t feel the desperation to protect myself. Even more when her palms touch my desk.
No, this woman didn’t come prepared. She’s an amateur. I’m almost disappointed.
Can’t she realize there’s no use doing anything but giving up? I’ve exposed her, and now I hold the power over her punishment.
The options are vast. The more I think about it, the more ideas form in my head.
Fuck torturing her. I bet I can make her open up, and tell me everything I need to know in more enjoyable ways.
Her hands push off the desk, leaving only her fingertips barely grazing the surface. I know well enough what it looks like when someone is about to run.
I’ve had men stumble, and fall before begging me for their life. They all share the same look of fear. Even this woman has it, though she tries to hide it with each blink. The look of an approaching death swims beneath those long eyelashes.
A suffocating silence envelops the room, thick enough to choke on. Every delicate flutter of her breath reverberates in the stillness like a distant drumbeat, amplifying the tension. Suddenly, without warning, she bolts, shattering the quiet with a frantic surge of energy.
I expect her to sprint, to show up a bit of a challenge here. Make me give a bit of a chase, even. Instead, she’s slow. Like she’s never had to run for her life before. Not even adrenaline is on her side.
It takes an instant to close the distance. With a swift motion, I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her tightly against me. Her warmth radiates into my chest, and I can feel the quickening of her breath, a desperate sign of her waning freedom—even if she never truly had a chance to escape this moment.
She has the enchanting scent of wildflowers. Up close, it’s more effective than I could’ve imagined. Instead of wearing an expensive perfume, it smells as though she tumbled down a sunlit hill, with the delightful, natural fragrance lingering on every inch of her skin.
Her legs kick, and the heels of her bare feet crash against my knees. Weighing nothing, I have no issue holding her in the air. Not even the pain she brings from dragging her nails against the back of my neck can stop me from filling my lungs full enough to make my head spin.
For whatever reason, I don’t immediately want to kill this little bird. Rather, I’d prefer to have a taste, and see if she’s as delicious as she smells.
I’m willing to bet my entire fortune she does.
As much as I would love to stand around breathing her in, she continues to fight. Grunting as her foot slams right next to my hardening cock, I make the smart decision to move.
Taking her right back to the crime scene, I drop her onto my desk. Her dress is thin and loose, giving no fight as I part her thighs wide enough to make enough room for my hips. Only touching her, and in an instant, the damage is done.
The dress needs to go. I can question her without it. I’m sure I can.
My fingers itch to move, but something about her wobbling bottom lip and large doe eyes helps sober me up a bit. She’s got innocence written all over her. A part of her act, I’m sure. It helps remind me that this woman was just trying to steal things with my name on them.
She came to my party intending to hurt me. And now, she looks like a simple ‘ I’m sorry’ can fix everything.
If she had snuck into my bedroom, things would be different. Now that’s an invasion I wouldn’t mind.
No, this is a personal attack I need to take seriously.
She flinches when I lean in, but I can’t help but breathe in such an intoxicating scent. It’s my new favorite. Fuck. Focus.
“You–” I nudge a little closer, eliminating the remaining space between us as I trap her with my hands on the desk. My cock aches as I grind it against the edge of the desk. “–do not belong here.”
Lowering my gaze, I can count the number of goosebumps pimpling up against her throat. I can graze my mouth against her warm skin if I lean in close enough.
There are pens scattered across my desk; my cup is nowhere in sight. It must’ve been that thump I heard. She’d grab one if she had the sense and try to take my eye.
This woman looks soft to the touch, and more than breakable. She’s not someone who should be here. Not in my office, and definitely not at this event. There’s an absence of urgency about her, as if she doesn’t know how to fight for her life. Those kicks and scratches hardly count, doing minor damage.
If any man caught a whiff of her, they’d want to devour her in one bite. Hell, it’s taking all of my strength to hold back. Even now, my mouth is watering, my cock is weeping and my brain isn’t functioning like it should.
Shifting through my belongings, hunting down my secrets, it’s a crime I cannot forgive. No one has the balls to go behind my back like this. Not when they know what I’ll do to them if I catch them.
I’ve sliced off a man’s finger with a rusty blade for touching my desk without my permission. She’s scattered papers against my carpet, leaving one hell of a mess. Who does she expect to clean this all up?
“Well, are you going to introduce yourself? You know who I am. I’d say it’s only fair.”
When this beauty doesn’t answer, I lift a brow. I can always part her lips with my thumb and see if she still has a tongue intact. While discovering her secrets with my tongue is the preferred option, I can’t risk losing myself to her lure.
She opens her mouth, and I’m happy to discover she does have the ability to speak. Her tongue swipes at her bottom lip, all wet and pink. “Everyone knows who you are.” A shiver rolls through her body when my chest rumbles with dissatisfaction. “I’m no one. A nobody looking for clout. That’s all.”
Though a little shaky, she doesn’t stutter. Her voice comes out like a sing-song tune. A little high-pitched, but that may be the nerves.
Closing my eyes for just a moment, I continue to pick and prod at my memory. My frown grows as the search comes up empty.
“Your name, little bird. Now. ” Impatience seeps into my chest, and my brows furrow. “Or–” I click my tongue, “–do I need to search you for your identity?”
Her dress has no pockets, not that I can see. There’s only one place I can think of her hiding anything, and when my eyes meet her chest, she lets out this new sound. A breathless whimper.
As if my cock needed any more of an excuse to become harder than granite.
