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Fuck me, he looks delicious right now.

His perfect dress shirt and jacket are covered in blood, broken glass, and fragments of flesh and bone. Blood streaks one cheek with more smeared across his brow, and there is nothing remotely civilized left in his eyes.

I ogle him like a horny fucking teenager as he rips off his blood-spattered jacket, flips the shotgun in his hands, then smashes the butt of it with a loud CRUNCH into the face of one of the last survivors who was just running for the door.

I should probably be concerned about what this is doing to me. Instead, my pulse kicks harder.

This is the Damiano nobody else sees.

No pressed shirts. No control, or schedules, or obsessive precision.

This is the beast underneath.

The animal he keeps chained under all that control.

And instead of scaring me, watching it break free makes every fucked-up circuit in my brain light up at once.

Movement catches my eye. The last of the “Wolf Pack”, who looks like his heart is about to explode from both narcotics and terror, scrambles out from behind one of the now not-so-white couches and bolts for the door.

He gets close. But then the severed hand I just threw at him gets him in the back of the head, and he goes tripping over his own feet and crashing face-first through the glass coffee table.

“Walk it off, buddy!” I cackle at the twitching body as blood gushes from his throat.

I glance down and sigh at the guy I’m still straddling. “Did we learn our lesson tonight?”

“I swear!!” he blubbers, his face a snotty mess. “I’ll never tell a soul! I’ll leave New York tonight! I’ll never even LOOK at another girl⁠—”

“Oh my God,” I groan, rolling my eyes and picking up the katana again. “It was fucking rhetorical, dumbass.”

The sword rams through one temple and slides right out the other as his eyes roll up and go lifeless.

Across the room, Damiano is kneeling as he slams the butt of the shotgun again and again into the face of the guy he caught running for the door, until it’s nothing more than raw meatloaf on the ground.

My pulse quickens as I slowly stand. Damiano finally stops pulverizing the dead guy’s skull. He turns his head, and his dark, intense eyes find mine across the carnage.

Hello sailor, my ovaries coo, batting their eyelashes.

Damiano stands and drops the gun to the floor with a metallic clatter.

“That was awesome,” I grin, turning to survey the destruction around us.

Damiano doesn’t say a word, just starts to walk toward me.

“I mean, fuck,” I gush, “the hand to the back of the head? Did you see that?”

He keeps prowling closer, not saying a word.

“Okay, I know this is lame, but I have to,” I sigh, my lips curling as I look up at Damiano, still silently approaching. “Looks like wolves are back on the endangered species list.”

A giggle bubbles up from my throat.

“Get it? The Wolf Pack?”

My glee dims as I watch Damiano stride right up to me, a grim look glinting in his eyes.

“Oh, come on!” I groan. “What, am I going to get chewed out for fucking up the plan? Was I too messy?” I roll my eyes as he surges into me, his dark, tense face streaked with blood. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck is your problem? Are you incapable of letting yourself enjoy the moment? Do you always have to be such a controlling, dick-headed⁠—”

I gasp sharply when his sticky, bloodied hands wrap around my throat. His eyes blaze with black fire as he shoves me back, almost lifting me off my feet before slamming me into the wall.