Deviant Prince [Romano Brotherhood, #2]

16 | Vivienne

It still sounds like a gunshot. Just... not so sharp and loud.

Massimo catches the dead man before he falls, carefully lowering him to the ground and stuffing a cloth into the wound. The blood rapidly soaks it but doesn't spread. He closes the man's jacket and deftly shuts his eyes. In less than thirty seconds, he's made it look like the guy is in the middle of a really nice nap.

Then he nudges me fully inside and shuts the door. Before I can even gather air into my lungs, he's already on the phone. "He's outside. Take care of it."

"What in the fuck," I say hoarsely, regaining my ability to speak, "was that. Tell me you did not just do that."

Massimo doesn't even look at me. "Sit down."

"It's cute that you think you can order me around like one of your little soldiers," I say in utter shock. "What in the fuck makes you think... Massimo, there are people all over my fucking apartment right now. Cameras. What are you—are you fucking insane?"

For some reason, he's backing up from me.  

"Those people left. Actual electricians—not the ones who work for your landlord—will be here tomorrow. And I control the security cameras."

I drag my hands down my face, beginning to pace. "Oh my God. You really just killed that guy." Lost for words for once in my fucking life, I just stare at him.

My silence seems to be exactly what he needed, because his mouth finally loosens. "Ovens don't explode spontaneously, even if they're left on. That only happens because of faulty installations. I'm bringing in competent workers."

Why the fuck are we talking about my oven?

"Which totally makes sense why you'd have me kidnapped," I practically wheeze. His blatant control freak nature aside, I'm failing to see why I had to get manhandled and dragged from my hotel.

Massimo nods as if this is actually perfectly fucking reasonable. "I was busy. He was supposed to bring you here." His phone pings and he reads the message quickly. "That mess has been taken care of."

He turns away from me as if this conversation is over.

So be it.

I start grabbing my things. At the noise, Massimo's sharp gaze cuts abruptly to mine. The closest thing to a frown crosses his features and before I know it, he's standing in front of the door.

Is he seriously preventing me from leaving?

"Oh, I'm sorry," my voice is deadly calm but vibrating with a flurry of irritation that is quickly snowballing into something bigger. "Did you want me here for another reason? Now that you've filled me in on how you've commandeered my oven repairs, I think I'm gonna go. Great talk, by the way. I especially loved the part where you shot a guy to death."

"You won't be going anywhere." The words are devoid of life, along with his face, and suddenly I want something from him. A reaction, a spark, anything. 

I march right up to him, my face hot. He doesn't move, doesn't even seem to breathe. And suddenly I'm not either. That porcelain face, so fucking empty yet somehow capable of evoking so much in me. 

Stubbornly, I decide I don't need him to wear his emotions for me to see. I've got enough for the fucking both of us.

"Get out of my way," I grit out. 

Giving me no indication he even heard me, Massimo spreads lava over my skin with his gaze—its slow, apathetic track up my body. Somewhere along the way, it becomes incandescent, glinting at me with both a promise and a threat.