The Devil’s Game
But what really got under Vito's skin was the face staring up at him.
His features. The way his dark hair fell across his forehead. It reminded him of a ghost from his past. A ghost Vito had spent years looking for. Someone he had fantasized about making kneel exactly like this in front of him, broken and desperate.
Except, that asshole had fucking black eyes, this one had blue. And he would never bend his knees for something as measly as this.
It made Vito's hands itch.
"Don't make me repeat myself," Vito said, his voice cutting through whatever daze Aiden had fallen into.