Page 2 of Unspoken Obsession

The fabric is metallic and when I move, it flows around me, looking like molten liquid. It's exquisite. And so soft against my skin. The warm tones complement my blonde hair, which is pinned up in a high bun, leaving a few loose waves around my face, hugging my jaw.

I feel like a goddess.

Russo River Casino is everything my father despises. A shining beacon of what he can't control. The very reason I find myself drawn here anytime I can sneak out. Maybe it's reckless, coming to a place so entangled with his rivals. But recklessness is what I crave. It's what I need.

I slip on my mask as I approach the grand ballroom—a delicate thing of gold filigree that matches the dress perfectly. Behind the mask, I'm no longer the daughter of one of the most feared men in Vegas.

Tonight, I'm invisible. A ghost among them. No one knows who I am. They don't need to.

I'm just…me. The woman I rarely get to be. For a few hours, I can pretend.

Stepping into the ballroom feels like entering a different world. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, casting soft, glittering light over the sea of masked figures. The air smells of wealth—cigars, expensive perfume, and aged whiskey. It's a masquerade, which means I could be anyone. And tonight, I intend to be.

I grab a champagne flute from a passing server, letting the bubbles tickle my throat as I survey the crowd. Laughter, music, the soft murmur of hushed conversations—it all blends together into a seductive symphony.

I take a deep breath. Tonight, I can breathe.

As I make my way towards the bar, I feel eyes on me. Men's gazes slide over my body, their expressions dark with intrigue. But none of them matter. They're nothing but pawns in a gamethey don't even realize they're playing. Men who would cower if they knew who I truly was.

The bartender barely glances up as I reach the counter, his hands busy polishing a glass. "Whiskey, neat," I say, my voice carrying the weight of someone who's used to getting what she wants.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, surprised, but doesn't comment. He's smart enough to know when not to ask questions.

"A whiskey? That is an interesting choice for a lady," a voice says from my right. Deep. Masculine. The kind of voice that commands attention.

I glance over, and for a moment, the world stops.

The man standing beside me is tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders that fill out the black fabric of his tailored suit. The suit screams power and money. Mafia. Most likely someone high-ranked.

His mask, a sleek piece of black leather, frames his eyes so intensely blue they almost seem to glow against the richness of his dark hair. His strong jawline is shadowed by a hint of stubble, adding a rugged, almost dangerous edge to his otherwise polished appearance.

"You should never judge a book by its cover," I say, looking up at him.

"But the cover of this book says the story is more than meets the eye. A beautiful, but deadly tale of adventure and - passion."

A smile sneaks onto my face.

He is smooth.

My heart thunders. Like drums pounding in a rhythm so wild, I force myself to take a breath. His bright blue eyes are like a whirlpool that I am drowning in. They are piercing into me, and I can't look away. Even with the mask covering half his face, I can tell he isn't just handsome - he is drop-dead gorgeous.

"And what's your drink of choice?" I ask, turning my body slightly to face him. The dress clings to my skin, the slit parting just enough to catch his attention.

He doesn't look down, though. His eyes stay locked on mine. "Whiskey. Neat. Same as you."

My lips curve into a slow smile. "A man after my own heart."

"Or trouble," he counters, his gaze darkening just enough to send a shiver down my spine. "Depends on how you look at it."

"What can I call you?" His voice vibrates through me. Why do I have the sensation that I've encountered him before? Like I am acquainted with him? Like I was supposed to meet him.

"You choose."

"Alright, little fox."

He slides my whisky over to me and when I take it from him our fingers touch, sending sparks flying between us.

"And what do I call you?" I ask.

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