Chapter Fourteen
Rodion
I sat alone in the sitting area of my quarters, the faint tick of the old clock grating on my nerves.
My fingers drummed against the sofa’s armrest, eyes locked on the laptop on my lap.
The door creaked open, and I looked up, expecting Alessia, but Matvet walked in.
Alessia has been avoiding her maid duties, hiding instead.
Matvet stood in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside. “Boss,” he started. “Alessia knows something about the poison.”
That I already knew.
“Yes. I’m aware,” I muttered. My eyes stayed fixed on the door.
I wasn’t a fool. One look at a person, and I could read through them.
When she served me food that night, I saw the shift in her eyes and the weight behind her fake act.
I knew she was planning something. But it never occurred to me she would poison the food.
Matvet hesitated. “Should we question her?”
The question hung in the air as rage tightened my chest. Because of the attack, they seized the chance to sabotage my shipment. They planned to spark chaos here while the rest destroyed my billion-dollar cargo. And they used her.
“Go bring her.”
Matvet nodded and left. The moment I was alone, I marched upstairs to my room. I needed my phone. I had a lot to deal with, and when I scrolled through the messages, Dmitri’s message got my attention.
I was about to dial his number when the door creaked open, and there Alessia stood.
She looked like she was carrying the weight of the world.
Redness rimmed her eyes, and her lashes carried the telltale signs of tears, but I didn’t care.
I dropped the phone on the bed and took a step toward her.
Instead of confessing, she stepped back.
Her chest rose and fell as if she were fighting to stay calm.
The door clicked shut, the sound of it trapping her. She couldn’t even look into my eyes because she wasn’t ready to speak. If she thought this was a game, she wouldn’t win.
“Do you want to talk?” I asked. “Or do you want to find out what happens when I start talking?”
Her eyes flickered with something unspoken, but she didn’t respond. She was shaking, and I hadn’t started with her yet. Her silence sent anger surging through my veins. I was barely holding on to calm. Hell, I had been willing to play along for a while, but not anymore.
Salva and Marco used her, and she still couldn’t see it. She was stubborn. They tortured her father, and now they were watching her like a puppet on a string. I wanted her admission, just as she once swore she was innocent. I needed her to look me in the eye and tell me the truth.
“Alessia, I asked a damn question.” Her body recoiled as if she could disappear beneath the weight of my words. “Look the fuck at me and start talking!”
“I’m s…sorry,” she cried, her shoulders shaking.
Knowing the perfect place to break her, I moved closer. It would remind her who I was. I grabbed her hair and dragged her to the hidden door behind my closet. No one knew it was there—my torture room.
It was small, built to break whoever stepped inside. The oxygen was scarce. When the heater was on, it became unbearable, especially with the door shut. Only my fingerprint could unlock it, and no one but me knew it existed. It was my personal torture chamber. I use it to remind myself who I was.
Her body slammed against the walls as I threw her inside. She gasped, but I wasn’t done. I followed her in, the door clicking shut behind me.
“You’ll wish you had told me everything before I brought you here.” I moved closer, watching her squirm. “Silence has a price. And you’re about to pay for it.”
Her head shook, her chest rising and falling faster. Her eyes darted to the door, searching for an escape. But there was no way out for her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
A smile curled at the edge of my lips as I approached her, trapping her against the wall.
“Wrong answer,” I told her.
The look in her eyes stirred something in me that I thrived on. It wasn’t about weakness but control. The ability to make someone feel small, even before I began.
Her shallow breaths were music to my ears. She realized she was helpless, and I could make it worse. I wanted to.
“Tell me what you know,” I ordered.
“I will. Just … just give me time, please.” I noticed how she pressed her hands against her chest, as if she was hiding something. It was the same damn behavior she pulled at the party. And I remembered all too well the sight of Salva’s hands on her chest.
“Time?”
She nodded quickly. “I promise.”
My hands moved against her back. Her warm skin quickened my pulse. I leaned in closer, my fingers brushing against the fabric of her shirt as I reached for her bra.
Her breath hitched.
