Emily
I am lying on my bed, my gaze lost in the cracked ceiling of my hotel room. The pale morning light pierces through the half-open curtains, casting faint shadows on the floor. My body is still numb from the night before, but my mind is in turmoil.
Victorio.
I close my eyes, but his face imposes itself on me. That dark, burning gaze, that way of devouring me with his eyes as if I were already his. That wild, possessive kiss, the shiver that ran down my spine when he whispered, "You are mine."
My heart races at the memory, but a wave of panic immediately mixes in. I sit up suddenly, breathing heavily. What am I doing? This is a mission, not a romance. Victorio Moretti is a target, not a lover.
— Damn, I whisper, running a trembling hand through my hair.
I get up and dash into the shower, letting the cold water bring me back to reality. But even the biting cold doesn't erase the warmth he left on my skin. My lips still tingle from the kiss he stole.
He is playing with me. He knows. He knows I feel this tension, this uncontrollable fire. And he is amused by it.
I step out of the shower, wrap a towel around my body, and stare at my reflection in the foggy mirror. My gaze is troubled, my cheeks flushed. Another version of me is staring back. A weaker version. A version that could make a fatal mistake.
— Get a grip, Emily, I murmur. It's just a mission.
But even repeating it, I don't really believe it.
—
Two hours later, I am back in front of the club. This time, night has not yet fallen, and the building's facade is shrouded in darkness. The club is closed, but I know he is there. He is waiting for me.
I step out of my car, my heels echoing on the wet pavement. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag as I walk toward the side entrance. Two men in black suits are stationed in front of the door. One of them watches me with a smirk.
— Does the lady have an appointment?
I do not respond. I fix my gaze on his until he looks away. The other guard opens the door without a word.
A long, dimly lit corridor stretches before me. My footsteps echo in the silence, and the further I go, the louder my heart beats in my chest.
At the end of the corridor, a massive wooden door. I knock once.
— Come in.
His voice. Deep, slow, controlled.
I open the door. Victorio is seated in a black leather armchair, a cigarette between his fingers. The bay window behind him reveals a sweeping view of the city. He looks up at me, a smile grazing the corner of his lips.
— Emily.
I stand before him, arms crossed.
— Why did you call me?
He slowly crushes his cigarette in a crystal ashtray.
— Sit down.
— No. Tell me what you want.
A glimmer of amusement crosses his gaze. He rises slowly, his imposing figure dominating the room. He approaches me with the slowness of a predator.
— It's you I want, Emily.
I clench my jaw.
— Stop playing.
He stops just inches from me, his gaze locked onto mine.
— Do you think I'm playing?
His hand brushes my cheek, and despite myself, I shiver.
— This is not a game, Emily. Not for me.
I take a step back, but he follows, his dark gaze trapping me.
— Do you want to know why I called you?
His hand glides over my neck.
— Because you are losing control. And I want to see how far you are willing to go.
My heart races.
— Do you think you're so strong?
He chuckles softly, a rough and dangerous sound.
— Oh, I am.
His hand grips my waist, and this time, I do not pull back.
— Do you feel that? he whispers against my skin.
His mouth brushes my jaw, slowly descending toward my neck. I bite my lip to suppress a moan.
— This fire between us? It's not a game.
— Stop, I murmur.
— Tell me if you want me to stop.
His lips land on my neck, just below my ear. I close my eyes, breath short.
— Emily…
I give in. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him with desperate intensity. He responds immediately, his tongue claiming mine with possessive brutality. He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist.
He presses me against the wall, his body pressed against mine. My nails dig into his neck as he kisses me harder, deeper. His dark, musky scent intoxicates me.
— You are mine, Emily, he murmurs against my mouth.
My breath quickens.
— Maybe. But you are mine too.
He laughs against my lips.
— We'll see about that…
His hand slides under my dress, caressing my bare thigh. A shiver runs down my spine.
— I am going to break you, Emily.
I lock my eyes with his.
— You can try.
His smile widens.
— Challenge accepted.
He kisses me again, and this time, I completely lose myself in the kiss. In the heat, in the poison he is pouring into my veins.
When he sets me down on the floor, my legs are trembling. He gazes at me, a glint of shadow in his eyes.
— You will be the one begging me, Emily.
I lift my chin.
— We'll see.
He approaches one last time, his breath brushing against my cheek.
— I will consume you.
I smile slowly.
— Maybe. But remember one thing, Victorio: even the deadliest poison can be mastered.
I turn away and leave the room, my heart pounding.
In the dark corridor, I lean against the wall for a moment, my hands trembling.
I am playing with fire.
And Victorio is the flame ready to reduce everything to ashes.