Page 5 of Impure Love

"Good." I clasp my hands in front of me, my gaze locking onto Antonio. "And the witnesses?"

"None, boss. Just some guests who were too drunk to notice anything," Antonio says, his voice faltering slightly.

Luca glances at me, then back at Antonio. "And the cameras?"

"Disabled before anything went down. No footage."

I let the silence hang, watching the unease spread across Antonio's face. He wipes his brow, a nervous tick I've seen a hundred times. He knows I'm waiting for something, but he doesn't know what.

"Any loose ends?" I finally ask, my tone cold and measured. My mind shifts to the girl, the memory of her fear gripping my dick.

"None, boss," Antonio repeats, but his voice wavers. "We covered everything."

"Are you sure?" My eyes narrow, my hands tightening into fists. "Because if there's one thing I hate more than loose ends, it's fucking liars."

Antonio's face pales. "I'm sure, boss. Positive."

I lean forward, the leather chair groaning under the shift. "Good. Because if I find out otherwise, you'll be joining our friend in the usual spot."

The room goes silent again, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Luca clears his throat, breaking the oppressive stillness.

"What's next, boss?"

I lean back again, letting the chair creak in protest. "We keep an eye on things. Make sure nothing else comes up. And Antonio?"

"Yes, boss?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Don't fuck this up."

He nods vigorously, relief washing over his features. "I won't, boss. I swear."

I dismiss them with a wave, and they file out of the room, leaving me alone with Marco and my thoughts. My jaw tightens as I think back to that night.

I lean back in my leather chair, the scent of polished wood and aged whiskey filling the air. My eyes trace the intricate patterns of the Persian rug beneath my feet.

It's been a week since I saw her—since those wide, terrified eyes locked onto mine. Her fear rolled off her in waves, intoxicating, and so goddamn irresistible. I haven't been able to get her out of my head.

I drum my fingers on the desk, the polished mahogany cool under my touch. What was it about her? Why can’t I let this go? The logical part of me knows she should have been eliminated, but there was something about her that made me hesitate.

Im Dante Russo, I don’t hesitate. My trigger finger was ready. That woman should have never been in the room. The entryway was obscured for a reason. And yet just as the man’s body dropped at my feet, the warmth of his blood spilling and filling the space, the door opened and I found myself consumed with the sight of her.

Had it been any of my men in that position, I would have shot them for letting a potential witness get away. And yet, here I am, a confirmed kill under my belt and the witness out in the world with no idea the fuckeery she stumbled into.

I let her live, and I don't even understand why. There’s only one way to figure this out. I have to have her.

She's the one loose end I can't seem to tie up. But another part, a darker, more primal part, wants to see that fear turn into something else.

Marco's eyes linger on me, curiosity gnawing at him. I decide it's time to give him something to chew on.

"Marco,” I say, breaking the silence. “ I need you to find someone.” I sit forward, as his brows shoot up.

"Someone?" he echoes, a hint of surprise. "Who?"

"A woman," I reply, my tone clipped. "She was at the event. Catering staff. Late twenties, Black, curly hair, brown eyes. Slim build."

Marco's eyebrows shoot up. "You saw her?"

I nod. "She saw me."

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