Page 9 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

JULIAN

No.

No fucking way.

There’s no way in hell this bastard just made me come.

And why did I let him?

I’m still shaking. My legs are barely holding me up, my back pressed to the wall like it might swallow me whole. My chest heaves, lungs dragging in air like I’ve been drowning… because in some twisted way, I am. Drowning in him.

My arms are pinned. My hands still fucking burn from how hard I tried to touch myself. But he didn’t let me. Nico fucking held me there. Made me beg, made me break. And now …

Now I’m ruined.

The aftershocks still ripple through my body. He’s still inside me, fingers resting deep like a claim. Like a reminder of exactly who won.

I want to shove him off. To tell him to go to hell.

But my voice is gone, along with my pride.

All I can do is hang my head and try to breathe through the heat crawling up my neck. Shame and pleasure tangled in a sick, perfect knot.

“You may hate me,” he murmurs, his voice low and smug against my skin. “But your body doesn’t.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I rasp, though it sounds more like a moan than a threat.

He laughs, soft and cruel, like he knows he’s carved his name into every inch of me now. His fingers finally pull back, slow and slick, and I flinch from the emptiness. From the ache he leaves behind.

I hate him.

I hate that he knows exactly how to touch me. That he reads every breath, every twitch, like a roadmap straight to where I’m weakest.

But worst of all, I hate that I still want more.

His palm cradles my jaw, forcing my head up, making me look at him.

“You’ll come for me again,” he says, calm as sin. “But next time, you’ll thank me for it.”

I clench my jaw and look away, ashamed of how raw I feel under his gaze.

Get your shit together.

This doesn’t change anything. It can’t. If anything, it’s a fucking opportunity. His attraction? That’s leverage. I can use it to get closer, learn more, dig up exactly what Silvio wants. Play the part. Earn the payout.

This is good. I’m the one in control here, he just doesn’t know it yet.

Fake it. Smile. Seduce... should be easy enough.

So why does it feel like chewing glass?

I clear my throat, trying to swallow the taste of humiliation.

“Wanna get out of here?”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with amusement.

“And go where, exactly?”

My gaze hardens. “You know where.”

He chuckles, low, dark, and condescending. The sound grates down my spine.

“Then give me the keys.”

I drop them into his palm, fingers betraying me with a slight tremor. He notices. He always fucking notices.

He arches a brow. “The car, too.”

My jaw clenches so hard it aches. Still, I drop the Maserati keys into his waiting hand.

He smirks, curling his fingers around them like he’s won something.

“Good boy.”

God, I want to strangle him. I want to put a bullet straight through his skull and see the brain matter splatter at my feet. But instead, I swallow the urge and force myself to stay still. Play nice. Play dumb.

“Are we going or not?”

“Impatient, are we?” He steps in close, brushing past me like he owns the air I breathe. “Be a good cagniolo and follow me.”

He throws the words over his shoulder, smirking like the devil in a tailored suit.

“Unless you’d rather be dragged out on a leash.”

Reluctantly, I trail after him out of Nocturne, heat licking at the back of my neck as we pass through the velvet shadows of the VIP section, and I catch at least a dozen curious stares.

One of them belongs to the woman he had on her knees earlier, though she doesn’t look jealous.

Just intrigued. Like she knows exactly what I am now.

I keep my gaze forward, locked on the back of his head, visualizing where the bullet will land when I finally put him down.

I smirk to myself.

You’re dead, Nico Vitale.

When we reach the Benz, he opens the passenger door like some chivalrous asshole. Like he hasn’t just spent the last half-hour bending me over and making me beg.

It would almost be sweet—if I didn’t want to bash in his fucking skull.

I slide into the seat in silence, jaw tight, pulse still thrumming from everything he’s done to me tonight. Everything I let him do.

He gets behind the wheel and starts the engine with a low growl that matches the smirk on his face. He drives like a man with nothing to lose: fast, reckless, perfectly in control of the chaos he creates.

“One of these days,” I mutter, gripping the door handle as we lurch into traffic, “you’re gonna get pulled over.”

He glances at me over his shoulder, cocky as hell.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Won’t be the last.”

I roll my eyes, biting back the urge to say something worse.

Right. I almost forgot. Nico Vitale doesn’t live in the same world as the rest of us. The laws are for people who can’t pay their way out of a chokehold.

