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Stranger

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Chapter 24: Stranger (Dante's POV)

Another exasperated breath escaped me as I shifted my weight from one foot to another before spinning around altogether and pacing a few steps back and forth, then returning to the vacant spot beside Anastasia. 

"Is this doing anything?" I demanded, glancing at my watch once again. "Except wasting time, of course," I added with a light scoff. 

"Be quiet," she said sharply, staring at the painting mounted onto the wall. 

Taking a few steps to the side, I rested against the pillar, precisely where I had found her after the crowd had transformed into a mob, desperate to view the savage and barbaric sight in the basement. 

My eyes followed her gaze to the painting, and I scanned the piece once again, taking in the sight of a man, bound to a chair, with his white button-up torn to shreds as he bled out from a thousand cuts, with a dainty lace blindfold covering his eyes, his head tilting back. 

This painting was no different than the others we had found; it depicted the murder and how the body was found perfectly. 

Anastasia began shaking her head slowly as she took a step back and turned to me. "This one's different." 

I eyed the painting once more before focusing on her. "How is this any different? We're wasting time analyzing the paintings with such scrutiny. It's just a way for the killer to show us the body we'll discover soon in a twisted, artistic manner." 

"No, it's different," she insisted. "So far, there have been grand reveals of the bodies and even the paintings. Not this time. Just like every other piece here, it was on display. The body wasn't brought to the main hall." 

"No, but the guests were all led there," I retorted. 

"That means it's not for show," she said pointedly. "Not for the crowd anyway, but... for us. You were right." 

"I always am, Ms Vitalio," I replied, lifting a brow at her. 

Her eyes narrowed on me for a moment before her brows furrowed in confusion. "What's the matter with you?" 

What was the matter with me? I had no fucking clue. If this case wasn't already maddening enough, with our killer playing mind games and making fools out of us, I now had Anastasia making a fool out of me too. 

Last night was a mistake; I never should have acted on impulse. I shouldn't have kissed her, I shouldn't have fucked her, I should have just kept my fucking distance. She warned me, made it clear that we wouldn't have sex again. 

Memories of last night flashed in my mind and burned through my skin like a vicious curse. I'd spent all day craving her again, but this morning she'd made it very clear; I'd overstayed my welcome. 

I couldn't decide what was worse, the fact that we were at our killer's mercy with no headway in this goddamn case, or the fact that my carnal desire for Anastasia overpowered my rationality. I was more focused on her and had been the entire fucking night than I was on working. She proved to be the most dangerous of distractions. 

When she suggested splitting up, I didn't want to do it, but not because it was unsafe; although that was one of the reasons, it wasn't my first. No, my initial thought was I didn't want to let go of her so soon. 

With a sharp lift of her brow, she pressed me for an answer. "Well? What's wrong? Why are you in such a mood all of a sudden?" 

Before I could mutter some pathetic excuse, an officer entered the room, interrupting our conversation. "Ms Vitalio, Mr Rossi. I wanted to inform you both that we've let the guests go after questioning. We had no reason to detain anybody." 

"Did you find anything?" I questioned, pushing off the pillar and stepping forward. 

"Yes," he said, surprising us. "There was a man named Jamie Carr. He's the man who entered the basement first and discovered the body. He claims that he was told to go down there." 

"By whom?" Anastasia asked in confusion. 

"A woman named Adeline Vaughn," the officer answered, "she was indeed on the guest list but didn't RSVP yes, and guards claimed she didn't show up. They never saw her." 

"Where's Mr Carr now?" I asked. 

"He just left." 

"How was he told?" Anastasia asked. "Did he see Ms Vaughn?" 

"No," the officer replied, "he was given a note." 

"And who delivered that note?" I pressed further. 

He responded with a shrug, "Someone handed it to him in passing, he couldn't get a look." 

"Was it a man?" I questioned. 

"He's not sure," was the answer. 

