Chapter 3
RAFAELLE
My body jerks, more in surprise than in pain, although the two shots to my chest hurt like the bejesus.
When this is over, if I make it out alive, I might give her props for pulling the trigger. Not once, but twice. For having the balls to do what it takes to protect her family, even though in the end she’ll lose.
For now, I hold my breath, absorb the pain with my eyes shut. And wait. Wait. Wait. Thanking fuck I’m wearing a custom-made bulletproof vest that cost me upward for three-quarters of a mil.
Playing dead now is far easier than it was that fateful day six years ago. Back then I was terrified out of my mind, filled with fury and horror because I knew I’d lost her. I screamed for a straight hour afterwards, cradling my mother’s lifeless body in the aftermath.
A helluva lot more terrifying things have happened since then, also requiring me to play dead from time to time. But those things have been at my hands.
Things I’ve had to do as the Enforcer but on my terms.
So will this be.
I sense her approach. Hear her juddering breaths as adrenaline leaves her body and the full repercussions of her actions kick in.
Does she regret it? Is she relieved?
She’s close enough that I hear her gulping swallow. Smell her sublime perfume carried on the soft breeze.
‘I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry,’ I hear her whisper under her breath. ‘Not for protecting my family. Especially not if I think you’re who you are.’ Through the tiny slits of my eyes, I see her reach for my mask, still whispering, ‘I’m not sor—’
I punch the gun out of her hand.
It skitters across the concrete floor. She yelps in surprise and pain, her mouth gaping in shock. Before she can recover, I jackknife upright and lunge for her.
Her reflexes are impressively sharp.
My fingers graze her arm as she jumps back, slips out of reach.
But the move sends her off balance. I sweep out one leg to knock her off her feet, but she anticipates that too. She backflips so perfectly, I want to stop and applaud. But I want my hands on her more than I want to praise her antics.
Luckily for me, she doesn’t know every square inch of this rooftop the way I’ve learned it. She lands on the uneven floor and for a split second, she’s off-kilter again.
I’m on her before she can take her next breath, blocking the punch she aims at my throat. I catch her fist in mine and use her momentum to yank her forward.
She slams against my chest and the sensation of firm softness is divine. But I don’t have time to enjoy it. Her other hand shoots out, connects a punch to my jaw.
I shake off the pain. I’ve suffered way worse, days of torture in unmentionable hell holes.
I capture her other hand easily and within a second the tables have satisfactorily turned. The zip ties I carry in my back pocket come out and I have her secured before she can blink.
Only then do I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her back flush against my body. And yes, I’m the filthy bastard who nudges my cock into the small of her back, salivating as the top of her lush ass caresses my balls.
‘Ah, bedda mia,’ I croon in her ear. ‘You should’ve gone with your original plan and shot me in the head. Now look where you are. My captive. Mine to do with as I please.’
She struggles to free herself for a full ten seconds before she stops.
Breathes out. Shoots me a venomous glare over her shoulder. ‘You’re deluded if you think I’m going to beg for my life.’
‘Nor should you, angel. You should only beg for pleasurable things, like my hands around your throat when I fuck you harder than you’ve been fucked in your life.
Or after I’ve edged you for hours and you can’t stand it any more.
Only then should you beg. With enough tears running down this pretty face I can lick clean.
’ The image of it is hot as fuck. And I don’t hold back a depraved moan.
She laughs, a delightful but mocking sound that tunnels straight to my cock. ‘Are you sure you’re not high? Because you seem to be hallucinating things that will never happen.’
‘Hmm, we’ll see. I am curious though about you not begging for your life. You know why I’m here on this rooftop. And yet you’re not asking for me to kill you in place of another member of your family. You love them enough to save them from me but apparently not enough to die in their place, huh?’
I hear her teeth grind, and fractured emotions dart across her face. ‘Fuck you, you know nothing about me. Just get this over with.’
‘All in good time. Where were you planning to take me?’
‘What?’
‘You mentioned other means of taking me out of commission without killing me. That means many things but I’m guessing for you it involved stashing me somewhere until you decided what to do to me.
Possibly torturing me for information on what other contingencies I had for your family. You’ll take me there.’
I’m watching her closely enough to see her reaction. She gives nothing away. Impressive.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Take me there,’ I repeat, my voice now a deadly blade. ‘Or I’ll tie you up right here, and you can watch as I finish the job you so rudely interrupted.’
She stills, watching me from the corner of her eye, gauging to see if I mean it.
‘Will it help if I counted down from ten?’
‘Fuck you.’
‘So impatient.’ I tut. ‘All in good time,’ I whisper, right before I give in and draw my lips down the soft skin beneath her ear, letting out the moan that’s been building in my chest since she first spoke.
‘Jesus. Get the fuck off me,’ she snarls, but I catch her shiver. See the way her nipples peak against the stretch of her catsuit.
‘Five… four…’
‘What happened to counting from ten?’ she snaps coldly.
‘You wasted it. Two…’
‘Fine! I’ll… I’ll make you a deal.’
‘One. Sorry, sweetheart. The window for deals just closed.’