“Don’t,” she whispered. She wasn’t as defiant as she seemed. I let out a quiet scoff. Her behavior told me I was right. She was hiding something. The way her hand kept drifting to her chest, gripping it like she was guarding a secret. She was afraid, but she wasn’t ready to break.
Stepping back, I said, “You fail to speak, you lose. Take off your top.”
Her eyes widened. She looked at me as though her eyes would make me change my order. But I was in control here, not her.
“Sir—” She paused when I pulled out my gun. Her hands trembled as they reached for the buttons of her shirt. She didn’t undo it. “Okay, I will talk.”
“Too late.”
The shirt came off first, and I took her smooth skin in.
I let my gaze trail over her body, savoring every inch of her.
She was a mess of contradictions: fear, defiance, desire, all mixed into one.
But the more she tried to cover her chest, the more it fed my hunger.
I couldn’t let her go until I had everything I wanted. And I would make her give it to me.
“Take off the bra,” I demanded again.
She flinched, but there was a shift in her. She was submitting, not because she wanted to, but because she was hiding something from me, something that was eating her up.
“No,” she murmured, but I didn’t need her to say it. I knew what would happen next.
Pulling her against me, I reached for her bra to unhook it, but her whispers caught me. “He’ll kill her, if I don’t do what he wants.” Alessia gripped her left breast so hard to hold together what she was hiding there. “Please.” She cried against my chest. “I’ll tell you, just give me time.”
Her shoulders trembled. I knew her well enough to know she always spoke the truth to save herself.
But this time, the way she held herself was different.
Someone had gotten to her and threatened her.
And fuck me, I was falling into it. I let her drag this out, giving her time she didn’t earn.
I paused, my hand dropping from her bra and landing on her ass by a damn mistake. I didn’t move back.
Her tears soaked through my shirt, and instead of making her submit, fuck, I let her control me. Why? Because I believed she’d tell the truth? Or because her whispers and the heat of her skin anchored something in me I wasn’t ready to face?
I was on the edge, seconds from snapping. But no, I kept her because she was a tool, a pawn in the game I played with my enemies. Not because her round ass perfectly fit against my palm, as if it were made for it.
Without warning, I shoved her off me, and she slammed into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her. I stormed out, the heavy door locking behind me.
Back in my room, I stared at the door, my jaw clenched.
My cock throbbed against my pants, stiff with rage and something filthier.
And I fucking hated it. She was nothing.
That ass was nothing I hadn’t touched a hundred times over.
And her tits? Please. Not even close to the type or size strippers shoved in my face every other night.
I cursed under my breath and grabbed my bulge hard, like I could punish it back into submission. I needed to focus and get my goddamn head back in the game. Grabbing my bike keys and phone, I left to meet Dmitri.
The roar of the motorbike cut through the night as I pulled up in front of the club. The bass of the music thumped hard enough to make the ground vibrate. I got off and headed for the entrance. This was my sanctuary, one of my most prized properties, where power and pleasure collided.
Inside, the laughter, yelling, and music grew louder, a chaotic symphony of indulgence. I bypassed the crowded main floor and climbed the stairs to the private balcony, where I could see everything.
Neon lights danced, casting shifting shadows across the sea of bodies below. Men and women moved in a primal rhythm, a mess of grinding hips and raised hands. Alcohol flowed, fueling their ecstasy. They appeared satisfied.
Seven strippers worked the room. Each one was a vision of seduction as they entertained the desperate and the depraved.
Some patrons tossed bills onto the stage, eager for a closer look.
Others fought over their proximity to the naked women.
I spotted a chubby, middle-aged man slouched in the far corner, a cigar clenched between his teeth as a stripper twerked on his lap. He looked like he had found paradise.
Satisfied that everything was running well, I moved to the opposite side. I positioned myself where I had a clear view of the casino, two floors down, right beneath me. The polished tables gleamed under dim lights, surrounded by men in tailored suits and their barely dressed mistresses.
This was where I made the real money: dark roulettes and high-stakes bets. The type of gambling that left men begging for redemption. My smirk deepened when I noticed the governor’s son nursing a drink, his escort draped over him like a second skin. He never missed a night here.