But I’ll be there soon.

As soon as I hand Silvio his head on a platter.

“What about the Maserati?” I ask, keeping my tone even. “You’re just gonna leave it parked out in the open like that?”

He quirks a brow. “I’ll have Enzo grab it. You’re awfully concerned about my property, Cross.” His voice drops low, almost teasing. “You like the car or something? Better than your Nissan Altima, isn’t it?”

I scoff, trying not to let the heat rise to my face. “That’s not it. Thing’s too flashy. Screams ‘look at me.’”

“And yet,” he says, glancing at me sideways, “you picked it out of everything in the garage.”

His smile deepens. “You want it?”

My heart stutters. I cover it with a scowl.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. His voice is low, steady, infuriatingly calm.

“You really think I only have four cars? I’ve got a dozen more in my private garage. That one’s nothing. If I really cared, I’d buy ten more tomorrow.”

My jaw grinds tight enough to ache. Of course.

The nicest thing I’ve ever driven in my life means nothing to him.

Just another toy for a man who’s never gone without.

If I had even a fraction of what he has, I’d be unstoppable.

I wouldn’t have gone to prison. Wouldn’t have had to sell out my soul for a chance at survival.

But he’s offering. And if I’m smart, I’ll take it.

Would make a damn good getaway car when I finally put him in the ground.

Still… this is Nico we’re talking about. There’s bound to be strings attached.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, eyes narrowing.

“There isn’t one.”

Bullshit. But he’ll be dead soon anyway, so who cares?

I want that fucking car.

I shouldn’t. I’ve never cared about material shit like this. But maybe that’s just a lie I’ve always told myself, something to soften the sting of never having anything to begin with.

I exhale through my nose, tense. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll take it.”

He doesn’t say a word. Just smirks and shifts gears.

But I feel his satisfaction radiating off him like heat.

And I fucking hate how much I want him to keep giving me things, just so I can pretend, for a moment, that I belong in his world.

The rest of the drive is quiet, thick with everything unsaid.

Nico doesn’t bother turning on the radio. He just drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift like he hasn’t just dismantled me piece by piece. Like none of it touched him.

But I feel it in the silence. The control. The smug fucking energy that clings to him like expensive cologne.

My knee bounces the entire ride.

By the time we pull through the wrought-iron gates of the Vitale estate, I’m one sharp breath away from snapping. The mansion looms ahead, gold light spilling over marble steps and manicured hedges. The place looks like something out of a goddamn movie. And I hate how small it makes me feel.

Nico parks the Benz in front, not even bothering with the garage. Because of course not. Rules don’t apply when you own the street.

He gets out and walks around to where Enzo’s already waiting on the front steps like some well-dressed gargoyle. Nico tosses him the keys to the Benz without a word, like he’s handing off a jacket.

“Pick up the Maserati at Nocturne. Have it detailed,” he says, then adds, “It’s Cross’s now.”

Enzo raises a brow but says nothing, giving me a look before slipping into the car.

I’m still in the passenger seat, stewing, when Nico circles back around. And just like before, he opens the door for me again like he’s some proper fucking gentleman.

He holds out a hand, smirking like I’m supposed to thank him. Like I’m some debutante being escorted to a gala, not a man he just finger-fucked into submission less than an hour ago.

I slap his hand away with a sharp flick of my wrist and climb out on my own.

“Suit yourself,” he says, that maddening grin still tugging at his mouth.

I don’t respond. Just fall into step behind him, up the stairs and through the towering doors of the estate. His kingdom. His fucking fortress.

My fists clench at my sides. My chest tightens.

I can feel his power radiating off the walls here. It’s in the polished floors, the way the staff doesn’t even look at him as we pass. The way the air bends around him.

And I follow him inside.

Because I’m still playing the part.

Because I’m still in control.

Because soon enough… this kingdom?

It’ll be burning around him.

I stop in front of the door to the corner suite, but Nico keeps walking, only realizing I’ve stayed behind when the sound of my footsteps disappears.

He turns, smirking as he backtracks a few steps.

“They’re reinforcing the locks,” he says, voice casual, eyes anything but. “You can stay in my room until it’s done.”

I level him with a look sharp enough to cut glass.

He steps closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it dangerous.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “I won’t try anything.”

Then, with a grin that makes my skin crawl and burn all at once, he whispers,

“Unless you want me to.”

