Chapter 17 – Lydia - Velvet Rope #2
Then his hand comes out, palm up. Empty. “Come with me.”
My fingers flex against the tray I’m still holding. I set it down on the side table like it burned me.
He tilts his head, waiting for me to respond, say something, or react.
I don’t move.
Because I remember what Drazen said.
I’ll send Dom to get you when it’s time.
I don’t know what the “delivery” is. But I know Drazen doesn’t ask things twice. And he doesn’t forget when you pretend.
So this? Standing here now, staring down the man who keeps peeling back pieces of me I thought were cemented shut? This is a decision.
He sees it, too.
His voice drops, but not soft. Never soft. Just lower, tighter. “I don’t have time to make you promises. But I can get you out of here.”
I meet his gaze full-on.
“Is that what this is?” I ask. “A rescue?”
“No,” he says. “It’s me refusing to leave you behind.”
The walls feel closer than they should. My skin’s too hot under my clothes. I don’t know if it’s anger, or attraction, or the terrifying thought that I might be ready to let him pull me out of this.
“You don’t understand,” I whisper. “He told me to wait.”
“I heard. He told you to leave, but when he got to me, he dismissed me.”
“And you want me to ignore him.”
“I want you alive.”
He’s not trying to charm me. That’s what makes it worse.
He’s serious.
Like he’s already imagined the fallout and decided it’s worth it.
My legs won’t move. Not yet.
Because choosing this means choosing the consequences, too. I’ll burn a bridge with Drazen I can’t un-burn. The file Drazen claims to have. I’ll lose my foothold. I’ll expose whatever thin trust he thinks he has in me. And for what?
For a man who won’t even tell me the truth about where he goes when he disappears for hours. For a man who touched my wrist in a hallway like it was sacred and then left me with the echo of it.
“I can’t,” I say.
Not loud.
Not apologetic either.
Just… true.
His jaw ticks. But he doesn’t move back.
“Then I’ll wait.”
I shake my head. “Don’t.”
I shake my head. "You can't. Drazen will notice you're not where you're supposed to be."
"The meeting's over," he says quietly. "He already dismissed me."
My chest tightens. "Then why are you still here?"
His eyes hold mine. "You know why."
I do. And that's the problem.
"You should go," I whisper.
"Not without you."
"Silas—"
"I'm parked in the garage. Level three. Black sedan, north corner." His voice drops lower. "If you change your mind, I'll be there. Thirty minutes. After that, I'm gone."
My throat closes. "I can't."
He stares at me for another beat—long enough for me to feel every unspoken word hanging between us.
Then his hand drops.
"This isn't over," he says.
And then he turns and walks away.
Not back toward the meeting room this time. Toward the stairwell. Toward the exit.
He's leaving.
Because he has to.
And I'm standing alone again. No Dom, no Drazen, no orders. Just me and the choice I already made.
But it feels like a guillotine dropping in a room that still pretends to be civil.
I don’t move.
Not because I’m frozen.
Because I’m listening.
Not for footsteps.
For regret.
The hallway behind me is empty. The main lounge is deserted now. A few servers collecting glasses, one of Drazen’s nameless men talking into a phone near the coat check. Dom isn’t here yet. Drazen hasn’t sent for me. No one’s said my name in the last two minutes.
But somehow, the lull is the loudest thing I’ve heard all day.
I don’t sit back down.
I walk to the edge of the room, slowly, like I’m looking for a way to pass the time. I lean against the marble counter near the bar. My fingers trace the stem of an abandoned glass, the condensation still cold, untouched.
Behind me, I catch my own reflection in the mirror over the back bar.
Hair still pinned. Lips smudged. Eyes… not mine.
Not anymore.
I used to know who I was.
Even if no one else did.
Now?
Now I wear skin I can’t scrub clean and a name Drazen only half-respects. Now I take orders like they’re lifelines, even when they’re rope.
I told Silas no.
Because I thought staying made me strong.
