Chapter 8
Dorian
Men with money always find the places that let them be monsters in peace.
The Dark Odyssey is such a place.
I’m not here for pleasure tonight.
I’m here because—with the exception of immediate family—I can’t trust anyone in my own house.
Sitting across from me is my old friend Salvatore Giordano, the club’s owner.
He’s based in Chicago but is here on business. I’ve utilized his presence to help me investigate the mole at Vale Global.
My old friend here makes his living selling dark sexual fantasies, but he’s also the Capo of the Giordano family, one of the biggest mafia families on this side of the globe.
At twenty years my senior, he’s one of my biggest assets.
How did I meet him?
Business.
I’ve always kept a wide scope of resources and people who can get me what I want. In my world, you can’t afford to be too clean. Or too dirty.
You have to be just right. That’s where men like Salvatore come in.
My father would beg to differ. And he’d have my head if he found out I was associated with mobsters. But I’d love to see him do better. We didn’t get a mole on my watch. It happened while my father sat pretty in his chair, acting like an emperor.
Salvatore and I sit in his office on the top floor of the club, drinking hundred-year-old scotch while he updates me on the investigation.
He’s got a private underground PI on the case. The kind of man who’s supposed to be able to dig up intel on anything—even secrets people thought they buried. His name’s Gibbs.
He’s been digging through the access logs, comms, spending patterns, and anything that smells off at Vale Global.
Spread out on the table between us are more files Gibbs sent over from his sweep of the company.
Salvatore has been talking me through the findings. I’ve been listening… and trying not to think about Elodie.
It’s Monday. Five days since I last saw her.
Her name shouldn’t even be in my mind anymore. But Elodie Harper has been sitting under my skin since our little meeting at the coffeehouse, like a splinter I can’t dig out without bleeding.
When you work with people for as long as I have, you pick up on their tells.
I’ve dealt with every kind of financial situation—from the overly wealthy to those on the brink of collapse.
And then there are the ones with no hope at all.
The desperate who keep fighting even when they know they’re cornered.
That was her.
I knew it from the moment she sat down. I didn’t have time during our first run-in to make the assessment. I was also shocked to see her. But her working at the coffeehouse was enough to give me the scent of trouble.
I could have her investigated and find out what’s going on.
But I won’t.
That would be overstepping a line I have no right to cross, no matter what she stirs in me.
I did something I never do by extending an olive branch. It’s up to her now if she wants to take it.
Salvatore leans forward and waves a hand over the documents on the table before us. “Alright,” he says, tone all business now, “here’s where we are at.”
He opens the file and shows me a list of names, timestamps, a blurred photo.
“What’s all this?” I ask, scanning the page.
“Your internal access logs. They don’t match your staff roster. Somebody’s using credentials that shouldn’t still be active.”
My jaw tightens. “What? Like from terminated employees?”
“Old accounts,” he corrects. “Dormant, old versions that become inactive when the system updates.”
“How did my team not notice that?”
“Because it’s the kind of thing nobody notices unless you know what you’re looking for.” He smirks. “The old accounts are designed to link to the new ones. An analysis would look normal to anyone. But we looked deeper and found a glitch in the system.”
Fuck. This sounds worse than what I thought. But realistically, if this person has been around for years, they’d have to be high tech.
Salvatore taps the table once. “We traced the first leak to three possible touchpoints—two human, one digital. The digital one is protected. Not amateur protected. Professional.”
“Meaning it’s not just a random employee.” I keep my voice flat, but something hot moves under my ribs.
“Exactly.” Salvatore’s mouth quirks. “And whoever it is has help.”
“I’ve run a thorough check on everyone, and they came up clean.” He continues, calm as a priest delivering confession. “But that doesn’t clear them. It just means they’re careful.”
I lean forward. “So, we’re back to square one?”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s more the case that we now know what we’re looking for.” He nods. “We’ll continue surveillance and tracking. That’s all we can do for now.”
“Should I still keep my teams grounded?”
“No. Give them back their full access but keep your personal devices protected.” He sits back and gives me a crude smile. “When you want to catch a rat, you have to let him run free and set a trap.”
I smile, too, understanding. “I like that.”
