Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Robert
My head just got fucked.
Bloody hell.
And now, I can’t stop thinking about her.
My mind goes further than that, slower, darker. Fixating on the way she held herself together, like she didn’t realize how close she was to losing that control.
And I want… I exhale snappily, my jaw ticking.
I want to sink my teeth into her skin, enough to feel her react. Want to drag my tongue over the same spot after, taste the warmth of her, the salt of her skin, the shift in her breath when she realizes exactly what I’m doing.
I exhale slowly but it doesn't help. Because it’s not just the thought, it’s the certainty of it.
I take the staircase instead of the elevator.
Always have.
The first step shifts the air, which is cooler and denser. The buzz of the casino above dulls with each level, like it’s being swallowed whole. By the time I reach the midpoint, the laughter is gone. The music reduced to a faint, distant pulse.
By the time I reach the bottom, there's nothing.
The walls narrow slightly here, a purposeful design. Dark stone without ornament. It’s not meant to impress. It’s meant to contain. To remind anyone who walks this path that they’ve stepped out of spectacle and into something else.
My steps echo once, then disappear into the thick carpet as I move down the corridor toward my private chamber.
Security nods as I pass. Doors unlock before I reach them.
Christine’s face returns without permission. Not the obvious parts or the way she looked in that dress, though that alone would have been enough to hold attention.
It’s the way she reacted.
The flicker in her eyes when she realized I was looking at her. That brief, unguarded second before she pulled herself back together. The restraint. The refusal to give anything away while her body betrayed her anyway.
Petite, but not fragile. There’s weight to her where it matters. Curves that don’t ask for attention but take it anyway, held tight under that red dress like they’re being contained rather than shown.
And her hair is dark enough to feel like it would stain my hands if I touched it, falling around her shoulders like a shadow, framing a face that doesn’t belong in a place like that.
Too… haunting with those eyes.
Silver, catching the light in a way that makes them look almost unreal, like they’re holding something just beneath the surface.
And the freckles… Fuck.
Soft across her cheeks, like something careless was allowed in the middle of all that control. The only part of her that doesn’t feel calculated.
It shouldn’t matter.
It does.
One of my men pushes the door open. I step inside and he shuts it behind me.
Still, she follows.
My private chamber doesn’t resemble anything above ground.
I loosen my cufflinks slowly, my mind replaying the moment she lifted the glass to her lips.
The hesitation… curiosity. The way her throat moved when she swallowed.
Fuck.
These are small things. Irrelevant things. Things that shouldn’t stay. But they do.
I move to the bar, pulling a bottle of whiskey, and pouring two fingers into a glass. I add a pinch of salt and swirl to mix.
I take a sip, letting the burn drag down my throat, hoping it scrapes some of this off me.
It doesn’t.
My body doesn’t ease. If anything, it gets worse.
Every part of me is locked on her.
I set the glass down harder than necessary and move toward the window, watching the men below, the continuous movement of work continuing without interruption.
And all I can think about is dragging her here.
Right here.
Pinning her against this glass, forcing that same body that tried so hard to stay composed to give me something real.
Something unguarded. Something that sounds like it hurts to hold back.
My jaw clenches slightly.
I need to fucking focus.
I shrug off my jacket, draping it over the chair with practiced ease, but my thoughts don’t follow the same discipline.
A soft knock cuts through the silence.
Right on time.
“Come in.”
“Hey you,” Atelia drawls as she steps in, like she’s been expected long before I gave permission.
Her heels announce her first. Six inches of gold catching the low light with every step. They don’t click, they claim the floor. The black dress follows, fitted close to her slender frame, with no excess fabric.
Her hair falls sleek down her back, her posture straight, shoulders set like she’s walking into a space that already belongs to her.
There’s always something in the way she looks at me: familiar, assessing, and edged with a kind of possession she doesn’t bother hiding.
“Yeah.” I drag a hand across my face, grounding myself before I look at her fully.
“Busy night.” Her gaze lingers, noticing more than I’ve said.
She always does. It’s one of the reasons she’s still here.
“You seemed… cozy.” She moves toward the seating area. “You were distracted earlier.” She pokes.
“Was I?” I counter, handing her my glass.
“It’s unlike you to talk to anyone at a bar.” Her lips curve slightly as she takes it.
“There’s always a first time.” I take my seat on the desk.
She studies me a second too long.
Not obvious about it or curious in any harmless way. It’s intenser than that. Like she’s peeling back layers I haven’t offered, looking for something that slipped.
She won’t find it.
She never does.
“What changed?” She asks, finally. Her voice is smooth, but there’s weight behind it. Intent.
“Nothing changed.” My answer comes easily.
Too easy.
“What is it about her?” She presses, stepping closer, like proximity might make me more honest.
It won’t.
“You didn’t come here to talk about her, did you?” I cut in, redirecting without raising my voice.
She pauses. She doesn’t look convinced. Her gaze stays on me, knowing.
She takes a sip and adjusts.
We move into business after that. Numbers. Shipments. Expansions. The pulse of operations that run through everything I own, everything I control.
Yet, there’s a thread of distraction woven through it.
A face. A reaction. A woman who should have been forgettable, but isn’t.
A knock interrupts us.
This one is more urgent.
“That will be all.” I round it up.
She doesn’t move immediately. Instead, she lifts her glass, takes a slow sip like whoever is on the other side can wait, her eyes still on me over the rim.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, almost to herself.
The knock comes again. Slightly firmer this time.
She exhales through her nose, setting the glass down with a soft click.
“Persistent,” she huffs, just this side of dramatic.
That’s Atelia.
Bratty when she wants to be. Intelligent when she needs to be. She’s been in my life long enough to forget where the line is and bold enough not to care. One of the few people who doesn’t adjust herself around me.