But the longer I stand here, the more I realize something else.
Drazen isn’t late.
He’s watching.
Testing.
Waiting to see if I flinch before he gives the next command.
And I’m failing the test just by standing still.
My pulse kicks in my ribs.
Not panic. Clarity.
This whole place is a trap. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just designed to make you forget that you’re the one being weighed.
I slide a hand into my purse. Fingers close around the burner phone Silas gave me. I don’t pull it out. I already know what I’d text if I did. Not a confession. Not an apology. Just one word: “Wait.”
I don’t send it. I don’t even bother bringing the phone out.
I just picture him walking back into the room, fists clenched, waiting for the moment I break.
And then—
A shadow moves behind me.
Dom.
He steps into view through the mirror, wearing his usual smirk, hands tucked into the front of his vest like he’s walking through a museum.
“Took you long enough,” I say, without turning.
He shrugs. “You looked busy. Figured I’d let you stew.”
“Tell Drazen I’ll be down in a second.”
He tilts his head. “What, no smile? No ‘what’s the job today, sir’?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“That’s dangerous.”
I finally face him. “For who?”
Dom just grins, steps back, and gestures toward the hallway.
And I follow.
Because that’s easier than staying in a room with all the things I didn’t say out loud.
Dom doesn’t look back as he leads me down the stairwell. He doesn’t say a word either.
His swagger does the talking, every step telling me I’m late to something I wasn’t meant to understand, only obey.
We take the narrow service stairs instead of the main hall. The walls are concrete. Damp. One of the lights overhead flickers, buzzes, goes dead. The kind of place that doesn’t have a camera because the people who walk through here already know they’re being watched.
At the bottom, he swipes a keycard across a rusted panel. The door unlocks with a metallic click.
He holds it open like a gentleman.
I step through like I don’t want to turn back.
It’s a warehouse floor, the kind that's been half-gutted and restructured into a pseudo garage. Fluorescent light pools across oil-streaked concrete. One black SUV idles in the middle of the space, tinted windows up, engine running.
No one speaks.
Two men are standing near the loading bay, dressed like private security. Not Drazen’s usual muscle.
Dom glances at them, then gestures toward the SUV.
“Driver’s waiting. You’re to ride along, make sure the drop goes clean.”
“Drop of what?”
He smiles. Doesn’t answer.
“Drazen said it was a delivery,” I press.
“It is.”
I narrow my eyes. “And?”
“And he wants you to be seen,” Dom says, shrugging like it’s the weather. “Just you. Sitting in the passenger seat. Pretty, present, unbothered.”
“By who?”
Another shrug. “Guess we’ll find out.”
I scan the bay again. The SUV’s back door is already open. In the rear seat: a single briefcase, chained to a steel loop on the floorboard.
My stomach knots.
Not because of the case.
Because this feels… orchestrated.
I turn back to Dom. “What’s in the case?”
He runs a thumb along the edge of his jaw. “That’s above your clearance.”
“You want me to ride next to something I can’t even ask about?”
“We’ve all got our parts to play,” he says. “You? You’re the reassurance.”
I laugh, dry and clipped. “Reassurance for what?”
He steps closer.
And this time, the grin drops. His voice cools. “For whoever’s watching.”
That does it.
My spine goes straight. My fingers curl.
“You think I don’t know what this is?” I whisper.
“Oh, I know you know better than most.”
Dom leans in, too close. “This whole city’s a lens, Lydia. The problem is, you never know if it’s a telescope or a scope with a trigger behind it.”
I look back at the car.
The way it’s positioned.
The briefcase, the driver, the guards—
This isn’t a delivery.
It’s bait.
I turn on my heel, already moving.
“Where are you going?” Dom calls behind me.
“To fix my lipstick,” I shoot back. “Apparently, that’s still my job.”
He laughs as I walk past.
But I don’t stop.
Because this time, the walls are watching.
And I’ve learned how to walk through traps without stepping on the wire.