Page 22 of Their Reckless Thief (The Below #1)

VINCENZO

I paced the length of my study, clutching a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

It wasn’t the same type of whiskey I had served Celeste in my basement.

This was a special brew, much stronger than that human shit.

It was exactly what I needed. The alcohol burned its way down my throat, but it didn’t do a damn thing to burn her out of my mind.

No matter how much I drank, how hard I tried to drown it, I couldn’t get Celeste out of my head.

The image of her limp body in that tub, her pale skin under the water, and those fucking eyes of hers staring into nothing was etched into my soul.

Every time I blinked, it was like I was back there, dragging her out of that water, my heart jackhammering under my breastbone like a fucking idiot.

What the hell had she done to me?

She’s just a human . A human who tried to rob you.

I should’ve been pissed, enraged that she’d had the nerve to break into my house, to spy on a meeting that could very well have cost us our lives.

Instead, all I could think about was her body, drenched and broken, her lips parting for a breath she almost never took again.

I took another swig, then slammed the bottle down on the desk, hard enough for liquid to erupt from the neck and spill onto the wood. My vision blurred for a second, but when I blinked, all I saw was her face.

Fuck!

At the sound of approaching footsteps, I did my best to compose myself, rolling my shoulders back and pushing the bottle aside. I’d texted Luca and Dorian, and they were fully aware of what Celeste had tried to accomplish in my fucking house.

Dorian was almost as white as a ghost, with no trace of his shit-eating grin or smirk.

Luca was stoic as ever, but I could tell.

I could always tell. Beneath that cool exterior, he was rattled.

I saw it when his eyes darted briefly to mine before he settled into his usual mask of indifference.

He was angry because he’d been getting attached, too.

Fucking idiot. I was glad I acted when I did.

Why would a human woman affect all three of us like this in such a short amount of time?

I didn’t need to ask if they were thinking about the same thing I was. I could read it on their faces.

“Sit,” I ordered, though neither of them moved. I let out a frustrated sigh and paced toward the window. “I want a detail on her at all times.”

Dorian’s face lost even more color, if that was possible. “You’re serious?”

“She’s dangerous,” I lied through my teeth, though the truth gnawed at the back of my mind. “She knows too much. If she sells the information she has, we’re done. The Shadow will know our next move before we even make it.”

But that wasn’t the real reason, and we all knew it. It wasn’t just to keep an eye on her. It was to keep her safe … safe from herself, safe from anyone else who might want a piece of her.

But why the fuck do I care about that?

I hated how much the thought twisted inside me, the foreign ache of it.

Luca nodded slowly. “I’ll see to it,” he said, neither his silver eyes nor his voice betraying any conflict. But I could see past his calm exterior. He wasn’t entirely on board with this, even if he wouldn’t say it outright.

Dorian, on the other hand, looked... broken. Like I’d taken something from him, snatched away his favorite toy, and now he didn’t know what to do with himself. He pressed his lips into a thin line, then shot me a look that almost bordered on resentment.

“You sure that’s what you want?” he asked quietly. “Because it sure as fuck doesn’t sound like it.”

I glared at him. “Are you questioning me, Dorian?”

His eyes met mine, and I waited for him to push back. After a beat, he shook his head, the fight draining out of him. “No, boss. Just... trying to understand.”

“Good,” I snapped, turning my back on them. “I’ve already told Camilla and Alessandro. Celeste will have eyes on her at all times.”

“Understood,” Luca said. His voice was even, but there was a heaviness in it that lingered in the room.

I dismissed them with a flick of my hand, then strode out of my study before they even had a chance to depart. I needed to clear my head. No, I needed to fucking destroy something. The pent-up frustration inside me had no outlet, no escape.

I headed to the training room, the fury inside propelling every step.

The moment I walked through the door, I started undressing, tossing my clothes into a pile as I stepped into the shower room to change.

All I could see was her. Celeste. Her fucking eyes.

Her fucking pouty lips. Those fucking curves. Her wet hair clinging to her shoulders.

Fuck.

I yanked a pair of training shorts on, clenching and unclenching my fists as I glared at my reflection. I looked the same as always—cold, calculating, and dangerous. But inside? Inside, I was a fucking mess.

