Chapter 24
Roxy
Something heavy rests against my back. I blink myself awake, only to find a tattooed arm curled protectively around me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, memories flooding back of those hands touching my body last night while the man behind me had his mouth making me see stars.
I should've kicked him out of bed, but my body staged a mutiny and decided to take full advantage of my future husband, who seemed hell-bent on delivering every orgasm I was owed. And since I believe my body deserves a little indulgence, I gave in.
But it's not just my body that's starting to surrender. My heart is too. Would it really be so terrible if I let myself believe everything this man says?
"Your thoughts are too damn loud," the source of my emotional debate grumbles.
I turn toward him, not missing the fact that I don't push him away. Instead, I rest my hands on his chest, and his grip automatically tightens around me.
"I was thinking about how you manipulated me last night," I say, and before I can stop myself, I close my eyes and inhale against his neck.
Why the hell does he smell like leather, amber, and musk? And why do I want to press my lips where his pulse beats, just to see if he tastes the same?
A growl rumbles through him, and I open my eyes.
"Again, your thoughts are too loud, Roxanne."
"Don't be ridiculous. You have no idea what I was just thinking," I tell him, though my slightly breathless tone gives me away.
To avoid jumping him myself, I scramble out of bed even though it takes effort to break free from his embrace.
Damien flexes his arms behind his head, watching me.
“My sex drive peaks in the morning, baby. Your loss.”
My mouth falls open slightly, and I swallow hard without meaning to.
"Oh, I don't doubt it," I mutter before shutting the bathroom door behind me.
My eyes land on the mirror, and I can't help but grimace. My eyes are puffy, I have pillow creases on my left cheek, and my hair looks like a bird's nest.
Not to mention I look slightly worn out.
How could a man like him find you attractive?
Especially when you look this haggard? How many times do you think he'll accept being pushed away before he says to hell with it and runs to someone else?
You really think he doesn't have a whole lineup waiting for him at that club?
Your hair's dull, and you ate too much again and it shows on your hips, Roxy.
I press my palms to my temples, willing Ivette’s voice to stop echoing in my head.
"Shut up. Please," I whisper.
After a few moments, my mind clears enough for me to go through my morning routine.
When I'm confident I won't scare any of Damien's employees if I leave the room, I exit the bathroom and find the man in question pulling a black shirt over his torso.
His gaze finds me the moment I step into the room, that easy smile lighting his face.
“I still have a few things to prep for the reception, but otherwise we’re set,” I tell him, moving toward the closet, hoping motion will steady my nerves.
“Good. I’ll be at the club all day, but if you need anything, just call.”
It sounds normal, yet something uneasy tugs at me. Is someone else waiting for him at that club? Oh, just stop it! He has business to attend to!
I sense him behind me before I see him, the quiet shift of air giving him away. When I turn, his hands are already reaching to cup my face. His thumbs brush the corners of my jaw as he kisses each cheek with surprising tenderness.
He turns to leave, but I reach for his hand. He pauses, raising his brows in silent question. Before I can talk myself out of it, I push up onto my toes and return the gesture, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks.
He goes still, the air between us heavy.
I search for something, anything, to ease the tension. “Any word on The Bloody Dahlia?” I ask, my voice softer than I expect.
It takes him a moment to find his composure. When he finally speaks, his tone is low and measured.
“No. I’ve started going through the file and asking questions. I don’t want to tell you anything until I have solid answers. What I can say is that some things were swept under the rug far too easily.”
"Like what?"
"The investigation closed in less than a month. The suspect list contained two people, one of whom didn't even fit the profile the police prepared. Someone had money or influence and made sure this case got buried."
I listen because I felt the same thing. When I grew up and could look into the case myself, Henry told me the exact same thing. No matter how many doors he knocked on, people turned their backs.
"Thank you, Damien. I know this is eating up your time and resources."
"For you, it's a small price."
He squeezes my hand then turns and leaves, leaving me watching the door for a few seconds.
I turn back to my laptop, determined to catch up on everything I still need to prep for the upcoming events.
A new email from Marco Agosti catches my eye.
It’s brief and to the point, saying he has another party that needs organizing and wants to work with me again.
For a moment, I hesitate. He’s still a client, but there’s something about him that gives off unmistakable mafia vibes.
He’s just another client, Roxy.
After confirming I can take on the event, I glance at another email that came in right after.
What the hell? My heart slams against my ribcage, ice flooding my veins because the email contains only one sentence: "I steal the sun’s light to rule the night—what am I?"
What is this?
I read it twice, and when understanding clicks into place, I check the sender, and of course it’s a generic address, johndoe@.
My hand shoots for my phone, fingers already dialing my best friend.
PICK UP, LUNA!
"The person you are currently calling cannot be reached."
Roman. Roman must be with her.
Several seconds pass while my entire body goes cold, every nerve ending screaming danger. Then the Russian mafia pakhan’s voice crackles through the line.
"TELL ME LUNA'S WITH YOU!"