I’ve never asked her to.
Wouldn’t.
She’s… constant.
And I don’t part with what’s mine.
“Come in,” I call out.
The door opens.
Enzo steps in, already scanning the room in that quick, efficient way of his. His gaze flicks to Atelia, then back to me, something like amusement tugging briefly at the corner of his mouth.
“Did I interrupt?” He asks, though he clearly doesn’t care.
“Atelia was just leaving,” I tell him.
“Huh?” She turns her head slightly toward me, her brow lifting. “Was I?”
Enzo lets out a chuckle, stepping further inside.
“Don’t let me chase you out. I can come back.” He teases.
“Funny,” she replies smoothly, rising now, unhurried, like the timing was always hers to decide.
She smooths a hand over her dress, then glances between the two of us.
“I’ll leave you boys to whatever this is.”
She pauses beside Enzo as she passes, close enough that it almost feels intentional.
“You look horrible in a leather jacket,” she adds lightly.
“Your taste is questionable, so…” Enzo shoots back, not missing a beat.
She lets out a soft scoff, already moving past him.
To anyone else, it would sound juvenile. Like they’re a decade younger than they are.
They’ve always been this way.
I used to think it would turn into something. That they’d eventually get tired of circling each other and settle into it. Marriage, maybe.
It never happened.
Enzo doesn’t settle. He collects.
Women, cities, marriages that start fast and end faster. Nine, last I counted. Across continents, like it’s a hobby he hasn’t outgrown.
Atelia deserves better than that kind of chaos.
And she knows it.
She doesn’t look back at me when she leaves.
Enzo’s expression shifts almost instantly, the ease draining into something more focused.
“Problem?” I ask.
“There’s a situation upstairs.” He steps closer, lowering his voice out of habit, not necessity. “Daniel has been on a losing streak.”
“And?”
“He can’t cover it.” Enzo exhales subtly.
That gets my attention.
“How much?”
“One point five million,” Enzo tells me the number.
I let it sit, not because it surprises me.
I mean, it's exactly where he was meant to end up.
I gave the instruction myself weeks to let him play when I saw her moving towards him, begging to be seen by him.
I told them to let him win just enough to believe it was skill. And let him lose slowly enough not to feel it mounting.
Until it does.
Until it chokes.
“Bring him,” I order and take my seat behind the desk.
Enzo nods once, already turning, already moving. My right hand in every sense that matters.
If only he knew what he just placed in my hands.
It's not just a man.
Not just a debt.
It's something far more useful.
A few minutes later, the door opens again.
Daniel walks in like a man already losing.
There’s a stiffness to him, the kind that comes from trying to hold together something that’s already cracking. His eyes flick around the room before landing on me, trying to assess, to understand where he stands.
He doesn’t.
Not yet.
“Sit,” I clip.
He does a little too quickly.
I take my time before speaking again, letting the silence span enough to make him feel it.
“You’ve had a difficult night.” I lean back in my seat.
“Yeah.” He exhales, forcing a laugh that sounds anything but. “You could say that.”
“Numbers don’t lie.”
“About that.” His fingers twitch slightly against his leg. “I can fix it,” he adds quickly. “I just need time.”
“Time,” I repeat, like I’m considering it.
I’m not.
“I have assets,” he continues. “Things I can liquidate…”
“You’ve already tried that the last time, Daniel.”
His mouth closes.
There it is.
The first crack.
“I can get the money,” he insists, but there’s less strength behind it now.
I lean forward slightly, studying him the way I studied her.
He shifts under it.
Good.
“Then why are you here?” I ask.
He hesitates. Because he knows. Or at least, he’s starting to.
“I just need an extension,” he finally lets out.
I don’t respond immediately, letting the silence do the work.
People fill the silence when they’re uncomfortable.
They offer more than they should.
They reveal.
And right now, I'm gunning for that.
“I can make it worth your while,” he adds quickly. “Whatever you want.”
There it is.
I tilt my head slightly.
“Whatever?” I repeat.
It's a trap and he hears it.
“Yes.” Still, he steps into it anyway, desperation oozing out of him.
I let my gaze hold his. Unmoving.
And then, like it’s an afterthought, I hit the nail where I need it to drive through.
“What do you have that’s worth that much?”
He swallows, his eyes darting. I can see the options lining up, falling apart just as quickly.
Until one sticks.
It shows on his face before he says it.
“My girlfriend,” he blurts.
Interesting. Disgusting, ugly, but interesting.
“Explain,” I edge him on.
He leans forward slightly, eager now, like he’s found a solution he can live with.
“She’s… she’s beautiful. You must have seen her, didn’t you? At the bar, in a red dress, she was with you…”
I don’t interrupt him.
“She’ll do whatever I ask,” he continues, convincing himself as much as me. “Just… keep her until I figure something out.”
I study him for a long second, pretending this doesn’t make me want to float.
He offers her up so easily, guileless in a way that should irritate me more than it does. Maybe it would, if I hadn’t been quietly hoping it would come to this.
Because really, what right do I have to want someone all to myself? To even think it?
None.
But I’ve never been a man built for restraint. I’m already halfway to hell, so what’s one more sin stacked neatly on top?
“I’ll accept.”
“You do?” Relief floods his face too quickly. He doesn’t understand what he’s just done and that's fine.
“Room 1703,” I tell calmly. “Take her there.”
“Thank you.” He nods, already standing, already moving, like he’s afraid the offer will disappear if he doesn’t act fast enough.
The door closes behind him and the quiet returns, but it feels different now. It feels defined.
I lean back in my chair, the faintest hint of a smile touching the corner of my mouth.
I close my eyes to imagine exactly how this is going to unfold.
My smile fades, something darker taking its place.
If this is the road to hell, at least now, I know exactly why I’m taking it.