Chapter 4 4

"Come in."

The man's voice rolled out like velvet-draped thunder as I pushed the door open.

"I've been waiting for you, Domitilla."

The way he said my name low and smoky was a sin disguised as sound, a whisper laced with promise and temptation.

I swallowed hard and stepped inside.

"Close the door behind you," he added. "I don't want any interruptions."

Every syllable he spoke ignited something inside me, stoking an anticipation I didn't dare name.

I finally lifted my gaze and met his eyes.

He was leaning casually against the front of his desk, hands gripping the edge like he owned the very air around him. One side of his mouth tugged up in a slow, knowing smile as his gaze raked over me like he was peeling away every layer. I took a hesitant step forward, and it felt like passing through some invisible field of static energy that clung to my skin.

"Closer," he said, biting into his bottom lip like the sight of me physically affected him.

"Mr. Santini... this isn't right," I whispered, though the words tasted like betrayal to my own desire.

He gave a low, decadent laugh rich and thick with something primal and that sound alone made my thighs clench. With an effortless shrug, he slid off his jacket and loosened the top buttons of his inky black shirt.

"Does it feel wrong to you?"

Another button undone.

"Because it feels very right to me."

I stood there, pulse pounding, watching as the rest of the buttons gave way. Each inch of revealed skin carved from some divine marble. My breath caught when he reached out, gently taking my hand and placing it against his bare chest letting my trembling fingertips learn the landscape of his body. Slowly, he guided my hand down his torso, over the ridges of muscle, stopping just above the belt of his slacks.

Then he moved.

In one swift motion, he gripped my waist and pulled me against him. I gasped, breathless from the impact, from the feel of him hard and urgent pressing into me. My fingers found his shoulders, cool and sculpted, like ice over fire.

Then he kissed me.

His mouth claimed mine in slow, exploratory strokes, his tongue teasing mine into submission. I melted into him, into the hunger and heat that pulsed between us. His hands slid down and grasped my thighs, lifting me as if I weighed nothing and settling me on the edge of the desk.

And then

I was naked.

I didn't even remember how it happened. One blink and my clothes were gone. Reflexively, I tried to cover myself, but he caught my wrists and pinned them above my head. His other hand found its way between my thighs, igniting sparks, unlocking something deep, primal... uncontainable.

"The doorbell," he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

That brought everything to a crashing halt.

The doorbell?

What the hell?

I blinked up at him in confusion, but he had already stepped back. The faint, chime-like sound reached me again distant, warped, but real. He chuckled, brushing his knuckles across my cheek.

"Domitilla..." He pressed a kiss to my jaw. "That's the doorbell."

"You have a doorbell in your office?" I asked, dazed.

Then came the sound again louder this time. The illusion shattered.

My eyes snapped open.

I was in bed. Alone.

The dream disintegrated like ash between my fingers. The lingering arousal was a cruel echo of something that had never actually happened.

And that doorbell? Very real and annoyingly persistent.

Growling a curse, I climbed out of bed, trying to shake off the erotic fog still clinging to my skin. There was something seriously wrong with me. One brief glimpse of my new boss, and suddenly I was starring in a pornographic fever dream with the man?

Get it together, Domitilla.

I pressed my forehead to the door, blinking hard until I could make out the figure through the peephole.

"The detective?"

I cleared my throat.

"Just a second!"

I threw on the first oversized sweatshirt I could find and dragged my fingers through my hair. Then I opened the door.

"Detective Teodoro," I said, stepping aside.

He nodded. "Apologies for dropping in on a Sunday, Ms. Crivelli... but there's something that's been bothering me. I was in the neighborhood and figured I'd speak to you about the Giosuè Tarallo case."

"Who?"

"The man who tried to rob you," he clarified with a dry smile.

"Oh," I said, clearing a pile of clothes from the couch. "Please, have a seat. Coffee?"

"If it's no trouble."

I nodded and busied myself in the kitchen which was basically two steps away while he took a seat. "So," I said over my shoulder, "what's so urgent it couldn't wait until Monday?"

He scratched his chin. "Remember when you mentioned that security camera?"

"Yes. Did it show anything?"

"Well, it confirmed you were exactly where you said you were."

Relief swelled in my chest. "I told you "

"But we checked the other cameras too," he interrupted. "And there's no image of the killer."

I turned, confused. "No image?"

"All three cameras that should've caught the attack were... broken."

I blinked. My mind, still half in dreamland, spiraled into vampire lore creatures that didn't show up in mirrors... or cameras.

"So... the killer was invisible?"

His brows lifted. "Excuse me?"

I laughed nervously. "Sorry. You said no image, and I never mind."

He sighed. "The point is, someone sabotaged those cameras. And we also discovered that Tarallo had a long criminal record. Lately, he'd been stealing rare items on contract."

My brows furrowed. "You think someone paid him to steal something?"

"Exactly. Not your wallet, though. That was just bad luck. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Charming," I muttered.

Unfazed, he continued. "We also discovered... his little finger was cut off before his throat was slit."

A sick feeling twisted in my gut. "Someone mutilated him before killing him?"

He stood. "If you remember anything else, even the smallest detail, call me."

"I will," I said faintly.

He paused at the door. "We'll try to speed up the process with your bank. Hopefully, you'll recover your money soon."

"Thanks, but I've already found a new job. I'll manage."

"That's good to hear."

"If you run into Officer Fosco, tell him thank you. He helped me."

He turned. "Who?"

"Fosco. I didn't catch his last name."

A shadow passed across his face. "There's no one by that name in our department. I'd remember a name like that."

A chill slid down my spine. I forced a shrug. "Maybe I got it wrong. I was exhausted that night."

"Thanks for your cooperation, Ms. Crivelli."

The door closed with a final click.

And I stood there, heart pounding, breath caught in my throat, chilled by the strange current in the air.

Who was the man who told me about Velluto Nero?

If he wasn't a cop... what the hell was he?