Page 16 of Deadly Wrath

Her eyes, those sharp green eyes, are full of fire and challenge. Even now, with my grip on her throat, backing her against the ledge, she doesn’t back down. Something about her stubbornness has me caught between frustration and wanting to fuck her into submission.

But I need her to feel my wrath, to understand the danger of pissing me off. I stomp forward, dragging her backward, each step bringing us closer to the edge. Herheels scrape against the concrete pavers until we’re at the brink. She has no choice but to move with me. Olivia’s legs teeter dangerously over the drop, as the wind whips her red locks across her face. If she were a man, I wouldn’t bother with this scare-tactic bullshit, I’d just beat the answers out of her.

But then she says, “Are you really just going to throw a woman to her death?”

Those words hit harder than they should.

An old memory slams into me, one I never let myself think about. My grip tightens, not because I want to hurt her, but because I need to ground myself. And that half-second hesitation is all she needs.

A sudden, sharp, blinding pain explodes between my legs.

Fuck.

Every single fucking ounce of air is knocked out of me. My stomach twists, a white-hot agony spreading through my gut, my grip on her going weak as my knees threaten to buckle.

She slips away, and I lunge forward, trying to grab her and not throw up. But she’s already gone, sprinting toward the emergency exit, hauling ass like the devil himself is on her heels. I double over, gasping, my hands clutching my balls like that’s going to do a damn thing tostop the pain. My head pounds, and I’m fighting to breathe through the pain.

Just then, the door bursts open. Kota and Nathan run onto the roof, looking around, clearly confused, as if they expect Olivia to reappear out of nowhere and surrender herself. I grit my teeth, trying not to lose my shit.

Where the fuck were they two minutes ago? Maybe then I wouldn’t be dying up here, questioning every choice that led to this moment that almost ended any chance I had of ever having kids.

My head pounds, but the ache between my legs is far worse. Alonzo appears and heads for the emergency exit, ready to chase her down. I raise a shaky hand to stop him, the wind still knocked out of me. Speaking is a fucking effort.

“Hold on,” I manage to grunt, wincing at how much it hurts to fucking breathe.

Alonzo hesitates, glancing between Kota and Nathan before looking back at me. He’s shifting uncomfortably like he’s trying to figure out what the hell just happened because this isn’t how I handle shit. Especially not with someone who’s barely 5’4.

I suck in a breath, still bent over, with my vision swimming. Right now, I need ice, space, and a second to rethink how the hell I’m going to deal with that spitfire,because chasing after her is pointless when I can barely fucking stand.

Emerald green eyes flash in my mind as hot water pours over me, trying to wash away the mess of this entire trip. It’s impossible, and the heat does little for my sore muscles. I glance down, relieved that my dick isn’t broken. The hard-on I woke up with, and can’t seem to get rid of, is proof it still works.

My hand slides up my length, fingers wrapping tight as I squeeze the tip, trying to take off enough pressure to breathe. It doesn’t help, and she’s still there.

Red hair. Green eyes. A mouth that could start wars.

My breath picks up, my chest rising and falling like I’ve just gone ten rounds in a fight. My grip tightens. I start to stroke harder and faster as her face, her voice, and those smart-ass remarks she throws at me burn through my brain.

And her mouth—God, that fucking mouth. Probably soft, warm, and sinful as hell. Made to ruin men without even trying.

I can almost feel her lips around my cock, the way her eyes would flick up at me, full of that fucking sass,daring me to lose control. She’d push me, just to see what I’d do about it.

It’s too much and not enough, all at the same time.

A guttural growl rips through my throat as my fist slams against the cold tile. My head tilts back, muscles locking tight as pleasure crashes through me. “Fuck.”

My release hits hard, spilling onto the shower floor before the water washes it away. I stay there, breathing hard, with my forehead pressing against my arm, and hot water running down my back. I squeeze my eyes shut. Trying to force her out, but it’s useless. Olivia’s still fucking there.

After my shower, I towel off and slide into a crisp black button-down and matching slacks. I have business to catch up on, then I’m heading out to meet Antonio. He’s got a lead on someone who’s been ripping him off and wants my help to sort it out.

Honestly, there’s nothing I’d love more right now than to beat the hell out of a few idiots and show them why you don’t fuck with people like us. Maybe I’ll start by ripping their fingernails off, just to hear them scream. After that, I’ll work my way up, joint by joint. You can’t have sticky fingers when you don’t have any fucking fingers at all.

Meanwhile, Alonzo and Nathan have been tracking Olivia since yesterday, swapping shifts with two of Antonio’s guys to keep constant eyes on her. If anything changes, I’ll know. But for now, letting her think she’s gotten away is part of the plan. I want her to feel safe. To think she’s slipped through the cracks. Then, when the time’s right, I’ll remind her exactly who she’s dealing with.

It’s later in the evening, and I finally drag myself out of my room and head to Antonio’s office. He wanted to talk, but I’ve spent most of the day buried in work. His place is a fucking maze, with hallways leading to nowhere and staircases winding in every direction. I bolt down one flight of stairs, only to hit a dead end and have to backtrack, only to climb another. By the time I hit the second set, I let out a low curse. How the hell does anyone find their way around this damn house?

When I finally reach Antonio’s office, the door is wide open. Inside, Aldo, his second, stands beside Antonio, who’s seated behind his desk. For an older guy, Aldo is built like a tank—solid and burly, just like my old man, Alessandro Sr. He doesn’t say much, but his eyes are always on the move, scanning the room like a hawk. Quiet and watchful, the kind of guy you want on your side.

I expect to see Sebastiano, considering how much Antonio’s been stepping back lately. Everything runsthrough Seb now. But the chair beside Antonio’s desk is empty.

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