Chapter 3 #4
I pull a clean glass from the rack, slow and methodical, like my hands aren’t tingling from the memory of Rafael’s voice.
Still, I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
It is too fast.
And I’m not walking away.
I reach for the Dalmore 25, the same bottle I chose before, and pour with careful precision. The smell of it fills the air—smoky, deep, warm. It reminds me of control. Of silence. Of the fire I’m stepping into willingly.
I set the bottle down, slide the glass onto the tray, and turn to walk back toward the table.
My body is moving on autopilot, steps clean, posture straight. I’ve spent years preparing to be the kind of woman who can walk into hell without blinking.
But what I didn’t prepare for—is the interruption.
He comes from the left, stumbling into my path like a storm without direction. Mid-forties. Expensive suit worn too loose, cologne that clings to him like a lie. Drunk.
He sees the tray. Sees me.
“Hey,” he slurs, grin spreading across his face like it belongs there. “You heading somewhere, gorgeous?”
I don’t stop walking. “Excuse me.”
But he’s faster than he looks.
His hand darts out and wraps around my wrist, firm and sweaty. The tray tilts in my other hand, but I manage not to spill a drop.
His grip tightens. “No need to rush. I’ve got a suite upstairs. Real nice one.”
I blink once. “Let go.”
“Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. I’ll make it worth your time. You know who I am?”
I smile tightly. Polite. Controlled. “No.”
“Exactly.” He chuckles. “So maybe you should be a little nicer.”
He leans closer, breath soaked in whiskey, and I have to lock every muscle in my body not to recoil. The tray in my hand is trembling now, not from fear—but from how hard I’m holding back.
“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he murmurs. “Bet it tastes sweet.”
I try again—softer this time. “Sir, I’m assigned to a table. If you don’t let go, I’ll be forced to call?—”
He tugs on my wrist, pulling me half a step toward him. “You don’t need to call anyone, baby. Just say yes.”
I inhale once, sharp and slow.
I’m one second from snapping. From throwing this glass into his face and letting the consequences fall where they may.
But I don’t have to.
Because a shadow moves beside me. Quiet. Heavy. Unmistakable.
A voice follows—low, cold, final.
“Let her go.”
The man’s grip loosens instantly, like he just realized he stepped off a cliff.
I turn my head, slowly.
Rafael stands there.
No jacket. Shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. One hand in his pocket. The other by his side, flexing once before curling back into calm.
His face doesn’t shift. But his eyes?
They are lethal.
The drunk stammers. “I—I didn’t know?—”
“You did.” Rafael takes one slow step closer. “But now you’ll remember.”
The man backs up. A beat passes. Then he turns and stumbles away into the crowd like his soul’s already halfway gone.
I release the breath I’d been holding, the tray in my hand finally steady again.
Rafael’s gaze turns to me.
And for the first time tonight— I don’t know who’s winning anymore.
My fingers tighten around the tray as Rafael’s gaze locks onto mine.
It’s not a question.
Not a threat.
Just absolute control wrapped in perfect calm.
I should look away. I should lower my eyes. I should fall back into the role I came here to play.
But I don’t.
I meet him there—eye to eye.
And for the first time, I realize how dangerous it is to be seen by him.
Not watched.
Not studied.
Seen.
“I had it handled,” I say, voice quieter than I mean it to be.
He doesn’t blink. “You shouldn’t have needed to.”
That lands harder than it should. Somewhere in the back of my ribs, behind the layers of steel I’ve built to survive.
His voice lowers, smooth and steady.
“You’re not to go to anyone’s suite,” he says. “Not unless I request you myself.”
The way he says it— request —makes it sound like a promise. A threat. A contract.
My throat tightens.
“I thought I was just another server,” I murmur.
“You were,” he says simply. “Now you’re my server.”
It’s not flirtation.
It’s claim.
My heart thuds once, hard.
I should push back. I should remind him I’m not property.
But the truth is— this is what I came for. His attention. His authority. His weakness, if I can find it.
So I answer without breaking eye contact. “Understood.”
