Disguised to kill the mafia heir

Matteo's POV

The only reason I came to this circus of flashing lights and sweating bodies was to see the owner of the club. One of my best friends, unfortunately.

He’d been pestering me to show up for weeks..

So I showed up reluctantly.

Half-expecting to be bored out of my goddamn mind.

Then she ran into me.

Correction, she slammed into my chest like the universe had just tripped and fallen into my arms.

My first reaction?

Annoyance. Obviously.

People don’t bump into me. Not unless they want to lose something important—like teeth. Or lungs.

But her scent.

Fuck.

It hit me like a blade pressed against skin. It was so unexpected and sharp, beautiful in the way poisons are beautiful.

A subtle blend of danger and sweetness. Spice and smoke and something feral beneath it all.

I looked down, and hell opened a door.

Shoulder-length hair, slightly mussed from dancing.

Light caramel skin kissed by the chaos of neon strobes.

And unnatural and haunting violet eyes.

They pinned me before I could even think of blinking.

The music felt like it’d dipped below the surface of the world. Muted. Distant.

Like time itself was smart enough to pause.

What the fuck are you?

She looked up at me, swaying slightly, her hands pressed to my chest like I was the only thing keeping her upright.

She was drunk.

Trying not to look it. Failing in the most fascinating way possible.

My lips curved and I leaned in.

Close enough for only her to hear.

“I’m going to claim you.”

And there it was.

That beautiful, involuntary reaction.

Her legs shifted. She felt it. And she hated that she felt it.

God, I loved that. I didn’t give her time to form a sentence.

I swept her off her feet in one smooth motion—one arm under her knees, the other behind her back.

She gasped, trying to protest. Her hands clutched my shoulders.

But she didn’t fight me.

I cut through the crowd like a shadow through fog. Up the stairs.

Down a quiet hallway pulsing with distant bass.

Click.

I opened the door to my private room. A dark and sleek room.

Just dim lighting, velvet couches, glass and steel.

I stepped inside, kicked the door shut with my footwear, and placed her gently on the leather couch like she was made of glass. But glass I wanted to shatter.

I stood over her, unhurried, letting my eyes rake over her from head to toe

Violet eyes. Stubborn jaw.

Full lips that looked like they’d curse me out mid-kiss.

I grinned.

Not the kind that says I like you.

The kind that says I know exactly how you’ll break, and I want front row seats.

She looked like sin wrapped in silk.

Violet eyes that didn’t blink. A mouth made to make men kneel and bleed. And not a single trace of fear.

Intriguing.

I leaned in, slow and deliberate, inhaling the scent of her like she was already mine.

She smelled like trouble. Like gunpowder and temptation in a dress.

My hand slipped beneath the hem of her gown, fingers trailing up smooth skin, hungry for more.

And then, like a trap snapping shut, she caught my wrist.

“Clothes stay on,” her voice purred. She didn’t sound nervous or shy.

I blinked once, slowly. Then let out a low chuckle.

“Pity,” I murmured. “But I’m a generous man.”

Lie.

But she didn’t need to know that yet.

I adjusted. No pressure.

I was here for the game. So I kissed her.

And—

God have mercy on my soul.

It was like kissing fire. It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was Devouring.

Like she wanted to eat the chaos out of me before I could do the same to her.

Her arms looped around my neck, dragging me closer. Her tongue fought mine like it had something to prove.

Which was adorable, considering I had every intention of winning.

Suddenly, the world flipped.

There was no warning or visible effort.

One second I was over her, the next I was the one laid out on the leather couch, breath knocked clean from my lungs.

What the—?

She stood over me, cool as nightfall, packing her hair back into a loose twist with a few precise fingers.

Like rearranging me had been an afterthought. Like I was the appetizer, not the threat. My heart thudded hard.

Not from surprise.

From arousal.

There was a pressure building in my pants, thick and pulsing and impossible to ignore.

All from a kiss.

A fucking kiss.

What the hell was she made of?

Then she tilted her head down and smiled—slow, dark, and amused.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured, voice slick and quiet like oil spreading over water. “Unless you think I’m about to kill you.”

That smile said she could. That voice said she might. And fuck me, that only made me harder.

I closed my eyes.

Not because I trusted her.

But because I didn’t.

And that made it so much more fun.

Then I felt her hands, cradling my face like she was handling a loaded gun. She felt delicate yet dangerous.

Her hips found the rigid line of my cock, pressing down in a slow, maddening grind that pulled a groan straight from my chest.

And then her mouth found mine again.

Hot. Starving.

She kissed like she was trying to set a precedent—I’m in control.

But if that was the case, she shouldn’t have let me grab her ass.

Because once my hands landed there, I pulled her tighter. Forced the rhythm faster.

We ground against each other like we were trying to carve out something new with our bodies and our mouths.

My shirt didn’t survive the next minute.

She slipped it off with an efficiency that made me suspicious and aroused.

And then she finally peeled herself out of that dress.

It hit the floor with a whisper.

And fuck me. She was art.

Carved curves and wicked thighs I would’ve gladly died between.

But she was more than beautiful. She was lethal.

And I didn’t want to look.

I wanted to consume.

I yanked her forward by the waist and snapped her bra loose, not caring how it tore.

One of her perfect breasts filled my mouth a heartbeat later, and the sound that followed, I don’t know if it was her moan or my groan.

Might’ve been both. Might’ve been neither.

All I knew was this:

I wanted to unravel her. With my tongue, with my teeth.

I licked. Bit. Sucked.

Her nipple peaked harder in my mouth, and the noise she made—Christ.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw. Like pleasure dragged straight from the back of her throat.

Her hips didn’t pause. She kept riding the ache between my legs like she wanted to break me, grinding down over my cock with increasing force, pace building like a storm about to hit.

And fuck, I felt it.

Every rub. Every drag of heat against the bulge.

My dick throbbed like it was going to split through the seams and finish this for both of us.

I groaned again, deep and hoarse, grabbing a handful of her ass to pull her harder against me, grinding her into my lap until friction wasn’t enough.

Wasn’t fucking close to enough.

I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to be buried inside her, to be lost. To be gone.

But I didn’t stop her. Didn’t take control.

Because I didn’t want to.

She had me on my back. Hands full of curves and heat and a mouth like ecstasy.

And I was loving every goddamn second of it.

What kind of woman flips a man like me onto his back and makes him feel like he's about to come just from dry grinding and a taste of her skin?

A dangerous one.

A different one.

The kind you don’t just fuck and leave.

The kind that wrecks you, and somehow, you thank her for it.

I looked up at her—lips parted, hair loose now, violet eyes locked onto mine like she could see every unhinged, broken part of me and wanted to play with it.

It was beautiful and wicked.

And completely unknown. What’s even her name?

I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I’d ask tomorrow.

If she didn’t kill me in my sleep. But something told me this wasn’t over.

Not even close.