Chapter 6
A s Hassan sat behind his grand desk in his office at the casino, his mind was elsewhere.
He had a meeting in less than an hour, numbers to go over, business to handle, but none of it mattered.
None of it could keep his focus. Sevyn had consumed every inch of his mind, more than before, more than he wanted to admit.
After leaving her office earlier, he had rushed straight to the casino, hoping that work would drown her out, that the weight of business would push her out of his system. But it hadn’t. If anything, the more he tried to push her away, the stronger her presence became.
He hated this. Hated feeling like this.
No one had ever pulled this much from him, no one. Even when he masked it perfectly, even when he forced his face to remain cold and unreadable, he felt it. And just the feeling of emotion alone fueled his frustration.
His gaze flickered to the sword mounted on his office wall, a weapon so sharp it could slice flesh with the lightest touch. Without thinking, he stood and ran his hand down its spotless, gleaming surface. The cold steel felt familiar, a reminder of his control, his power.
But she had cut through him even deeper than this blade ever could.
Sevyn was sharp. Spotless. And most of all? She cut deep.
Buried in thought, his palm pressed against the edge of the sword, the steel biting into his skin, a small sting registering as blood immediately welled up from the wound. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even acknowledge the pain.
Because the only thing he could feel was her.
Sevyn had read through him. The first person—no, the only person—who had ever been able to do that. And he didn’t know how. He was always steps ahead of everyone—his enemies, his business competitors, even the people in his inner circle. But when it came to her?
He felt defenseless. And that made him angry. But even in his anger, he couldn’t deny it. She fascinated him. And no matter how much he told himself otherwise, he wanted to stay close.
Hassan wiped his cut with an alcohol wipe, the sting barely registering before he grabbed another cloth and cleaned the sword, ensuring there wasn’t a single drop of blood left on its pristine surface.
He placed it back in its glass case on the wall, his movements slow and deliberate.
Once he sat back down, the sharp knock on his office door echoed through the room.
"Come in." His voice was low, calm, commanding.
The door opened, and a group of men in sharp suits, fresh cuts, and dangerously cold faces stepped inside, two armed guards standing at their flanks, watching his every move.
The Marino Family.
The most ruthless Italian mob internationally and in the city. Their name carried weight. Their power was undeniable. People feared them, respected them, and a partnership with them would elevate business—both legally and illegally.
Hassan stood, giving them a nod of respect, before shaking hands with each man. They all carried the same aura—silent, dangerous, calculated. Once the formalities were done, he motioned for them to sit, and they did.
Vittorio Marino, the king of the family business, leaned back in his chair, sparking a cigar between his thick fingers. His son, Luca, the enforcer, sat beside him, arms crossed, his cold gaze studying Hassan like he was waiting for a misstep.
"I have to admit, Ice, I was surprised when you requested this sit- down. The streets say you don’t play well with others." Vittorio’s voice was deep, rich with amusement as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the air.
Hassan shook his head slightly, already knowing how the Italians were with their cigars.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the desk, his face unreadable. He might not like gambling, but Hassan had one hell of a poker face.
"I don’t play at all." His tone was smooth, controlled, like he already owned the damn room.
Vittorio exhaled another slow puff of smoke, intrigued. Luca remained still, watching, calculating.
"Then why this sit-down?
The challenge in his tone was clear, but Hassan didn’t flinch.
Didn’t blink.
Hassan pulled a black folder from his side, sliding it across the glass table with ease. His movements were slow, deliberate, the room thick with expectation.
"A casino. My next one. And I want it outside U.S. borders." His voice was smooth, unwavering, every word spoken with a confidence that didn’t need exaggeration.
The father were intrigued—not just by what he was offering, but by how effortlessly he carried himself. He was young, but he was made for this business, and that alone commanded respect.
Vittorio opens it, revealing blueprint—prime overseas land, contracts, infrastructure plans. Hassan watches as realization sets in.
Luca, however, scoffed. The son of the empire, the heir to his father’s power, but nowhere near as sharp.
"That’s a big bargain, and any fool with a connect in Mexico thinks they’re the next kingpin. What do we get?" Luca’s tone was defiant, but his energy was off—forced.
