Menace. Gore. Viscera. I could paint a fucking masterpiece with the images inside my head. If I had a canvas big enough, if I had enough skin to stretch over a frame, I could make something magnificent-something holy.
But she wouldn't like that.
My little bird, my fragile, breakable girl, she wouldn't look at my art the same way I do. Wouldn't trace the edges of my masterpiece with those soft little fingers. Wouldn't smile at the carnage and call it beautiful.
And yet.
I'd kill for her.
I'd burn the world to cinders if it meant she'd never have to dirty those hands of hers with something as grotesque as survival.
There was blood in my fucking mouth. Or maybe it was just the taste of my own rage.
Because the second I heard the slow, dragging steps behind me, the second that smirk crawled into my fucking presence, I knew.
Massimo.
I didn't turn at first. Instead, I wrapped an arm around my little bird's waist and pulled her behind me, shielding her, caging her-because no one touched… fucking look… at what was mine.
"Well, well," his voice came, smooth as fucking silk, but I could hear the amusement laced in it. "Is this how you greet your savior, fratellino?"
I turned then, slow, my gaze locking onto his with a murderous calm that I knew made men piss themselves. Massimo, the smug bastard, only smirked wider.
He was limping. Fucking limping.
As if I didn't know better. As if I didn't know his games. His tells.
Lying, manipulative son of a bitch.
As if I was any better. But still.
I wanted to rip that smirk right off his face and feed it to him.
"Sei un cazzo di idiota, Massimo," I muttered under my breath, making sure it came out soft enough to make my little bird comfortable and not jump. "Sto per tagliarti la lingua se non la smetti di ficcare il naso dove non ti riguarda."
(You're a fucking idiot, Massimo. I'm going to cut your tongue out if you don't stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.)
His smirk widened. The prick knew exactly what he was doing.
Then, like the absolute bastard he was, he turned his attention to her. To my little bird.
And he fucking pretended to be genuinely curious.
I knew a con when I saw one. Knew the game he was playing. Hell, I'd perfected the art of deception long before his ass ever got here.
But not on my watch.
Before he could get any closer, I stepped in front of my little bird, pushing her behind me with a firm hand. Massimo tilted his head, his eyes flickering over my little bird with something unreadable. "A thank you would suffice."
"Non osare avvicinarti a lei, stronzo." I growled in Italian so she wouldn't understand.
(Don't you fucking dare come near her, asshole.)
Massimo chuckled, ignoring me completely as his eyes slid to Sera, who was peeking out from behind me, confusion flickering in her soft gaze as she looked between him and me.
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," he said smoothly, tilting his head. "I'm Massimo Bianchi. The one who saved you."
Sera stilled. And then, to my fucking horror, her eyes widened slightly, flickering between me and him.
"Oh…"
That single sound made something snap in my ribs.
Like a bullet wound I hadn't noticed until it was too fucking late.
Massimo raised a brow, looking almost… pleased.
I clenched my jaw, my entire body coiling with something sharp and primal, my grip on Sera tightening.
"Massimo Bianchi," she repeated, like the name meant something to her.
And I hated that. Hated it.
Massimo's smirk deepened as his gaze slid back to me, knowing. Fucking taunting.
I nearly broke his goddamn jaw right then and there.
Instead, I growled low in my throat, my entire body brimming with possessiveness, with a fucking darkness I wanted to wrap around her and keep her safe from everything-including him.
Massimo must have sensed it because the bastard took a step closer, right the fuck into my space, and reached for Sera's hand like he had the goddamn right-
She slapped his hand away.
Hard.
The softness disappeared. Vanished like it had never existed. In its place, something sharp. Cold. Hateful.
I didn't know what he did to get under her skin, but I fucking liked it.
Massimo's smirk didn't waver, but she let his hand hang in the air like a forgotten afterthought.
And then my ptichka did something that made my fucking blood hum with pleasure.
She glared at him, her chin lifting, and her chocolate eyes burned with something deadly. "If you were the one who saved me," her voice dripped, "then I'd rather be dead."
Silence. Thick.
Then I smirked.
God, I smirked.
Fuck off, Bianchi.
Massimo's smirk faltered-just for a second. Then, just as quickly, he cleared his throat, his expression smoothing into something neutral. Detached. But I saw it. The way his jaw ticked. The way his fingers twitched ever so slightly before he slid his hands into his pockets, like he hadn't just been fucking humiliated in front of me.
"Let's talk, Romanovski." His voice was even, but there was an edge to it. A barely-there grit, like the words tasted like ash in his mouth.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, rolling my shoulders back. "We have nothing to talk about, Bianchi."
He scoffed. "Oh, I think we do."
My little bird's fingers curled around my forearm, a light touch-barely there-but enough to ground me, to keep the rage coiling in my chest from spilling over. She wasn't afraid. Not of me. Not of him.
But she was wary.
And I'd rather set the world on fire than let that wariness ever turn into fear.
Massimo took a step back, his eyes flicking to where her hand still rested on me before meeting my gaze again. Calculating. Assessing. Then, with an exhale, he gestured to the side.