“Of course, whoever these people are, they’re going to be more careful now. They’ll be aware that you know you have a leak. I would imagine they’d be working hard to cover their tracks so you can’t find them.”
“What if we can’t find those tracks?” I don’t want to have this problem for longer than necessary.
He shakes his head. “There’s always a way. Nothing ever stays buried or dead in the digital world. Everything leaves a trace. Even when you’ve taken every measure possible to get rid of it. People like me can find it. It just takes time.”
He almost sounds poetic. And his words also confirm I came to the right place. I’m just pissed we don’t have more.
My patience is… well, I have none. I hate being kept waiting, and I loathe not having control.
I exhale slowly, forcing control back into my voice. “Okay. Is there anything more I can do?”
“Try to be on your best behavior.” Salvatore’s smile is faint.
I chuckle. “I guess I’m not so good just by being here. The press would have a field day if they knew I was in a sex club.”
“But it isn’t any sex club now, is it? It’s mine, and the press don’t want to fuck with me.” He picks up his glass and raises it in toast.
People know I’m dangerous, but this guy… He’s right; the press don’t fuck with him.
No one does.
They’d be too scared to either die an awful death or go missing and never be heard from again.
“You, old friend,”—he points at me—“need to relax. We will get to the bottom of this. Until then, you need to loosen some of that tension.”
“And what would you suggest, old friend?”
He gestures with his chin. “The auction’s on tonight.”
The Decadent Auction. A ritual dressed up as luxury—girls on a platform paraded under a spotlight while men with too much money bid like they’re buying art. The whole thing is sanitized with rules and velvet so nobody has to admit what it really is: ownership and claiming.
“Why don’t you get a girl, take the rest of the week off, and have some fun?” He says it casually, like a joke that isn’t a joke. “Relieve some stress.”
I stare at him, unimpressed. “It’s going to take more than a girl to relieve my stress,” I scoff. “And I’m not here for entertainment. Also, haven’t I given you enough of my money?”
“You can afford to give more, Dorian Vale. All work and no play is never good for a man.”
“Coming from a man whose work is his playground.”
He shakes his head. “No, no, no. My wife, Mimi Giordano, is my playground.” He taps his heart. “This is just a place I’ve created to step away from the real world, but my wife is my sanctuary.”
These men and their wives. It feels like everywhere I turn, there’s someone reminding me that marriage isn’t all bad. Salvatore didn’t exactly say that, but he didn’t need to.
He and his wife have been married for ten years, and they met when they were kids.
Good story. It still doesn’t sway me, though.
Salvatore lifts a brow and straightens. “I’ll tell you what. We’re done here. Let’s walk by the auction hall. If you see a girl you like, I’ll cap the bid to what I think is reasonable.”
“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
“Italian blood runs through your veins, too, mio amico.” He winks. “You answer that question for me.”
The answer is no. He’s not going to take no for an answer.
“Fine, let’s go.” I just won’t bid.
Salvatore rises with the smile of a devil on his face. “Let’s go.”
I stand and follow him.
He leads me down a private corridor that fills with the club music the moment we walk out. Then we step onto the balcony, where a sea of bodies are dancing below and having sex.
I remember when I first came here and saw it all. I got up to all kinds of hell in college, but even I was shocked.
Salvatore walks along like all the sex that’s happening is nothing.
We pass the club floor, and the music fades as we verge into the hall where the auction is taking place.
A sea of men in tailored suits gathers around a stage washed in gold light with a podium in the center. The air hums with anticipation and hunger carefully dressed up as entertainment.
Salvatore stops by the railing and glances at me. “I hope you find someone to your liking.”
I don’t answer. I’m already calculating how quickly I can leave.
It looks like we’ve arrived between sales. The stage is empty. The host steps back to the center, microphone in hand, and announces the next girl.
“Gentlemen,” he purrs, letting the word stretch. “Our next offering tonight is quite a sweet delight.”
A ripple of excitement moves through the crowd below.
“Introducing… Elodie Harper.”
My body goes still.
For a second, I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. The name hits my mind like a sledgehammer, but it’s so wrong in this place that my brain refuses to process it.
I couldn’t have heard right.
Elodie?