Snarling under my breath, I strode toward the punching bag and started landing blow after blow, each strike harder than the last. I pummeled it, letting all my rage out.

Her fucking lips. Her perfect body. That damn mouth of hers, always ready with some smart-ass comment that got under my skin. Every time she opened her mouth, I wanted to kiss her or kill her. And that ass... fuck, that ass. The scent of her made me ravenous, and I ran my tongue over my fangs.

You’re losing it, Vincenzo.

I pounded the bag over and over, the chain above it rattling from the force. I couldn’t stop. The images of her kept flashing through my mind—her hips, the curve of her neck, the taste of her blood. The fucking mouthwatering taste of her arousal.

My knuckles split open against the leather, but I didn’t feel the pain. I welcomed it. It was better than thinking about her. Better than wanting her.

But nothing worked. No amount of pain, no amount of punishment I inflicted on myself, could erase her from my mind. It was like she’d embedded herself in my brain, in my blood, and there was no fucking way to get rid of her. She was a craving I couldn’t satisfy.

I roared, tearing the punching bag clean off the chain and throwing it across the room. Even that didn’t help.

She was still there. Still lingering in every corner of my mind, tormenting me, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself. About control.

I leaned forward, resting my hands on my knees, sweat dripping down my forehead. She was tearing me apart, piece by fucking piece.

And I couldn’t stand it.

But I couldn’t stop it, either.

What the fuck have you done to me, dolcezza?

I needed to fly.

The night air was sharp against my skin as I soared above the city, the leathery stretch of my wings cutting through the wind with effortless precision. I didn’t call on them often, but tonight, I needed the release, the solitude.

The Below spread beneath me, a chaotic sprawl of districts and territories with neon lights shimmering against ancient stone.

It was a strange place, a world carved out between realms, blending magic and vices into one seething underworld.

My territory, the eastern sector, stretched out beneath me like a kingdom, the jagged skyline of black-market shops, speakeasies, and clubs.

The Styre River wound like a dark serpent through it all, splitting The Below into sections as it flowed from the center of my lands toward the edges where The Shadow’s territory loomed.

Up here, above it all, I had a clear view of everything.

I banked left, gliding silently over the river, scanning the city as if I could find some tangible explanation for the mess I was in.

Borders shifting, Phantomine overdoses, women disappearing.

It was all spinning out of control. The Shadow was pulling strings, slipping into my territory like a ghost, and no one had yet figured out how. Not even Luca.

As I passed over the narrowest stretch of the Styre, something caught my eye. It wouldn’t have, were it not so out of place.

There, in the distance, near the riverbank, a figure moved in the shadows. Winged, like me, but smaller. Sleeker. They were gliding low, barely above the water, moving with purpose. My gut twisted as I slowed my flight, watching as the creature dropped something into the river.

What the fuck was that?

I hovered above, my wings beating softly to keep me aloft. The creature—some kind of stealth flyer, dark and scaled—disappeared into the night, but my eyes stayed on the water below. There it was. A small, dark package drifting downstream. It was heading toward the lake that bordered my territory.

I watched as the package floated lazily toward a dock at the far edge of the lake. Three figures waited there. As soon as the package neared the shore, they were on it, pulling it from the water with practiced ease.

I gritted my teeth. That river? My river. That dock? My dock. And yet, somehow, I had no idea what was happening right under my nose.

Fury flared inside me, burning away the calm that had just begun to settle. These bastards were dead. They just didn’t know it yet.

I folded my wings and dived, the rush of wind filling my ears as I hurtled toward the dock. When I landed, the force of it cracked the wooden planks beneath me. The men froze. The package in their hands fell to the ground with a loud thud, but their attention wasn’t on that anymore.

It was on me.

“What the fuck?” one of them gasped, eyes wide with terror.

They knew exactly who I was. And they knew they were about to die.

“Vincenzo—” the one closest to the package stammered.

In a flash, I was on him, my hand tightening around his throat.

His feet kicked futilely at the air as I lifted him, watching the life drain from his eyes.

I could hear his heart pounding, erratic and desperate.

I tightened my grip just a fraction, shattering his windpipe, then tossed his lifeless body into the water.