Page 7 of Impure Love

Marco continues, "She hasn’t left her apartment in days. I've got footage from outside her building. She’s holed up inside, probably scared shitless."

"Anything on the roommate?" I ask, leaning back in my chair, the leather creaking under me.

"Sophia’s 24, works at the same catering company. Seems to be a good friend, maybe a bit too protective," Marco says. "Could be a problem."

"We'll deal with her if we have to," I say dismissively. "For now, focus on Aliyah. I want her scared but not desperate. Desperate people do stupid things."

"Understood," Marco replies.

Marco leaves, closing the door softly behind him. I pick up the folder again, running my fingers over the edges. Aliyah Blackwood. Such a fucking cock-tease of a name, rolling off my tongue like a promise. I can almost taste the fear she must be drowning in right now.

I lean back in my chair, savoring the feeling of power coursing through me, like a potent drug I can never get enough of. The smooth leather creaks beneath me as I stretch out, basking in the control I wield over every corner of my empire. The sensation is intoxicating, a reminder that I am the master of my fate—and soon, the master of Aliyah's as well.

The city sprawls out below me, a maze of lights and shadows. Each one of those lights represents someone who thinks they’re untouchable, someone who hasn’t yet felt my reach. Aliyah is just one of many, but there’s something about her that’s different. Something that makes me want to break her, to mold her fear into something I can control.

I flip through the folder again, studying the photos of her. She’s beautiful in a raw, untamed way. Not like the polished, plastic women I’m used to. There’s a fire in her eyes, even in the candid shots. A fire I’m going to enjoy extinguishing.

The name Aliyah Blackwood echoes in my mind, a delicious promise of what’s to come. She has no idea what’s coming for her. She’ll see soon enough just who Dante Russo is, what it means to cross my path.

4

ALIYAH

Ihuddle over my bowl of cereal, the clink of my spoon against the ceramic loud in the stillness of our apartment. The milk has gone warm, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m too busy listening to every creak and shuffle outside our door. Every sound is a potential threat, every moment a countdown to something I can’t quite name.

Sophia sits across from me, her eyes heavy with concern. She hasn’t pushed me much this past week, letting me retreat into my shell. But I know her patience has its limits. She finally speaks up, her voice slicing through the silence like a knife.

"You've been acting real fucking strange, Aliyah. You need to tell me what's going on. I can't help if you don't talk to me." Her eyes search me, as if looking for something to help her understand why I've been so weird lately. But she won't find the reassurance she needs.

My memories and fears from that night have my anxieties wound extra tight. I’m horribly on edge and jumpy. I haven’t slept, I look like shit, and I’m obviously having a mental breakdown or something because I keep thinking about that man, the way the space between us vibrated with a depraved sortof connection. A shiver runs through me every time I picture the way his eyes held mine, like I was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

I stir my cereal, keeping my gaze fixed on the soggy loops. “I just need some space, Soph. Dealing with my own stuff.”

"Bullshit." Her eyebrow arches, skepticism etched across her face. “You’ve been holed up here for over a week. What kind of stuff are we talking about?”

I feel shitty lying to her, but what the fuck else can I say? I saw a man that night, and he just happened to be holding a gun and standing over a puddle of blood and a dead body. And even though I'm scared shitless, I'm pretty sure I'm attracted to him, but anyway how’s the weather? Yeah, no fucking way.

I can’t drag her into this mess. "Just... things from my past. You know how it is." Her eyes narrow, and I'm sure she isn't buying it.

"Aliyah, you're my best friend. I can tell when something's really wrong." She reaches across the table, her hand hovering near mine, offering a silent plea for honesty.

I want to spill everything, to let her help carry the weight that's been crushing me. But the image of cold, calculating eyes flashes in my mind. The fact that I’m even having other thoughts of him aside from fear is fucking dangerous. I can’t risk her safety.

"I just need some time, okay?" My voice cracks, and I force myself to meet her gaze. "Please, trust me." I need her to trust me, because right now I can’t even trust myself. How can that man’s attractiveness even be a thing to me? He’s a murderer.

Sophia watches me, her eyes boring into me as if she can see the chaos churning in my head. But she doesn’t press further. She just sighs and leans back in her chair.

“You know, I’m here for you, right? Whatever it is.”

“Yeah, I know.” I force a small smile, but it feels as fake as the stories I’ve been feeding her.

The air is stifling, and the walls seem to be closing in on me. I need to change the subject before she digs any deeper. “So, how’s work been?”

Sophia snorts. “Same old shit. Rich people, ridiculous demands. You know the drill.”

“Yeah, I remember.” I try to keep my tone light, but the memory of that night claws at the edges of my mind.

“You should come back. I mean, not to the catering job, but maybe something else? Something to get you out of this place for a bit?”

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