Page 45 of Their Reckless Thief (The Below #1)

VINCENZO

I lay in bed, staring down at Celeste asleep on my chest. Her breathing had calmed, a drastic contrast to the storm brewing inside me.

My arm was wrapped around her, keeping her close, as if letting go would allow all the chaos to slip back into the room.

As she slept, I counted every bruise that marked her body like a tally of pain she never should’ve endured.

Every inch of her skin told a story, stories I’d rip out of Roberto’s fucking throat when I got my hands on him.

The purple bloom on her side, the welt at the edge of her ribs, the discolored skin at her neck.

Roberto had done that. He had touched what was mine, left his filthy marks on her.

I was going to make sure that the last thing he felt on this earth was pain, and I would drag out every second of his misery until there was nothing left of him.

I brushed my thumb gently over the bruise on her neck.

It was the one that made my blood boil the most. It felt like chains were coiled around my chest and wrapping tighter with every breath.

I couldn’t remember the last time I was this angry.

No, I knew when. I could feel that dangerous heat rising again, the same kind of rage I hadn’t allowed myself to feel since?—

No. I wouldn’t think about that now. That was a different life, hundreds of years ago. What had happened was out of my control, though it didn’t hurt any less.

This? This was personal.

I held Celeste closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in her scent to calm the beast inside me. It didn’t work.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the vibration a low hum in the quiet room. I carefully shifted, trying not to wake her, and grabbed it.

Dorian: Got Roberto’s address.

I stared at the text for a long moment, feeling the fire in my veins flare even hotter. Game on. I thumbed the reply quickly, fingers tightening around the phone.

Vincenzo: What about the mirror?

Dorian: It’s too much to text. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.

Fine by me. Tomorrow was still too far away to care about anything other than the blood I was about to spill.

Vincenzo: That’s fine. I’ve got something else to handle tonight.

My thumb hovered over the screen for a second before I hit send. I glanced down at Celeste again. She was still asleep, still unaware of the storm brewing. For her sake, I’d get this over with fast, but Roberto wouldn’t get a quick death. Not after what he’d done.

My phone vibrated again.

Dorian: Went by to check on Celeste after seeing Fred. She wasn’t there. Any ideas?

I smirked slightly, the tension in me easing for a brief moment.

Vincenzo: She’s lying next to me.

I watched as the three dots popped up on the screen, then it stopped. The dots reappeared, then disappeared again. Then… nothing.

I could imagine the look on his face. The confusion, maybe a bit of surprise.

Dorian was good at keeping his cards close, but this time he likely had no clue what was going on.

I didn’t blame him. Hell, I didn’t know how the fuck I’d ended up with Celeste in my arms, our lives so tangled up together that I couldn’t see a way out. Not that I wanted one.

Now, it was about more than just her. It was about us . She was an obsession, a drug I wasn’t interested in giving up. Ever.

Anyone who tried to tear that apart would learn what it meant to cross the Lord of the Night.

I dropped the phone back on the nightstand and looked down at Celeste one last time before I slipped out of bed. She stirred slightly, her hand instinctively reaching out for me in her sleep, but she didn’t wake. Good.

I grabbed my jacket, putting it on as silently as I could. My heart pounded with the anticipation of what was about to come. The thought of facing Roberto, of ending his hold on her, made the rage easier to control.

I moved toward the door, glancing back at Celeste one more time. The room was dark, but the moonlight streaming in through the window cast a soft glow over her. She looked peaceful, like the world wasn’t trying to tear her apart every second of the day.

“I’ll be back,” I murmured under my breath, knowing full well she couldn’t hear me, but it was a promise all the same.

No matter what it took, I would protect her. And tonight, Roberto would learn just how far I was willing to go to do that.

I flew through the tear in the Veil, the cold night air biting at my skin as I passed into the human world. The darkness here was heavier, more stifling, but I had no need for light tonight.

The tools I had chosen for tonight’s work pressed against my skin under my jacket, the cold metal igniting a low hum of anticipation.

My hands itched to use them, to let them do what they were meant to do.

First, I had to make my entrance. I wasn’t here for a quick kill.

No, this was going to be slow and methodical.

I was going to exact the kind of torment that lived in a man’s eyes even while he was dying.

Roberto’s house was a small, unassuming place on the outskirts of the city.

It didn’t fit the man, though I suspected that was exactly the point.

He’d chosen this location to blend in, to go unnoticed while he conducted his filthy business, hidden away from prying eyes. Well, he couldn’t hide from me.

I landed silently, my wings folding back as I approached the house. No lights were on, but I knew he was inside. The stench of filth clung to the air. Roberto was used to having power, used to thinking he was in control of everything around him. That was about to change.

The lock on the back door nearly made me laugh out loud.

I picked it with ease, slipping into the dark kitchen without a sound.

The house was cluttered with old takeout containers, stacks of papers, and half-empty bottles.

This was the man who thought he could own Celeste?

Who thought he could touch what was mine?

I moved through the house like a shadow, silent and invisible. Roberto was upstairs, sleeping, unaware of what was about to descend upon him.

I didn’t go straight to his room. First, I wanted him to know I was here. I wanted him to feel the fear creeping in.

Step one: scare the shit out of him.

I started small. The creak of a door left slightly ajar, the scrape of metal against the floor. Sounds a groggy mind could easily dismiss, but unsettling enough to disturb sleep. I knocked over a vase in the hallway, listening to the crash as it shattered on the floor below.

