Page 19 of Their Reckless Thief (The Below #1)

CELESTE

I woke up with my face pressed against something soft—silk, maybe—and for a moment, I couldn’t figure out where I was.

My heart pounded in my chest as I blinked the sleep away, staring up at the high ceiling painted in muted golds and soft blues.

Slowly, the room came into focus. Not my room. Not even close.

It took me a beat to remember where the fuck I was and why. The events of the last day came back to me, and a knot formed in my stomach. Dorian. Vincenzo. Luca’s shadows. My prison masquerading as a mansion.

This was the room Dorian had brought me to when Luca and I had returned the previous day. He told me it was nicer than the cell, but I knew it was just a gilded cage.

I pushed myself up on my elbows and glanced around the room.

Luxurious wasn’t the word for it. This was on another level.

The bed was enormous, draped in the softest sheets I’d ever touched, with a plush comforter the color of deep crimson.

Polished dark wood lined the walls, and the chandelier looked like something out of a palace.

Everything screamed opulence and wealth, neither of which I was accustomed to.

Across from the bed was a wardrobe big enough to house a small family, and an ornate chaise lounge overlooked the balcony. My gaze stilled on the doors. Freedom. Or at least the idea of it.

I slipped out of bed and padded across the room, my bare feet sinking into the carpet. I tugged at the balcony door handles to no avail. It wouldn’t budge. I tried again, harder this time, but it was like the doors were cemented shut. I let out a low, frustrated groan as I rattled the handles.

I scanned the room for anything I could use to pick the lock, but the place was annoyingly pristine.

No clutter, no tools, not even a fucking wire hanger in the wardrobe.

And speaking of that wardrobe, it was full.

I fingered through the clothes. Dresses, shoes, even lingerie that looked like it cost more than my last big score.

Whose were these? Was this room where Vincenzo kept his. .. toys? The thought turned my stomach.

I wandered back to the bed, my mind racing with every horrible possibility. I couldn’t fight my way past every guard, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to outwit Vincenzo Moretti when he had eyes everywhere and soldiers at the ready.

Should I just end my life? Would that be better than waiting around for whatever sick plans Vincenzo had for me?

I clenched my fists, pushing that idea away as quickly as it had surfaced. I wasn’t there. Not yet anyway, even though a stark hopelessness had lodged in my chest.

Before I could think on it too long, the door creaked open.

I whipped around as a woman walked in. She was young, too young to be wrapped up in a place like this, but the confidence in her stride, the sharpness in her glance, told me she wasn’t someone to underestimate.

I recognized her. Camilla, the enforcer who’d brought Vincenzo the vial of Phantomine.

“Well, look at you.” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. “Already trying to find a way out?”

I stiffened. “Just trying to get some air.”

She smiled… a cold, calculating thing. “Sure you are.”

I crossed my arms over my body, meeting her gaze head-on. She was intimidatingly beautiful with long red hair, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that held a hardness I recognized. She’d seen things. Done things.

She pushed away from the door and sauntered into the room.

“Vincenzo sent me to check on you. Wanted to make sure our little guest isn’t planning anything unwise.

” She eyed me up and down, and my skin crawled under her attention.

“He also wanted me to ask you a few questions, figured you might be more comfortable divulging information to another female. So ... let’s talk. What skills do you have?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Skills?”

She arched an eyebrow. “If you want to stay alive, you’re going to need more than your looks, honey. So, what are you good at? Don’t bullshit me. And don’t lie. We’ve got enough magic at our disposal to drag the truth out of you if needed.”

A shiver ran down my spine, but I forced myself to keep my composure.

“I’m good with tech. I can hack, crack codes, you name it.

I also know how to read people, read situations.

And sometimes...” I hesitated, weighing whether or not to mention it to her.

Oh, what the hell. I’d already told Vincenzo about it. “Sometimes, I get visions.”

Camilla’s bright green eyes gleamed with interest. “Visions? Like psychic shit?”

