“Rafe, I swear on my nonna’s grave, if you scratch this car, I will end you.”

Rafe just smirked, hands gripping the wheel of the cherry-red Ferrari he had no business driving. The engine purred, low and dangerous, matching the look in his eyes as he turned to you.

“You don’t trust me, Bunny?”

“No, Rafe. I don’t.”

And I was right not to.

Because the second the light turned green—BOOM.

He slammed the gas.

The car jerked forward, tires screeching, and you screamed in pure Italian rage.

“CHE CAZZO, RAFE?!”

His laugh was the worst part—deep, cocky, completely unbothered as he sped down the road.

“Babe, relax,” he chuckled, shifting gears. “It’s a Ferrari. It’s meant to be driven like this.”

“This is not driving, this is trying to kill me—slow the hell down!”

But he didn’t.

He just grinned, glancing over at you like this was the best entertainment he’d had in weeks.

And then, because he was a menace, he leaned over—**while still speeding—**and whispered,

“You sound kinda hot when you’re yelling in Italian, you know that?”

Oh.

Your breath hitched.

He smirked, full of himself. “Say something else.”

Your fury doubled.

So you grabbed his jaw, leaned in, and whispered in the sweetest voice—

“Vaffanculo, amore.”

And yanked the keys right out of the ignition.

Silence.

The Ferrari slowed to a stop in the middle of the road.

Rafe blinked. “What the—”

You smirked, dangling the keys in front of his face. “Not so fun now, huh?”

For a second, he just stared at you.

Then—he laughed.

Low, deep, wrecking you completely.

And then, his hand gripped your thigh.

Oh.

“You really wanna play this game, Bunny?” he murmured, voice all threat, all promise.

Your heart pounded.

Your body betrayed you.

But you weren’t about to let him win.

So, with a smug little smile, you tossed the keys into your bra.

Rafe froze.

His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. His hand tightened on your thigh.

And then—he licked his lips.

“Guess I’m gonna have to dig for them, huh?”