Chapter 6-Feisty Little Cat

Massimo's POV 

Before I could even blink, before Bianca could spit out a single word, the girl launched herself across the room like a damn wildfire.

She slammed into Bianca with so much force that she screamed, “What the fuck!” as she crashed backward onto the floor.

“Stay away from him!” the girl yelled, her voice raw and wild. “He’s mine!”

She bounced on top of Bianca like she had lost her mind completely, small fists flying, hitting wherever she could reach. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, sharp and chaotic.

“What the fuck!” I barked, shock ripping through me as I shot up from the bed.

I grabbed her around the waist and yanked her off Bianca with one hard pull. She was lighter than she looked, but the fury in her body made her thrash like a wildcat in my arms.

Bianca sat up quickly, her perfect hair now a mess, her face twisted with pure fury. A red mark was already blooming on her cheek.

“Massimo, who the fuck is she?!” she shrieked, pointing a shaky finger.

“The only woman for him!” the girl shouted back, still trying to lunge out of my grip, her chest heaving with every angry breath. “The only one!”

“Are you crazy?!” Bianca screamed, scrambling to her feet. “He’s my fiancé!”

“Not for long!” the girl bit back with so much confidence it almost sounded like a promise.

I stood there frozen for half a second, my brain struggling to catch up with the absolute madness unfolding in my own bedroom.

Markus suddenly appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with confusion, looking between the three of us like he had walked into the wrong room.

“Take Bianca away,” I commanded, my voice low and final.

“What?!” Bianca’s head snapped toward me, eyes blazing with betrayal. “I’m your fiancée! You should be kicking her out, not me!”

“Let’s go,” Markus said calmly, stepping forward to guide her.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Bianca yelled, slapping his hand away. She turned and gave the girl one last murderous look that could kill, then stormed out of the room, heels clicking furiously against the floor.

Markus raised both hands in surrender, shot me a quick “good luck” glance, and quietly walked out, closing the heavy door behind him with a soft click that somehow felt louder than everything else.

The silence that followed was thick. Dangerous.

I turned slowly to the girl still trapped in my arms.

“What the fuck was that?” I growled, my voice cold as ice.

She didn’t look sorry. Not even a little.

Instead, a slow, wicked smirk spread across her lips. She twisted in my hold until she faced me fully, then closed the small space between us like she belonged there.

Her body pressed lightly against mine, warm and soft and far too tempting.

“She was touching you,” she whispered, her voice dropping into something low and husky, “and I didn’t like it. The only woman who should be on her knees for you… is me.”

Her finger traced a slow, deliberate line down my chest, right over my shirt, and fuck—something inside me ignited.

I didn’t know what the hell it was about her touch. No woman had been able to set my skin on fire like this in a very, very long time. Her fingertip felt electric, burning through the fabric, making my muscles tighten and my blood rush south.

My jaw clenched hard.

Before I could stop myself, my hand moved on its own. I pulled my gun from the holster at my back, the metal cool and familiar in my palm. In one smooth motion, I raised it and pointed the barrel straight at her.

She gasped, eyes widening for a split second.

I stepped forward, and she took one back. I kept going until her spine hit the wall with a soft thud. I followed, crowding her completely, the gun never leaving its target.

“What the fuck is your game?” I asked, my voice dark and rough.

I dragged the cold tip of the gun slowly down the side of her neck. Her pulse jumped under the metal. Lower. Over her collarbone. Down to the swell of her breast. I pressed the barrel right against her nipple, watching it harden instantly through the thin fabric of her top.

She bit her lip hard, her eyes following the path of the gun with heavy-lidded fascination before they flicked up to meet mine.

“I just want to please you,” she whispered, her voice breathless and dripping with heat.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I growled, pressing the gun harder against her soft flesh.

Instead of pulling away, instead of showing even a flicker of fear, she moaned.

A real, throaty, needy moan slipped from her lips. Her thighs pressed together tightly, like she was trying to ease the ache building between them. Then she leaned closer, arching her back so her breasts pushed against the gun, daring me.

I froze.

My finger hovered near the trigger, but I couldn’t move. My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted to break out.

She was breathing fast now, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with pure lust. The way she looked at me—like she wanted me to ruin her, like the threat of the gun only made her wetter—twisted something deep and dark inside my chest.

“How the fuck are you getting turned on with a gun pointed at you?”