I nodded. “Something like that. They’re not always accurate,” I added quickly. “Case in point.” I gestured around me, indicating the luxurious prison I’d found myself in.

She smiled again, and this time it had some warmth to it. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” She circled me slowly, eyes narrowed as if I were some puzzle she was trying to figure out. “A tech genius with a psychic twist. No wonder you’ve been causing trouble for people like us.”

I clenched my jaw.

She stopped in front of me, her face hardening slightly. “You’re young, too. Not much older than me, I bet.”

I shrugged. “I’m twenty-five. You?”

“Twenty-three. How long have you been doing this? Running jobs, breaking into places you shouldn’t?”

“Long enough,” I muttered.

“For what it’s worth, I get it. I know what it’s like to be trapped, to need an out.

” Her eyes softened for only a second, but it was enough for me to notice.

“You should appreciate the protection you’re under now.

Vincenzo is not someone anyone wants to cross, but he’ll take care of you… if you prove yourself useful to him.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression,” I said dryly.

Camilla walked to the window and stared out of it.

“I come from a long line of shifters. Our people have always been on the outskirts of the mafia… just dangerous enough to be included in some deals, yet not considered powerful enough to earn protection. Years ago, my father aided Vincenzo when he didn’t have to.

In return for his loyalty, Vincenzo asked what he could do to repay my dad.

All he asked was that Vincenzo would take me under his protection.

So, Vincenzo gave me a job and a place to live.

” She turned back to me. “It’s hard to be a woman in The Below without the protection of someone with power.

I’m sure you’ve heard about the women disappearing. ”

“I have.”

Camilla’s smile faded into something more serious.

“Don’t fuck this up, Celeste. You’re in deep now, and trust me, there are worse things than working for Vincenzo Moretti.

Besides, if you refuse, he will kill you without so much as a blink of an eye.

You’ve seen and heard too much.” She turned on her heel, heading for the door.

“I’ll leave you to think about it. Get some rest. You’ll need it. ”

The door clicked shut behind her, and I sank onto the edge of the bed. Camilla had clearly made her peace with this world, but me? I didn’t enjoy being a prisoner. I had been shackled my entire life, and I wasn’t keen on adding more.

The silence of the room closed in on me, like a noose around my neck.

Every breath felt tighter, every second longer, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I couldn’t stand being trapped like this, like some fucking pawn in a game I never asked to play.

I stood, a familiar panic tightening my chest, a thousand screaming thoughts reverberating through my head.

I hated all of it. Every fucking second.

I ripped the sheets and blankets off the bed, sending pillows flying across the room.

My chest heaved, my pulse racing like a trapped animal’s.

I yanked open the drawers, throwing the clothes onto the floor.

I tore through everything in that room—emptying the wardrobe, pulling apart the nightstand, even flipping the lamp onto the floor for good measure. Nothing. Nothing that could help me.

I punched the wall, then pounded my fists against the wall, barely feeling the sting in my knuckles. Hot, angry tears blurred my vision.

I couldn’t do this again.

I couldn’t be another tool for yet another powerful man.

I sank to the floor, panicked sobs racking my body. That thought from earlier returned. I tried to ignore it, tried to shove it down deep to a place where I wouldn’t notice it, but it refused to go away.

Perhaps I should just end it.

Maybe that was the only way to take myself out of the equation.

Take away Vincenzo Moretti’s new tool before he can use it.

When Vincenzo had looked at me before, I could almost see conflict in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do to me.

He had so much external pressure to deal with.

Tainted drugs. Women being abducted from his territory. I was an easy target.

What would keep him from using me as an outlet to release all his pent-up rage? He was a man who liked to be in control, and right now, he was so fucking out of control. The Shadow had him by the balls, and people would soon notice.

And I was the dumbass human who had dared to break into his precious mansion. The one who’d overheard a top-secret meeting. Why wouldn’t he make an example out of me?