A quiet groan escaped me as Anastasia sighed in disappointment. "Well, thank you for informing us. We'll head out soon." As the officer walked away, she turned to me. Hesitation swirled in her eyes before she cleared her throat and asked, "Would it be okay if we stopped by the office for a while? I can't just go home and let this go, I need to... work. I need a place to think about this." 

I agreed, and so we headed out. 

Parking the car, we got out, and once she got us access to the building, we headed upstairs and into her office. 

She flicked the lights on. "It doesn't make any sense," she began, "why not just make a show out of it like every other murder? Why lure the guests to the scene? Why change tactics now?" 

I leaned against her desk as she continued to ramble and dropped on the couch. Running her hand through her hair, she stood up again and began pacing. "There was no attic," I pointed out. "Maybe there wasn't a show because the venue didn't allow it." 

"Then why choose that gallery at all?" she questioned. 

"Maybe we're overthinking this," I breathed out, "the killer could be choosing venues based on convenience." 

All of a sudden, her pacing came to a halt. "I was... I was standing right next to that painting when it happened. I was right there when the crowd panicked and ran downstairs." 

"And?" 

She blinked, turning to me. "There was a man." 

"A man?" I echoed. 

She nodded slowly, growing more certain with each passing moment. "Yes, a man. He approached me. I'd seen him before at one of the events. At the last location where we found Monica Coleman's body. Blond, blue eyes... He talked about the paintings but tonight he... He talked to me." 

My jaw ticked as I listened, my eyes following her as she resumed her pacing, slower this time, drowning in her thoughts. 

Anastasia was simply telling me about a man she'd conversed with, a man who was flirting with her and had been at the previous gallery too. So far, I didn't see her point. 

"He talked to you," I repeated, "about what?" 

"About me. He said red was my color. I said I remembered him, I asked for his name, and he told me... It was Ethan." 

"And?" I asked, a small huff escaping me. 

"And then people started screaming. I lost him in the crowd, he disappeared," she finished. 

I lifted an impatient eyebrow. "Still not seeing your point, Mia Cara. A man approached you and flirted with you moments before tonight's horrors. Where's the clue?" 

"He seemed to know something." 

"Something?" I prompted. 

She groaned, "God, I can't explain it. Something about him was just... strange. Like he knew what would happen, almost like he knew me." 

My gaze narrowed as I dragged my hands out of my pockets and braced them on the table behind me, clutching so hard I nearly lost feeling in my fingers. "You're telling me a man, a blue-eyed blondie, approached you tonight, complimented you, flirted with you, told you his name, then disappeared into chaos. Is there a point to this story? Because I'm not seeing it." 

She paused for a minute before lifting her brows. "I'm saying I think we should look into him." 

"Based on what? Your hunch? You're curious about him." 

"Because he was strange." 

"He flirted with you, and you're curious. What's so strange about that?" 

Her lips parted as she began to say something, only to stop herself. "Are you jealous?" she laughed softly in disbelief. 

"I'm only repeating your words," I refuted. 

"So, you're not jealous?" 

"I have no reason to be." 

An arched brow stared back at me. 

I lifted mine back mockingly. 

After thinking for a moment, she began walking to me, her steps slow and leisurely yet calculated. "It doesn't bother you? That a man was flirting with me? That he... touched me. Felt me." She came to a halt in front of me. "That it was someone else? That doesn't bother you?" 

I watched her, my fingers grasping onto the edge of the table tighter as the image she'd painted shone brightly and vividly in my mind. 

The sight of her standing in that corner, looking the way she did tonight. A man approaching her, his fingers kissing the curve of her shoulder or the bend at her waist, his hand settling at her hip. His lips brushing against her ear, the compliment being so hush, a shared secret only between the two of them. 

Perhaps she smiled for him in a way she never would for me. Maybe she wanted him to stay. Maybe she... touched his arm, dragging her fingers up to his bicep as she asked for a name, and... Maybe he touched her lips or perhaps her cheek before whispering his name only for her ears. 

Pure envy coursed through my veins, my blood running hot and rage bubbling up inside of me. It wasn't often that the idea of beating a man with my bare hands appealed to me; I was much better at torturing with knives and bullets. 