I heard him stir—the rustle of bedsheets as he woke, his heart rate picking up speed.

“What the fuck…?” he murmured.

I grinned, pulling the blade from my jacket, letting the metal catch the faint light coming through the window. Slowly, I began to ascend the stairs, each step measured, deliberate, loud.

I flicked a picture frame off the wall, and it crashed on the stairs, the glass shattering. I heard Roberto stumble out of bed, his breaths becoming faster as the fear took hold.

“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice shaky.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I let my shadow stretch across the wall at the top of the stairs, just out of his view. I wanted him to see it, to wonder what kind of nightmare had walked into his home.

“Who the fuck is there?” Roberto’s voice rose, panic seeping into it.

I stepped into the doorway, my silhouette blocking the faint moonlight filtering in through the window. Roberto froze, his eyes wide as they locked onto me.

“Vincenzo,” he squeaked.

“Roberto,” I said calmly, stepping farther into the room. “Nice place. A little modest for a man with such grand delusions.”

He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet as he reached for the bedside table. His hands shook as he fumbled around for a weapon, a gun he kept stashed in the drawer. Pathetic. It would be no use against me.

“You… you can’t be here,” he stammered. “This isn’t The Below. You have no jurisdiction here. You can’t… hurt me here.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” I stepped closer. “And tonight, what I want is you.”

He raised the gun, his hand trembling so violently I almost laughed. Almost. I was far too angry for laughter tonight. The fury simmering inside me was on the verge of boiling over, but I kept it leashed. For now.

I moved faster than he could react, swatting the gun out of his hand before he even had a chance to aim. It clattered to the floor and slid under the bed.

“Please…” he started, his back pressed against the wall as I closed the distance between us. “Please, we can make a deal. Whatever you want… I can make it happen. I have connections. I have resources.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I growled, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall. His head hit the plaster with a satisfying thud, terror filling his eyes.

This was the part I liked. The begging, the realization that no amount of power, no deals, no promises could save him now. I tightened my grip on his throat. His face turned red, veins popping along his temples as he struggled to breathe.

“You put your hands on her. You thought you could break her. Hurt her. What the fuck were you thinking?”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, gasping for breath, but I wasn’t done yet. I slammed him down onto the bed, tying his hands and feet to the posts before he could gather himself enough to move. He thrashed, but it was useless.

“You’re a fucking coward,” I spat, pulling my tools from my jacket and laying them out neatly on the bedside table. A scalpel, a few blades, and a set of pliers. I took my time, letting him see each one, so he understood exactly what was coming.

“Celeste,” he croaked out. “This is about that bitch Celeste? She’s a fucking whore, Vincenzo. She’s?—”

I drove the scalpel into his side, stuffing a gag into his mouth at the same time to muffle his screams. “Say one more word about her, and I’ll make sure your death lasts days .”

I started with small, careful cuts, tracing delicate lines along his ribs, his belly, the insides of his thighs.

Each slice was deliberate, designed to inflict maximum pain without letting him bleed out too quickly.

Though muffled, his screams were still loud enough to satisfy the dark part of me that had been begging for release ever since I found out what he’d done.

I took the pliers next, gripping the nail of his forefinger and pulling. The crunch of bone and the wet squelch of flesh separating filled the room as he convulsed in agony. “This is for every woman you hurt, every life you ruined. Consider it payback.”

Blood poured from his wounds, pooling on the sheets beneath him. His eyes rolled back in his head, his body twitched, but I wasn’t done. Not yet. I picked up a larger blade, one designed for deeper work, and pressed it to his collarbone.

“You think you’re so fucking powerful, don’t you?” I said in a conversational tone. “Think because you’ve got friends in high places, because you know the right people, no one can touch you. But here’s the thing, Roberto. None of that matters now. Not here. Not with me.”

His cries were becoming more frantic, desperate, like a trapped animal realizing its doom was inevitable. I relished every single sound he made, every shudder racking his broken body. I dug the blade in deeper, twisting until I heard a crack.

It was his eyes—the sheer, raw terror in them—that truly satisfied me.

“Is this what you did to them?” I asked, voice soft, almost tender. “Did you watch their faces while you broke them, piece by piece? Did you feel powerful?”

I drove another blade into his thigh, the thick muscle giving way beneath the steel, and he screamed so hard the veins on his neck bulged.

“Guess what?” I whispered, leaning close enough that he could feel the heat of my breath against his ear. “There’s no one coming to save you. No one to make a deal with. You’re all mine.”

The hours dragged on, and I lost myself in the slow, methodical dismantling of the man who had caused so much pain. He thrashed, he begged, but the ropes held firm, and I was relentless.

By the time I was done, Roberto was nothing more than a ruined heap, his body twisted in ways that nature never intended. His eyes were open and unseeing, the life long gone. I waited, watching the last flicker of consciousness drain from him, my hands soaked in his blood.

I stood back, taking in the destruction I’d wrought. Satisfaction coursed through me like a drug, but it was a hollow sort of victory. The rage hadn’t left; it was merely sated, a beast curled up in the corner of my mind, waiting to be fed again.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my cleanup crew.

“I’ve got a mess that needs cleaning up,” I said, my voice steady despite the blood still dripping from my hands.

“Where?” he asked, no questions, no judgment. All business.

I gave him the address and hung up.

Game over, Roberto. You never stood a fucking chance.