Here?
Must be somebody else. Please be somebody else.
My hands tighten on the balcony rail before I even realize I’ve moved. The room blurs at the edges, sound dropping away until all I can hear is the thud of my own pulse.
I stare ahead at the stage. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
The lights shift.
A curtain parts. And then I see her.
Elodie.
My Elodie.
“No,” I hiss under my breath. “No fucking way.”
She steps out like someone dropped her into the world and told her to survive.
Her hair is down, falling in a soft spill around her shoulders, catching the spotlight as she walks. She’s in sheer lingerie that shows everything. I can’t even say it leaves anything to the imagination.
The thing that looks like a bra exposes the huge swells of her breasts and rosy nipples.
A thin strip of fabric barely covers her pussy and has all the men leaning forward like hungry creatures waiting to devour her.
I could act like I’m immune all I want, but my body doesn’t lie. The sight of her has my cock so hard I can barely contain my breath.
Six-inch heels click against the stage as she takes her place on the podium. And the worst part is the way she holds herself together—chin lifted, spine straight, like she’s wearing armor no one else can see. Like if she lets herself break, she won’t stop.
My stomach turns. I was right. She must be in the desperate kind of trouble to do something like this.
Sell her body.
And look at all these fuckers staring at her. Waiting to bid on her so they can have her.
I have news for them. It’s not going to happen.
“See something you like, friend?” Salvatore asks, amused and oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“She’s mine,” is all I tell him, then I’m moving before he can say anything more.
By the time I reach the stairs, the bidding has already begun. It starts at a grand and rockets upward, scaling to twenty before I even reach the bottom.
“Twenty grand,” the host confirms instantly. “Do I hear twenty-five?”
A paddle lifts in the front. “Twenty-five.”
A third man raises his paddle without even looking at Elodie, like she’s not a person, just a number. “Thirty.”
The crowd hums with excitement.
I keep moving, my blood turning hot.
Elodie’s eyes flick across the faces of the men below her. Her gaze skims the room and then fixes on nothing at all, as if she’s stepped outside her own body to endure it.
Another paddle snaps up. “Thirty-five thousand.”
The number hangs in the air, and a few men turn, considering whether she’s worth more.
I head straight into the aisleway, into the heart of it all. People glance at me as I pass, some recognizing me, some only sensing the shift. Money always recognizes money.
The host smiles. “Thirty-five thousand. Going once—”
“Forty thousand,” I call, my voice cutting clean through the noise.
Every head turns my way.
On the stage, Elodie’s breath catches. Her eyes snap to me like she’s been yanked by a wire, and for a second, she looks like she’s seeing a ghost.
I stop and glare at her, wanting to shout at her.
Fuck. Few things stir me, pull emotion out of me.
This… I can’t even describe what the hell I’m feeling.
I’m mad as fuck. Mad she didn’t come to me. Mad every man’s eyes are glued to her. Mad she’s broken the ironclad control I usually have over my dick.
Another paddle shoots up, breaking the moment. “Forty-five.”
Damn Salvatore. He needs to stop the bidding with me, but he still thinks we’re playing our little game—where he’ll let me stop at what he deems fair. He doesn’t know Elodie shouldn’t be here.
“Fifty,” I bark, louder.
“Fifty-five,” someone challenges from the corner.
“Sixty,” I throw back.
The auctioneer gets a call. Then he raises a hand toward the balcony where Salvatore stands.
I glance up. Salvatore dips his head toward me like he’s just offered me a gift.
“Sorry, gentlemen. The bidding ends here. Boss’ orders,” the auctioneer declares. “Elodie Harper is sold for sixty thousand dollars.”
A rumble of complaints ripples across the room, but that’s all they do. Complain.
No matter what it cost me, I wasn’t going to let them have her.
I look back at Elodie.
Her eyes are already fixed on me with a mixture of shock and terror.
I almost smile.
Yes, little lamb. You’re right to be afraid.
Because now you have to deal with me.
I just bought you.
The thought sparks something dark and forbidden inside me, and when I look at her—practically naked under that spotlight—I become her Dorian Gray.
She wanted a way out.
Congratulations, Elodie.
You just found the devil.