Sure, I had a choice: become his bitch or die.

I didn’t know if I could survive being someone else’s tool again. The entire reason I’d risked coming here in the first place was to get a way out of Roberto’s clutches. And that chance had dissolved along with any semblance of control I’d had over my own life.

I glanced around the room, looking for anything sharp or strong enough to put an end to my miserable existence.

Nothing. Not a damn thing. Even the lamp I’d smashed was made of porcelain.

The shards were too dull to cause the type of damage I needed.

The room was too perfect, too sterile. Designed that way on purpose, no doubt.

My gaze landed on the bathroom door.

I bolted toward it and ripped through the bathroom drawers, tossing the contents over my shoulders. Nothing. Not even a razor. I gripped the sink to keep my hands from trembling and stared into the mirror. There had to be a way.

The bathtub caught my eye.

I knew I wasn’t in the right mindset. I knew it was the panic talking, the lack of Phantomine in my system, but I didn’t care.

I was so fucking tired, tired of being a puppet, tired of this sick game, and tired of running.

This way, I would be in control, not Vincenzo.

My hands trembled as I turned on the faucet, water rushing into the tub with a dull roar that matched the chaos in my mind.

I stripped my clothes off in a frenzy and climbed in before the tub was even full.

The cool water calmed me as I sank lower, submerging myself completely. The sounds of the world disappeared as the water filled my ears. My hair floated around me, and I closed my eyes, letting the weight of the water press down on me.

This was it. No more running. No more being anyone’s tool.

I began to release the air in my lungs, letting the water consume me.

Suddenly, strong hands wrapped around my arms and dragged me out of the water with a force that left me gasping. I sputtered, coughing up water as my head broke the surface.

Vincenzo Moretti’s frantic eyes came into view.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled, but beneath the anger in his voice, I heard something else.

He was shaken. His hands trembled as he settled me into his lap, and he didn’t seem to notice—or care—that his shirt was getting soaked.

His grip on me tightened, like he was afraid I might slip away again.

Water dripped from my hair and lips as I coughed. Suddenly, I wasn’t spiraling anymore, but I was confused. Vincenzo Moretti. Frantic. Concerned? His hands moved over my face, his eyes searching mine.

Was he worried? About me?

I tried to make sense of the strange mix of emotions playing out across his face. He was probably just scared of losing his newest tool. The human who would help him in his war against The Shadow.

But his hands were shaking. This man, who killed without blinking, who commanded an empire with fear and violence, was shaking.

We sat like that for a long time, his arms wrapped around me, his heart hammering against mine. He didn’t say anything, didn’t demand an explanation, just brushed his hands over my wet skin, his touch unbelievably gentle.

Once he was convinced that I was okay, he grabbed a towel and started drying me off, the tension in his body still obvious.

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Hell, I didn’t even know why I was crying anymore.

Maybe it was the shock of everything. Maybe it was the realization that I was still alive—for better or worse.

He carried me back to the bed and set me down with a care that left me speechless.

This man—this dangerous, heartless man—was handling me like I was made of glass.

He picked through the mess I’d made until he found suitable clothing and silently helped me dress.

His hands were still trembling, and that shook me to my core.

When I was dressed, he left only to return with a hairdryer. He sat beside me on the bed, gently running his fingers through my wet hair as the warm air dried it. The sensation was oddly comforting.

I didn’t say anything—I couldn’t. The tears had slowed, but they hadn’t stopped completely, and I was too overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all. Vincenzo Moretti, drying my hair after I’d tried to drown myself in his bathtub. It was all so fucking surreal.

Finally, he set the dryer down. “Lie down.”

I obeyed without protest, my body too exhausted to fight. He covered me with the blankets, then sat beside me. I’d thought he would leave, but he stayed, and his presence grounded me in a way that made no sense.

When the tears finally stopped, I drifted off to sleep with the most paradoxical man I could imagine sitting by my side.