She swallows and I follow the line of her silky throat, saliva pooling in my mouth as hunger rips through me.
The depth and ferocity of it make me frown.
This feels more powerful than mere attraction.
Sure, she’s come closer to killing me than anyone else has all my life bar the massacre that took my mother. Yeah, that heightened state of being close to death turns me fucking hard. Always.
One of the other ‘points of interest’ noted in my file, though that was recorded with more… PG language.
And yes, now I know her identity, the stakes are even deliciously higher.
But I shouldn’t be this aroused. This keen to fuck. And not just anyone.
Her. The Salvatore nemesis.
And yet… I lean closer, breathing in her scent again.
Fuck, she smells incredible. And she’s also confirmed my suspicions of being an amateur.
‘You’ve already blown through the first few essential rules of effectively taking out your enemy.
But seriously, don’t you know you shouldn’t wear identifying scents unless you want to be caught in two fucking seconds? ’
She stiffens for a moment, then shrugs. ‘What does it matter? I shot you. If not for that vest you’re wearing, you’d be dead.’
There’s a little snag in her voice at the end of her response that gives her away.
‘How many kills do you have under your belt, angel?’
‘Enough! I told you not to call me that. Can we get on with whatever this is, please, or do you plan to kill me with chit chat?’
‘So eager to die? So eager to show off this insane body to the Grim Reaper?’ Okay, why the fuck does saying that make me want to track down the lord of the afterlife and tear him limb from limb?
Did I miss toxic fumes emanating from the cement on this rooftop? Because I must be losing my fucking mind.
She swallows but doesn’t speak.
So I go to work. My fingers dive into her hair.
So silky. Not enough to make a rope to hold her still while I ram into her, but more than enough to keep her trapped while she swallows my cock.
Down her nape to the collar of her suit.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ She strains to get away from me.
‘Looking for hidden weapons.’ I watch her carefully as I speak. ‘Or tracking devices.’
Her face remains passive.
She’s good.
I shake my head at the trickle of pride and sadness that washes over me. Sofiya Mancinelli would’ve made a decent assassin with the right training.
Shame she’s fucked up tonight and a few flaws that could’ve been corrected have sealed her fate.
Because, sadly, there’s no way I’m letting her go.
Or letting her live.
She delivered herself into my hands like a message from hell. Or heaven. I can finally do what I’ve bided my time in doing.
Avenge my mother.
My hands travel down her arms and up again to her armpits.
I follow the line of her body and swallow a groan when I confirm that yes, my hands indeed can span her waist. This fixation would be fucking hilarious if she didn’t have serious curves in seriously heart-stopping places.
Hell, she makes Halle Berry look like a stick figure.
My lower lip catches between my teeth when I reach her ass. Firm. Supple. My dick swells thicker when I imagine it between them. Has she ever been fucked in the ass? I would kill to find out.
My pants strain painfully when I drop into a crouch, and from this angle she’s even more glorious. ‘If you’re thinking of using these heels on me, duci, think again. Because I won’t be best pleased.’
‘You’re wasting your time. I’m not carrying anything,’ she hisses when my hands drag slowly down one leg.
I laugh. ‘You could’ve said that before I started. I wouldn’t have believed you but now I know you’re lying.’
Two seconds later, I hit the jackpot.
In her left boot, an ankle strap containing six lethal-looking sheet-thin throwing knives. In her right, I find something more interesting. A sleek black fob that looks like an electronic key with two tiny buttons.
‘What’s this for?’
‘Nothing you wanna know, asshole.’
‘Dammit, that just makes me want to know even more.’ I pocket the weapons and fob, then whipping another zip tie from my pocket, I tie her ankles together.
‘What the hell?’
Rising, I cup her nape. ‘I suggest you stay very still. I’d hate for you to fall and bump your pretty head.
I also suggest you don’t do anything stupid, like scream.
You dressed the way you are is already giving me filthy ideas.
Toss in a ball-gag and we’ll stray into unchartered territory where your safe word better be on standby. ’
She glares holes into me as I stalk over to where I kicked her gun.
I pick it up, examine it and whistle. ‘Glock 17 with an expensive suppressor. Not bad, bedda mia. Not bad at all. This must have cost you a whole lot of pocket money, especially if you had it custom made?’
At her mutinous silence, I look up.
She’s teetering on her feet, struggling with the urge to remain still.
Keeping her in my sights, I go over to where I set up my own gear, quickly break down my sniper rifle and stash it in my bag. I toss her gun in there too.
Bag in hand, I return to her.
I stand close enough that she has to tilt her head up to meet my eyes.
Slowly, I reach for the bottom of my mask and peel it off.
My hair flops into my eyes but I ignore it, more interested in her reaction. As I did with her, she suspected my identity from the Sicilian I dropped into our conversation.
But perhaps, like me, she’d hoped she would be wrong.
Her pupils dilate with part shock, part resignation as she sees me for the first time.
I smile in that way that’s terrified many souls in their last moments. Unlike her, I’m a fallen angel of death.
And I fully embrace my role in this life.
‘Ciao, duci. Shall we start our adventure?’