11. LEO #2
Dante's shadow looms. "All of it. And any other vulnerabilities you find. I want them closed. Permanently. You created this mess; you'll clean it up."
"I didn't create anything," I retort, starting to type. "I just exposed what was already there. Your systems are Swiss cheese." I don't look at him. I scan the directories, quickly navigating through the Volkovs' network. It's the same old thing. Predictable.
I access the main server logs. The network traffic is a chaotic mess, a hurricane of data packets. I ignore the noise and sift through the layers of encryption and firewalls that are utterly useless against my intrusions.
"The Malakovs aren't subtle. These recent attacks are too refined for them," Dante says, in a low voice. "My IT team hasn't found anything inside."
"Because it is subtle," I reply, tracing a hidden path through their compromised logistics hub. "It's embedded in your existing infrastructure. I don't need to break in when I already have the key."
I pull up the code for their East Coast shipping manifests. There it is. An elaborate script, disguised as a routine inventory check, systematically diverting high-value cargo to undetectable ghost addresses. It's elegant. It's my work, of course. I see the nested anomalies I incorporated.
Dante's gaze is heavy. He's waiting for a reaction. For a moan, a shiver, a desperate plea. He's waiting for Nyx. But how am I supposed to moan while fixing my thousandth broken system?
"It's a phased attack, diverting a percentage, not everything. Keeps it off the radar." I observe his reflection on the dark screen, his jaw clenched.
"And the casino?"
I navigate to the casino's financial records.
The payout discrepancies. A hidden script that manipulates the random number generator for certain slot machines, increasing payouts.
The transfer errors are a simple redirect to inactive accounts, disguised as failed transactions. More ghost work. More of my art.
"Subtle," I repeat.
I feel his presence behind me, closer now. His breath, warm and heavy, hovers over my neck. A flicker of something, a tiny spark of awareness, tries to ignite in my stomach, but I smother it. No . Not here. Not for this.
"Then fix it," Dante snarls. "Fix it all. And then find the Malakovs' main operational hub that you benefited."
I shrug, already writing a script to identify the initial injection point, a backdoor left open by the very rat Dante hunted.
"I will," I say. "Just tell me what you want me to do. I'm just the guy who does the job."
It's the worst insult I can offer him. Reducing myself, the aberration he was expecting, to a mere tool. He expected Nyx. He got Leo, the IT guy.
He must be relieved.
Dante says nothing. A silent rage. I keep typing, ignoring the phantom ache in my jaw, the ghost of his touch.
I need to find the quickest path to freedom from this gilded cage.
"How long?" I hear Dante suddenly. He's impatient.
I don't stop working. "Depends. Maybe a few days for the immediate threats.
A week to truly fortify everything. Depends on how many other neglected backdoors you've got scattered around your network.
Depends on how much coffee I'm allowed, and if the chairs in this gilded cage are comfortable enough. "
Then, he doesn't speak to me. But his eyes still burn into my back. "Luca," he says. "Get out."
I don't need to look to know Luca obeys without a second thought. I hear the footsteps, the click of the door, and the subtle shift in the air. Alone. Did I piss him off?
His shadow deepens over me, blocking the dim room light. I keep typing. I keep focusing on the code.
"What the hell is your problem?" Dante, now, speaks low. Like a threat. As if he disliked that there was no Nyx here.
I stop typing. I turn my head and meet a furious gaze I'm not sure I fully understand. I answer with sincerity. "My problem is that your systems are outdated. And I miss my fern."
I see the muscle in his jaw jump. His eyes narrow, and a fist clenches.
A slap.
The crack echoes. My head snaps to the side, and I hadn't even registered his hand approaching my face. I only understand because a piercing pain runs across my cheek. It stings. It hurts.
I bring my hand to my cheek. It must be red, with the exact outline of his hand. It burns.
He hit me out of nowhere after all his talk about "no perversions"?
"Why did you…," I start, looking at him, confused, and the second slap hits me before I can finish.
This one is harder, sharper. My head whips to the other side, and a metallic taste blooms in my mouth—my cracked molar throbbing with a pain that mirrors across my gum.
Before I can process the shock, his hand clamps around my hair. He pulls my head back, forcing my face up, exposing my throat, making me look directly into his enraged eyes. The rough pull on my scalp is a delightful pain that masks my jaw for a second.
I moan. It's involuntary, just like the heat that begins to spread through my groin, flooding my pants. Everything blurs, everything that isn't his face, his furious gaze, and his hand entangled in my hair.
"That's what I thought," Dante murmurs. His grip tightens. "How long?" he growls. "How long will it take, Nyx ?"
My vision swims, fixated on his mouth. I drink him in. "As long as you want," I whisper. I can't hide how much this turns me on. "However long you want."
He gives me an almost imperceptible smile. Satisfied. "There you are," he says. The desire is there before he can mask it with more seething rage, and his grip in my hair tightens further.
His thumb drags across my swollen lower lip, exposing my blood-stained teeth. It smears onto his skin. He watches it, fascinated.
"You have twenty-four hours," he snarls. "Twenty-four hours to shut down every single one of their access points, stop the bleeding, and give me a full report. Understood?"
There's nothing I can say but, "Yes, sir…"
He releases my hair with a harsh shove. My body sags on the chair as I grip the armrests, and it's hard to breathe. I watch him turn his back on me, unaltered; watch him leave and lock the door from the outside. I revere him in silence.
Twenty-four hours.
His voice, that look… they're all it takes.
I'll twist everything to his will. Anything. Everything.
In twenty-four hours.