“I’m sorry.” Whispering her apology, I’m suddenly questioning if two words are enough to forgive such a crime.
Like something as little as a name can deserve to be locked away in a safe, I ache to know it even more as she clings to it with tight fists. Does she want me to fall to my knees and beg? Fuck, she could lie through her teeth, and I wouldn’t know the difference. I just need something .
Leaning in, her head naturally tilts as my lips brush the outer shell of her ear.
I should ask her who she works for. Someone must have hired her to help. Whatever poor bastard is paying this lousy burglar must really know how to pick them.
Before I can ask anything, her hands are on my vest. Like she’s caught onto her traitorous body, she pushes against my chest. It’s like trying to get a brick wall to move. I don’t budge.
Her frustration seeps in too quickly, her blood turning hot in a familiar fashion. Now this is something I finally recognize, more within myself.
“Parada.” She speaks the last name like it’s an insult. As she fucking should.
A hiss leaves my lips as I yank back away from her. The warmth I greedily sucked in moments ago quickly evaporates, leaving my front cool to the touch.
“ Parada .” There is no mistaking that name. Rocco Parada has been a pain in my ass for months. From taking out many of my transportation vehicles, to buying out some of my biggest suppliers.
What in the hell did he hope this little stunt would pull him? Did he think I’d be foolish enough to leave valuable information on my business, on my livelihood , in my top desk drawer?
Or maybe he sent this woman to lure the information straight from the source? A sheep in wolf’s clothing. Purposely drawing me away from my men, playing the part of this poor, defenseless being who doesn’t know any better.
Anger floods over my vision, and I curl and uncurl my fingers. I’ve never been known to have patience. A pretty little thing isn’t going to change that.
I do not like being tricked or fooled. No, not one fucking bit.
Erasing the space between us once more, I flatten her palms against the desk, mine keeping them in place. “Who are you? Do not test my temper by making me repeat myself more than I already have.”
She squeaks, her shoulders hunching. “C-Camellia.” Her stutter extinguishes her earlier anger. She may have hot blood, but she’s more of an impostor now that the haze has lifted.
I’m seeing clearly now.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Camellia ?” Her name feels nice against my tongue, and it pisses me off even more. “Did you enjoy making a mockery of me?”
Did she enjoy making me want something I can’t have? Like teasing an addict with a little baggie before destroying it right before their eyes.
Her mouth pinches shut, and she shakes her head. She doesn’t apologize again, a smart decision.
“Were you hired? Was the pay worth it?” So many questions fill my head, enough to make my headache worse. “Worth the cost of your life?”
“I’m not being paid.” Something about that wide look tells me she’s telling the truth. However, it’s such a ridiculous thought that I can’t help the coarse laugh that leaves my lips. “My brother made me–”
“Your brother ?” As if this can’t possibly get any worse, this beauty really knows how to inflict damage. Even when she’s not trying to, she stabs this metaphoric knife deeper into my chest and twists it.
Rocco has a sister, I’m sure of it. However, Eliza Parada is not this woman. Maybe they share a similar shape of nose, and the same dark hair, but there are too many differences to make such a mistake.
Does he have another sister? One tucked away, hidden from my knowledge?
I can’t hear another word of this.
Camellia gasps when I leave her hands long enough to yank her from my desk. Without wasting my breath on another word, I toss her over my shoulder like a sack and move toward the door of my office.
“You can’t do this!” She pummels my back, but the thumps do nothing as my steps echo in the bare hallway. “I didn’t even see anything!”
Her words could be nothing but the truth for all I know. However, unfortunately for her, I don’t give a fuck.
I’m agitated, aroused, and annoyed. A troublesome combo.
My right-hand man, and younger brother, Urzo, glances over casually as if seeing a beautiful woman draped over my shoulder is just another part of his daily routine. He’s pressed against the wall, frowning at his hatred of how much life these gatherings bring.
I won’t give him a hard time for letting this woman slip underneath his nose. Not now. Another time, when the back of my head isn’t getting elbowed.
“Lights out. I want everyone gone within ten minutes.” Growling the order, I don’t miss his sigh of relief as he lifts away from the wall. “I expect some form of communication from Rocco Parada–” His name alone leaves a sour taste in my mouth, evoking my disgust. “–once he realizes his spy won’t be returning anytime soon. Tell him he can collect his own in person.”
Urzo grunts, nodding.
Her punches have stopped, her breath held. My hold on her thighs tightens as the pulse in my temple grows, and my headache throbs.
My muscles are tight, and my jaw is clenched, creating an overwhelming sense of tension throughout my body. I feel like a taut cord, stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment with no warning. This sensation of tightness is not just physical; it seeps into my mind, leaving me on edge, as if the slightest provocation could trigger a release of pent-up energy buried beneath the surface.
Usually, I find myself channeling my frustrations towards those who have upset me. Even something as seemingly trivial as the sight of blood can serve as a release, helping to ease the tension that feels so tightly wound within me.
That won’t do, not this time. I’ll need another method.
“When he comes, shoot his kneecaps. I don’t do trades with slippery bastards. I’ll do the final blow.” Letting out a much-needed sigh, I turn. “Until then, I don’t want any interruptions. Understand?”
Urzo nods, his hand instinctively drifting to the holster of his pistol, a gesture that feels all too natural in the tense atmosphere.
With that, I move with no intention of letting anyone get in my way.