But picturing her with another man at her side, a man whispering to her, a man touching her... It unleashed fury within me. Unmistakable jealousy took shape inside of me. 

My jaw clenched harder as Anastasia's body brushed against me, her eyes coming up to meet mine, the shade of green looking pale in the dimly lit room. 

"You're not jealous," she whispered, "that it was him and not you?" 

I took a moment to contain myself, to force some excuse or another into my brain. The moment her palm settled against my chest, I was gone. "A stranger," I said, "that's all he is. That's all he'll ever be." 

Her brows lifted in a wordless challenge. 

I continued, bringing a hand to her hip. "Because he doesn't know you," I reminded her, trailing my fingers down her thigh, my touch as light as a feather's as I slipped my fingers beneath the slit of her dress, touching her bare thigh. 

Her breath hitched, and I continued, tracing the edge of her knife sheath until I reached the blade. 

"He doesn't know your body like I do," I told her, tracing up the dagger until I found the handle and tugged it out, slowly running the blade across her skin before withdrawing and lifting it to her chin. "He doesn't fuck you like I do, does he, Anastasia?" I tilted her chin up, the blade kissing her throat as I trailed it along the slope of her neck. 

"It's not his name you moan when you come, is it?" I whispered, taking the blade across her collarbones, stopping at the strap of her dress. "He's not the one who made you come last night, is he?" 

The knife clattered on her desk as I dropped it behind me and wrapped my fingers around her throat, pulling her forward, my lips brushing against hers. 

She gasped softly, grabbing a fistful of my suit as she held my gaze. 

"Remind me what you confessed last night," I commanded, "say it again." 

Her lips parted, but the words never came. 

My fingers flexed around her throat in warning. "I can feel your pulse beneath my fingers, Mia Cara," I whispered, dragging my lips along her jaw to the spot beneath her ear. "Do you know how easy it would be for me to stop it?" 

"You want to kill me, Mr Rossi?" she asked shakily. I pulled back just enough to look at her. "Because you can't have me, but a stranger could?" she dared. The ghost of a victorious grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

My hand still gripping her throat, I spun us around, and as her back met the table, I leaned into her further, dropping my hand to her thigh once again, my other hand taking hold of her jaw, keeping her eyes on me. "Does your stranger touch you like I do?" I asked, hooking my finger into the waistband of her panties. 

As a sharp gasp escaped her at the light snap of the elastic against her skin, I withdrew from her completely, taking a step back. 

"Go fuck him then," I told her, loosening my tie. Turning my back on her, I threw the suit off and then worked away the tie, the tailored fit suddenly suffocating me. 

As I discarded them on the couch, I heard her scoff. I glanced at her over my shoulder before taking a deep breath and facing her. 

"Maybe I will," she shrugged, pulling herself onto the desk and pushing the knife away from her thigh. 

I stared at her while rage made my heart pound in my ears. 

"I bet he could fuck me better than..." she trailed off slowly as I made my way to her, bracing my hands on the desk and leaning down so we were eye to eye. 

"I dare you to finish that sentence, Anastasia," I whispered warningly. 

"No," she said, "I'll just go fuck him instead." 

Pure heat and desperation crackled between us as our lips collided in a frantic, fervent kiss. Her hands were clawing at my shirt just as carnally as I tore off her dress, the sharp tear of the fabric echoing between the empty walls of the office. 

The dim lights of Anastasia's office flickered just as she pushed my shirt down my shoulders, dropping it on the floor, and when I pulled her off the table and let her dress drop, pooling at her ankles, the lights shut off entirely. With the power outage, the only source of light was what peeked through her half-open blinds. 

Her moan was stifled into the kiss, and I felt her legs wrap around my waist, so I began trailing my fingers down her legs and to her ankles, tugging her heels off and letting them fall. 

My lips grazed over her skin as I dipped down to kiss her throat, my teeth lightly nipping until I whispered in her ear, "You'll be punished tonight, Mia Cara."

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Chapter 24

I'm not robbing you, don't worry, just be patient

next ch: habits