He steps closer, voice quieter now, meant only for me.
“You’ll work shifts only when I’m here. You’ll serve my table. No one else’s.”
He’s not asking. He’s setting the rules.
And the most dangerous part?
I want to say yes.
Because the closer he pulls me, the deeper I get into his world. And the deeper I get… the more likely he is to slip.
“To be clear,” I say, tilting my head just slightly, “I don’t take orders from most men.”
“You’re not working for most men.”
I hold his gaze for a beat. Then nod once. “Very well.”
His lips twitch like he’s satisfied with the answer—like he knew I’d agree before I even did.
Then he turns and walks back toward the table.
And I follow. Not because I have to. Because this is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
The door isn’t just open.
He’s inviting me in.
As I fall into step behind him, back in that shadow he’s already claimed, my thoughts coil tighter.
He thinks I’m his.
But he doesn’t know that I was never meant to be owned.
I’m here to destroy him.
Or fall with him trying.
Back at the table, I take my place behind Rafael’s shoulder again. No one says anything about the scene that just played out. But I feel it in the shift.
The glances.
The silence.
The respect.
He reclaims his seat like he never left it—like the room belongs to him and only paused in his absence.
The game continues. Cards are dealt. Chips are played. Voices remain low.
And then?—
Footsteps approach. Measured. Familiar.
Nikolai.
His presence rolls over the table like a slow storm. Dark suit, clean lines, expression carved from stone.
He stops beside Rafael’s chair and nods once before his eyes shift to me.
Cool. Calculating. Curious.
“You’ve replaced me already?” he says to Rafael, tone dry.
Rafael lifts his glass without looking at him. “She doesn’t speak unless I ask her to.”
“And yet she’s still far easier to look at,” Nikolai replies.
I offer him a polite, neutral look. Nothing more.
He holds it for a moment, then smirks slightly and sits beside Rafael, his arm resting lazily along the back of the booth.
I stay where I am. Still. Watching. Not blinking.
The table chat shifts into business—something about shipments and a new route being negotiated.
I let the words wash over me, listening but not reacting.
Every name. Every city. Every nod. I catalog them all.
Then, from Rafael’s left, the woman in red leans in.
Her hand grazes his arm as she tilts her head and smiles like her lips were made to be bitten.
“Why don’t we take a break,” she purrs, her voice soft and thick with suggestion, “and go upstairs? I promise I’ll make it worth your time.”
The smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
Rafael doesn’t even look at her.
He lifts his glass, takes a slow sip, then sets it down again.
“No.”
That’s it. One word. No explanation. No apology.
The woman blinks once, her lips parting slightly like she’s not used to being dismissed. But he’s already looking away. Conversation flows around her like she was never there.
And I?
I don’t smile.
But I feel it.
Because now I know—when Rafael wants something, he doesn’t share his attention.
And tonight, it was on me.
Nikolai’s phone buzzes, and he glances at it once, sighs under his breath, and rises from the table.
Rafael doesn’t acknowledge it, but I notice the subtle glance he sends after him.
A few minutes pass. Then Nikolai returns, leaning down and murmuring something low into Rafael’s ear.
I see the shift immediately.
The way Rafael’s jaw tenses. The way his fingers curl once around the rim of his glass.
He stands. Smooth. Composed.
But with purpose.
He turns to me, eyes cutting through the quiet.
“You’re done for the night,” he says, tone cool but final. “Go home.”
Not a question.
A dismissal.
Like my shift doesn’t end with the clock—but with him
I nod once. “Understood.”
I turn without waiting for more, leaving the table, the glittering floor, the fire at my back.
The second I step beyond the staff door, the noise dulls, the lights fade, and I feel my breath return in a single, sharp exhale.
“Iz.”
Kellan’s voice hits my ear again, quieter now. More careful.
“You good?”
I keep walking through the hallway, past the break rooms and storage closets, my heels echoing softly behind me.
“Iz, say something. Just give me a sign you’re?—”
“I’m fine,” I murmur under my breath, low enough that only he can hear.
