The villa felt wrong without him.
The silence wasn't peaceful—it was heavy, suffocating.
Kim sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the door. Eddy had disappeared minutes ago, his last words still sharp in her ears: Stay in your room, baby doll. No matter what you hear.
But she'd heard something—a muffled shout, the sound of glass shattering somewhere deep in the house. And she wasn't the type to sit still while the man who'd pulled her into this mess might be bleeding somewhere.
Her bare feet moved on their own, carrying her down the hallway. The marble floor was cold, the air charged with a tension that made her skin prickle. She paused at the top of the stairs, straining to hear.
Low voices. Rough. Male. Coming from the direction of the wine cellar.
Kim bit her lip, hesitated for half a second, then moved.
The door to the cellar was cracked open. She peeked inside.
Eddy was there—back to her, shoulders tense, white shirt stained with dark patches. Across from him stood two men, armed and furious. Their Italian was fast, heated, and full of threat.
Then she felt it—a hard, cold circle pressing into the back of her neck.
"Well, well," a voice rasped behind her. "What do we have here?"
Kim froze.
The man shoved her forward, into the room.
Eddy turned. The moment his eyes landed on her, something flickered in his gaze—panic, quickly buried under steel.
"Kim," he growled, voice low and dangerous.
"Looks like we found your little weakness," one of the men said, grinning.
Kim's stomach knotted. "I—"
"Shut up," Eddy snapped, stepping forward. But it wasn't anger in his eyes—it was fear.
The man holding her tightened his grip, pulling her close. Eddy's jaw clenched, and his hand twitched near his gun.
"You want her alive?" the man taunted. "Then give us what we—"
Bang.
The man collapsed, blood pooling at Kim's feet. Eddy didn't hesitate—he fired again, then slammed the second man against the wall so hard the shelves rattled.
Kim gasped, frozen in place. It was over in seconds, the air thick with the scent of gunpowder and copper.
Eddy turned to her, breathing hard, eyes still burning. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
He stepped closer, grabbing her arms, scanning for bruises, cuts—anything. His touch was rough, almost frantic.
"Why didn't you stay in your room?" he demanded.
"I was worried," she whispered.
His mouth curved—not a smile, but something darker. "Worried?" His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against him.
Her breath caught.
"You walk into fire for me again, baby doll," he said, his voice low and gravelly, "and I'll burn this whole damn world to keep you."
Her pulse thudded in her ears. "You're insane."
"No," he murmured, his forehead pressing to hers, lips brushing hers with dangerous intent, "I'm yours. And now you're mine."
Then he kissed her—rough, deep, and completely consuming.
For a moment, the blood on the floor, the danger, the gun in his hand—it all disappeared.
All she could feel was him.
And she wasn't sure she wanted it to stop.