I gaped at him, speechless.
"That’s it," I insisted firmly. "You’re getting in the passenger seat right now, and I’m taking you to a hospital."
He just shook his head as he prepped the gauze. "Don’t make ascene, Fiona. I can handle this kind of wound better than some understaffed hospital with an overworked intern."
My stomach turned as he probed the open injury with the same ease as adjusting his watch. I looked away, shaking my head. "God, that’s disgusting," I muttered, grimacing.
Alessandro laughed, deep and unbothered. "Disgusting, huh?" He tightened the bandage around his side without so much as a blink, then met my eyes—amusement glinting in his. "Then you really shouldn’t stick around when I need to pay someone back."
He didn’t miss the way my stomach lurched. "Get in the front. I’ll take you home."
I hesitated another second, revolted, before climbing over the center console and dropping heavily into the passenger seat. "Not like I’ve got anything left under this damn skirt anyway, since I just had to fuck Miami’s biggest psycho." I yanked the fabric down as far as it would go, but no amount of cloth could hide how exposed I felt.
"What did you say?" came from the trunk.
"Nothing!" I could do without another argument. My body felt heavy and drained.
He slid carefully into the driver's seat. Wearing a pristine white new shirt.
"You don’t actually keep a wardrobe in your car too, do you?" I asked, tilting my head back to study him.
"Only in my work car," he laughed, amused.
"Right," I muttered sarcastically, letting my head drop against the seat as I watched him from the corner of my eye. "For all the dirty jobs, huh?"
A crooked grin formed on his lips. "For whatever’s necessary." He sat there as if nothing had happened, hands loose on the wheel, his white shirt neatly smoothed out again. It was almost absurd how innocent he looked now—almost respectable—when he was the absolute devil. Only the strands of his hair fellcarelessly to the side, untamed and reckless. Wild. Just like him.
"That hairstyle… suits you better," I remarked dryly, still watching him. "Way better than that slicked-back nonsense. Looks like you just rolled out of bed—or straight out of hell."
His eyes flicked toward me, glinting. "A skirt with no panties suits you better than those stiff office suits you usually wear."
"Deep down, I’m a refined person. It’s only around you that I turn into—"
"—an insatiable nymphomaniac." His grin widened, and for a moment, a comfortable lightness filled the car.
"Alessandro…" I began hesitantly, "I want to finally get to know you. Really know you."
He shot me a brief sidelong glance, lips curling into a wide smirk. "Haven’t you already?"
I laughed softly. "I know your body—your madness, your passion, your power games. But I don’t know you, the person." A brief silence. Then, quiet and teasing: "I know your cock, but not your heart."
His laughter filled the car. "That’s enough, isn’t it? What do you want to know?"
"How old even are you?" I asked bluntly.
He threw me a brief, surprised look, as if he hadn’t expected that question. "34."
"I don’t believe you," I said, raising an eyebrow. "You’re way too… jaded."
"Experienced?" he cut in, a mischievous smile on his lips.
"Arrogant," I corrected.
"Competent."
I sighed and shook my head. "That too, yes," I admitted, studying him. "Don’t you want to know my age?"
He chuckled low, shaking his head as he turned his gaze back to the road. "I already know."