I should say no.

Should shove past him, demand another room, sleep on the fucking floor if I have to. Anything but his bed.

But the look in his eyes is maddening, like he already knows I’ll fold. Like I always do.

My jaw clenches. I don’t say yes. I just brush past him with a muttered, “Fine.”

He chuckles behind me, low and satisfied, and I hate how it sinks into my skin.

The walk to his room is silent, but the tension coils tighter with every step. His scent lingers in the hall and I try not to breathe it in. Try not to think about the way my body still aches from earlier. Still wants.

The door to his room is already open, of course. Like he knew I’d give in eventually.

It’s exactly what I expected. Dark, cold elegance. Minimal. Expensive. No warmth. Just sharp edges and clean lines, like him.

He gestures inside. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I step in slowly, my eyes scanning for danger I won’t find. The real threat isn’t in the room itself. It’s him.

I hover near the wall while he moves toward the dresser, tugging off his jacket with practiced ease. The muscles in his back ripple under the fabric, and I force myself to look away.

“Calm down,” he says again, amused by my discomfort. “I already told you, not going to jump you.”

“I never said you would.”

He tosses the jacket over the back of a chair and turns, eyes glittering with that same predatory calm.

“No. But you were hoping I might.”

My throat tightens. “You’re delusional.”

He takes a step closer. Just one. Not enough to touch. But enough to feel.

“You’ll take the left side,” he says, like this is routine. Like I’m just another body in his bed.

I don’t argue. I don’t have it in me tonight.

So I kick off my shoes, peel off my shirt, and crawl into the space he’s offered me, hating how soft the sheets are, how easily my body sinks in.

Nico switches off the light and joins me a moment later, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

In the end, he kept his promise.

We don’t touch.

We don’t speak.

But the heat between us is unbearable.

And in the dark, I lie awake, reminding myself that this is all part of the job.

That I’m here to kill him.

Not crave him.

I don’t sleep.

I can’t.

Not with Nico breathing so calmly beside me, like he hasn’t destroyed everything I thought I knew about myself.

He looks so different like this. Unarmed. At peace. No smirk. No sharp tongue or simmering violence. Just… stillness.

But it’s a lie. I know it is.

He’s a monster in silk. A devil in daylight. He’s killed for less than what I’ve done. What I plan to do.

And now, watching him like this, unguarded and unsuspecting…

I could kill him right now.

My pulse picks up as my mind races. The knife is still tucked into the waistband of my jeans, just behind me. All I’d have to do is reach back, nice and quiet, and slit his throat before he can even dream of opening those eyes.

It’ll be fast. Clean. Painless… well, for me, anyway.

And once Silvio sees the job’s done, I’ll get everything I was promised. Everything I ever wanted.

No more pretending. No more lies. No more him.

I move slowly, every muscle tight. My breath catches in my throat as I shift, careful not to make the mattress creak. One leg swings over his waist, my body hovering just above his. He doesn’t stir.

I reach back, my fingers brushing the hilt of the blade.

Just one cut.

Do it. Do it now.

But then, his eyes open.

And I freeze.

Before I can even think, his hands grip my hips, firm and possessive, pulling me down against the hard line of his body. His mouth curves into a slow, smug grin as if he planned this. As if I’ve just proven him right about everything.

“Well, well,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and amusement. “That didn’t take long.”

My heart slams into my ribs. Shit. He doesn’t know. He thinks this is—

“You could’ve just asked.” His fingers slide along my waist, lazy but firm, like he owns the air between us. “Didn’t have to climb on top of me like some desperate little puttano.”

“I wasn’t—” I choke, flustered, every word catching in my throat like glass. “That’s not—”

His smirk deepens, eyes flashing with wicked heat.

“Oh, come on. You’re still hard, aren’t you?”

I go to pull back, but he tightens his grip, holding me exactly where I am, like he’s testing me. My thighs are straddling his hips. My hands hover uselessly above his chest. The knife feels a thousand miles away.

“Next time,” he says, his voice a low purr, “don’t be shy. I don’t mind being woken up like this.”

My cheeks burn. I want to shove him off, scream, stab him.

But I’m still frozen. Flushed, humiliated, and aching.

Because he thinks I’m here for him. For this.

And a sick, broken part of me is tempted to let him keep thinking that.