Hassan could already see through him. Luca wasn’t challenging him out of logic. He was challenging him out of jealousy. Because Luca knew Hassan was better at this game than he was.
Knew he was sloppier, more predictable, less respected. And that? That burned him.
Hassan’s cold gaze snapped to Luca, his piercing, lethal eyes locking onto his face like a silent warning. The air shifted. Tension coiled in the space between them.
Luca tried to hold his gaze, but the heat behind Hassan’s stare burned through his composure, making his confidence waver. His shoulders tensed slightly, but he didn’t look away—not yet.
Vittorio, however, sat back in his chair, his cigar resting between his fingers as a small smirk played at his lips. He had seen it happen. Had watched Hassan’s presence alone dismantle his son’s ego without a single raised voice or wasted breath. That kind of control, that kind of power, was rare.
And that? That impressed him.
"A clean pipeline. Your product moves through my floors. No eyes. No heat. No loose ends." Hassan finally spoke, his tone calm, but laced with something dangerous.
His gaze never wavered from Luca’s, his expression daring him to say something else.
Luca, for the first time in the meeting, shut the fuck up.
Satisfied, Hassan shifted his focus back to Vittorio, the true decision-maker in the room. "I can expand with or without you. But what you can’t do—what none of your connects can do—is make a move in my city without me knowing. And now? I’m looking beyond the city."
He flicked his wrist, a silent signal. One of his men stepped forward, placing another folder on the table—this one thicker, heavier.
Vittorio’s smirk deepened as he reached for it, flipping through the pages. Luca leaned in, his earlier arrogance fading as he saw what was in side. Blueprints. Expansion plans. Power moves. Hassan wasn’t just offering them a deal. He was offering them an empire.
Luca scoffed, but Vittorio remained quiet, his expression unreadable, calculating.
Hassan already knew he had him. Vittorio was a businessman first. He didn’t move on impulse—he moved on power plays. And this? This was a power move.
Luca, still trying to find his footing, leaned forward. "And what stops you from taking the land and cutting us out?"
Desperation laced his words. He was still trying to challenge Hassan, but it was too late. Hassan commanded every part of this deal. He exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping once against the glass table before he finally spoke.
“You’re not in a position to ask that.” His tone was cold, emotionless, but filled with so much confidence making the tension in the room thicken.
“Your routes are getting hit. Customs is sniffing around. And your men? Not as untouchable as they used to be. That’s why you’re here— why you’re listening.” Hassan’s voice was low, steady, controlled, his eyes locked on Vittorio, reading him, pinning him in place without needing to raise his tone.
The room was thick with tension, but Hassan thrived in it. He let the silence stretch, let his words sink in, before leaning back in his chair, his presence filling every inch of the space.
“You don’t need to trust me. But you will respect my position. Because whether or not you make this deal, I will expand. The question is, are you going to be on the inside when I do?”
Vittorio was thinking, even though his face remained calm, unreadable.
His poker face was damn good, but Hassan was better.
He could see the wheels turning, could feel the weight of his words settling in.
Luca, on the other hand, wasn't built for this.
He shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tight, his emotions clear on his face.
Weak.
He was older than Hassan by a couple of years, but Hassan was the one owning the room, the one making the deal, the one showing Luca exactly why his father hadn’t passed the throne to him yet.
Then, finally—
“We have an agreement.” Vittorio’s voice broke the silence, firm but calm.
He extended his hand, but Hassan didn’t move right away.
He let the moment stretch, let the weight of his authority settle in the air, making them feel it. Then, after a long second, he clasped Vittorio’s hand—firm, decisive.
“Smart choice. ”
Hassan leaned back, exuding confidence, even though his expression remained cold.
“Now, I know you Italians love fancy-ass parties. We’re throwing a masquerade here in two weeks to celebrate my partner’s birthday. You two should come. Get a feel for what’s about to make your family millions.”
Vittorio gave a slow nod, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.
“We will be there.”
And just like that, the deal was done.
Hassan watched them exit, his expression unchanging, his mind already locking onto the next move.
But as soon as the door clicked shut, as the weight of business settled—
A different thought crept in. For the first time in hours, he hadn’t been thinking about her.
Sevyn.