“What the hell happened back there?”
Everything.
And not enough.
I don’t answer. I just reach the door, swipe out with my ID, and step out into the cold night air.
The chill hits instantly.
But the heat I left behind?
Still clings to me like smoke.
The cold air bites harder the farther I walk.
Each step echoes off the pavement of the private lot behind the hotel, heels clicking in sharp contrast to the silent pulse of my thoughts.
The street lamps cast a faint gold over the sleek black SUV parked ahead. My breath fogs in front of me, my hands still curled slightly from tension I haven’t released since Rafael stood up and told me to go home.
Like it was that simple. Like walking away from him doesn’t still feel like I’m leaving a room with a lit fuse.
I spot the car—and then movement. Kellan rounds the corner of the building fast, eyes locked on me like I’m bleeding. Ash appears behind him, keys already out.
They both slow the second they see I’m not hurt.
Just… here.
Present.
But I see it in their eyes—the worry they didn’t let show in my ear. The restraint it took to stay out of the lion’s den.
Kellan pulls open the back door as I approach. “Get in.”
I slide inside without a word.
Ash moves to the driver’s seat, door slamming shut just before the engine purrs to life. The heater kicks on, humming low, warming the air that still feels too cold.
Kellan turns in his seat, looking back at me.
“You’re quiet,” he says carefully.
“I’m thinking.”
Ash pulls out of the lot, merging into the main road. “Thinking about how close you were to setting that entire place on fire?”
I lean my head back against the seat, eyes on the ceiling. “Thinking about how easy it would’ve been.”
Kellan exhales through his nose. “You let him get too close, Iz.”
I blink once. “I wanted him to.”
“No,” he snaps. “You planned to. Doesn’t mean you wanted to.”
I don’t answer.
Because that silence says more than I want it to.
Ash glances at me in the mirror. “Was it worth it?”
My eyes drift to the window, the city lights blurring past like ghosts.
“I heard names,” I murmur. “Shipments. Routes. He trusts Nikolai like a brother. The others don’t speak unless he lets them.”
I pause. Swallow.
“He dismissed a woman who offered herself like a prize. But he listened when I spoke.”
Kellan leans back, staring at me. “That doesn’t scare you?”
“It should.”
And it does.
But I won’t admit that. Not even to them. Not when the real fear isn’t Rafael’s power or the world I’m walking into.
It’s how easily I matched him tonight. How natural it felt to stand at his side. And how much I didn’t want to walk away.
The car hums softly as it cuts through the city streets, headlights painting the world in fleeting streaks of white and shadow.
I don’t say much. None of us do. Because tonight was more than just a mission. It was a shift. In control. In power. In me.
And we all feel it.
Kellan breaks the silence first, turning slightly in his seat to look back at me.
“We’re staying at your place tonight.”
It’s not a question.
I raise an eyebrow. “You think I’m going to get jumped in the elevator or something?”
Ash glances at me in the rearview mirror. “No. We think you’re gonna pretend you’re fine until you’re not, and we’d rather be down the hall when that happens.”
I huff a quiet laugh, but it dies quick. “I’m not going to fall apart.”
“We know,” Kellan says. “That’s the problem.”
The words hit harder than they should. Because they’re right.
I’m not going to fall apart.
But there’s a part of me that wants to —just for a second. Just to let this weight fall somewhere safe before I pick it up again.
“You saw the way he looked at you?” Ash asks, voice low but sharp. “Like he already thinks you belong there.”
I glance out the window. “That’s the point.”
“Yeah,” Kellan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “And it scares the hell out of me.”
A beat of silence. I don’t answer. Because it scares me, too. In a way that has nothing to do with the mission.
We turn down my street, the high-rise glowing like a crown above the rest of the skyline.
My building.
My home.
My war room.
Ash pulls into the private garage entrance beneath it, entering the code without needing to look, and the gates slide open like always—silent, smooth, practiced.
We pull into my reserved space. The car stops. The engine hum fades.
And still—none of us move.
Because walking in means tonight is over.
And none of us are ready to let it go just yet.