"Five minutes." A beat. "Unless you'd rather discuss this with an audience."
I didn't move. Didn't speak. Just held his stare.
Fucking prick.
He was playing at something. I just hadn't figured out what yet.
But fine. If he wanted five minutes, I'd give him five fucking minutes.
And if he so much as breathed wrong, I'd break his goddamn face.
I held his stare. Silent. Unmoving. A predator waiting for the perfect moment to sink its teeth in.
Then, with an exhale that scraped against the back of my throat, I let Sera go.
Her fingers hesitated before slipping away from my arm, and that hesitation-that fucking hesitation-made something sick and possessive coil in my gut. As if she didn't want to let go. As if she knew leaving me alone with him was a mistake.
Smart girl.
But I still didn't look at her. Couldn't. Because if I did, I wouldn't let her leave. I'd drag her right back against me.
She turned. Walked away.
I waited until she was gone before I spoke. "Talk."
Massimo tilted his head, the smug bastard, but there was something sharper in his gaze now. "Lucius."
My throat tightened.
"Yeah," I said, rolling my shoulders, exhaling through my nose. "Lucius."
A problem. A thorn in my fucking side. A dead man walking.
Massimo slid his hands into his pockets. "You want him dead. So do I."
I smirked. "Cute. But I don't want him dead."
Massimo's brows furrowed, just a twitch, but I caught it.
"No?" he said, voice smooth, like he wasn't sure if I was fucking with him.
"No," I echoed. "Not yet."
A pause. A long one. Then-"Then what the fuck do you want, Romanovski?"
I took a step forward. So did he. Close enough that I could smell the faint scent of gunpowder and something expensive on his suit.
"You," I said simply.
His smirk barely twitched. "As flattered as I am, I don't-"
"I was going to use you as bait," I interrupted, voice a slow drag of steel, and fuck, I enjoyed the way his entire body went still. "But you didn't have to know that."
Another pause. This time longer.
Then, Massimo chuckled. "You really are a bastard."
I grinned, all teeth. "Takes one to know one."
His smirk didn't waver, but I saw it-the calculation. The shift in his stance. The fucking knowledge that he was about to be thrown into the lion's den, and there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it.
I wanted him open target.
I knew him. He'd do something reckless to know what my plan was. And I was waiting for that reckless move. Knew the twisted way his mind worked. Knew that when I said Massimo was going to be the lure, I meant it in the way that left him barely fucking breathing.
And knowing Massimo's insane tendencies?
He'd survive.
Massimo tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. And I pulled out a cigar before lighting it up.
"Then why did you tell me?" he asked, voice smooth, too fucking smooth. "Should I be scared, Romanovski?"
I smirked making sure he get the crazed look in my eyes. "You tell me, Bianchi."
His expression didn't change, but I saw it-the flicker of unease beneath the arrogance. The calculation. He was trying to read me.
Fucking adorable.
I let the silence stretch, let him marinate in the unknown, because men like him? They feared the unknown more than anything.
Finally, I sighed, like I was doing him a fucking favour. "We're going to lure Lucius out."
His lips parted slightly, and I saw the moment he bit back whatever snarky comment he wanted to make. Smart move.
Instead, he exhaled. "And how exactly do we do that?"
"We?" I snorted. "You misunderstand, Bianchi. You are going to do that."
His brows flicked up, and for a second-just a second-I thought he might laugh. Until he saw my face. Until he realized I was serious.
"You want me to be bait," he raised his brow.
I hummed, taking a whiff. "I want you to be useful. Bait is just a bonus."
A muscle feathered in his jaw, his stance shifting just slightly, and fuck, I liked that. He was already on edge, already pushing back against his own instincts.
Good.
It meant he'd do something reckless.
And I was waiting for that reckless move.
Lucius was smart. A fucking snake, slithering between shadows, always one step ahead. The kind of man you didn't trap-you baited.
And Massimo Bianchi?
He was the perfect fucking lure.
Lucius wouldn't be able to resist. Not when Bianchi was a threat to his entire operation, not when he'd been hunting him for months. And definitely not when I made sure he thought Massimo was moving against him.
It was a simple plan. Elegant, even.
I'd leak a whisper. A false lead.
That Massimo had something Lucius wanted. Something valuable. Something that could undo everything Lucius had built.
Lucius would come for him.
And when he did?
We'd be waiting.
Of course, that was the part I told Bianchi. The part that made sense. The part he'd agree to because he was cocky enough to believe he could handle it.
What I didn't tell him?
He was never meant to come out unscathed.
Lucius would play with him first. That's when I'd strike.
It was perfect.
Bianchi would get his revenge.
Lucius would be dead.
And if Massimo didn't make it?
Well.
My sister deserved better anyway. And not a retarded asshole like him.
As if I was any fucking better.
But I didn't count, right?
His sharp inhale dragged me back to the present. His gaze pinned me. "You're insane."
I grinned. "And you need me to marry Krystina. So tell me, Bianchi-are you in?"