Page 187 of The Wicked

His touch, every single fucking graze, had been deliberate, like he wanted to explore so that he could see the way I’d react when he touched a part of my body.

The sex was more like a quickie, but goddamn, did I feel it right to the tips of my toes. The impact of his thrusts, his grip on me, the pure fucking need in his eyes as he owned me and fucked me into delusion.

I closed my eyes, shaking my head. This might not be the first time playing with fire, but it would most definitely be the first time I’d been burned by it; the only concerning thing was how much I didn’t care about that burn.

Hours later, we arrived back in Milan. Casmiro was transferred to the hospital within the compound, and Upper followed.

Elio hadn’t said a word to me yet, and I waited for Angelo to finish talking to him before I approached. He didn’t turn to me even after he finished; he just walked towards his house. If he wanted me to stop following him, he said nothing about it.

I took my time to study the interior of the ample space, having not had the time to really look around the last time I’d been here. It was pretty basic, nothing homey, just a dead quiet capable of sending chills down your spine. The couches had no color, just a plain smooth black that seemed like no one had ever sat on them.

Unlike the house in Turin, this one had no pictures, almost like the space wasn’t his, and he had just been placed here because it was convenient.

I followed him to another corner of the house; this place harbored one couch, a center table, a floor-to-ceiling window, and an elegant bar area filled with different expensive-looking drinks, a closed glass shelf with packs of cigars arranged perfectly inside, and another one filled with different kinds of wineglasses—

“Any purposive reason you’re following me?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket, glancing at me before properly hanging it, and moving to his collection of vinyl. A few seconds later, some ominous classical music filled the air.

He moved to the bar area.

“I wanted to find out what happened with the guy you questioned; did he say anything?”

Elio went behind the counter, brows down as he fixed himself a drink, pulling out a cigar when he was done.

I reached him and leaned on the counter, waiting for his response.

He carefully—like he had all the time in the world—placed the cigar between his lips as he spoke. “We did not ask him anything. He has been moved to the compound. I was in no mood to torture, so I only have him locked up.”

I frowned. “No mood to torture the guy who knows the person responsible for Casmiro’s condition?”

“Hm,” he voiced, lighting the cigar, sucking smoke in, and blowing it out, sending that erotic smell of vanilla my way.

“Elio, what—don’t you know you’re wasting time? These people could be recruiting more men to attack again as we speak.”

He nodded, picking up his drink. “Maybe.” Then he frowned and looked at me. “My manners—would you like a drink?”

Why the fuck is he so calm?

“No.” I gave a humorless laugh. “I would not like a drink when we are sitting ducks and might probably be blown to crisps at any second.” I grinned.

“Okay,” he said, cigar between his fingers as he picked up his whiskey glass and brought it to his lips, downing the contents in one go before he put it down and got the cigar between his lips again.

“What is going on, Elio?”

His gaze lifted to mine, and his brows dropped as he stared at me with confusion and blew out another smoke streak. “We came back from Turin, I talked briefly with Angelo, I came home, you followed me. I asked if you would like a drink, you gave an odd laugh and refused, and I said okay, and now you’re asking what’s going on. That is what is going on.”

I blinked at him, my mouth gaping open, lost for words. “You are like a fifteen-year-old teenage boy who just can’t help but be annoying, just for the sake of being annoying.”

He paused as if thinking about my statement, and then he nodded. “Okay.”

Jesus—

“Elio, can we get back to this time and this day and age when Casmiro is still unconscious and you’re not actively trying to find the people responsible?”

“We are indeed in this time and day and age. And I will find them. I do not rush. I take my time because I like to enjoy it, Zahra. What is the best way to inflict worry on your enemies?”

“I don’t know, torturing them?”

He shook his head. “Let me tell you a secret.” He placed both his elbows on the counter, bending and leaning in so he could look me right in the eye, his cigar burning away. “I do not like to torture physically—”