Page 11 of Tormented Oath

God, the things I want to tell her. How she fits into every dark dream, every future plan, every possessive impulse I've ever had. Instead, I reach past her to open my office door, letting my arm brush her shoulder.

"That depends on you, doesn't it?"

The office is my sanctuary, all dark wood and leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. I watch her take it in, noting how her eyes linger on the security features again.

"All dancers get private changing rooms," I continue, moving to my desk. "Access to the gym, the spa facilities. Housing, if needed." I look up, catching her gaze. "The building next door has secure apartments. Unless you'd prefer...other arrangements."

Her laugh is sharp, practiced. "Are you offering to be my landlord, Stefano?"

The sound of my name on her lips nearly undoes me. "I'm offering whatever you need."

"Careful." She prowls closer, all feline grace and deadly beauty. "A girl might get the wrong idea."

Wrong idea? Every idea she could have would be right. I want her in my bed, in my life, under my protection and my control. But first I need to know why she’s here.

"The real estate discussion can wait. Let me show you the rest."

I move toward the door, and she follows me back to the corridor. We move through the VIP rooms, the secure areas, the places where business meetings—legitimate and otherwise—take place.

I explain security protocols, dancer protections, payment structures. All the while, I watch her from the corner of my eye, assessing her reactions, searching for clues to her true purpose here.

The tour brings us to the heart of the club—the main floor, currently empty, but humming with potential energy. Music throbs through hidden speakers, and lights paint patterns across the walls. Here, in my domain, I feel more in control.

"Impressed?" I ask, noting how she runs her hand along the polished bar.

"It's not what I expected." She turns to face me, backlit by purple neon. "You're not what I expected."

"No?" I step closer, drawn by the challenge in her voice. "What did you expect, Ava?"

She leans back against the bar, a move that does sinful things to her silhouette.

"The Stefano I knew couldn't wait to escape all this.”

"And now I run the family business." I close the distance between us, resting my hands on the bar on either side of her. Not touching, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. "Like I said, life has a way of changing our plans."

Her eyes search my face. "Do you hate it? Being trapped?"

The question catches me off guard—it’s so genuinely Ava, cutting straight to the heart of things. For a moment, I see another flash of the girl who used to read my soul like an open book.

"I've made peace with it." I lean closer, breathing in her scent. "Found ways to make it my own."

"Like this club?" Her voice has gone slightly breathless, but she holds her ground.

"Among other things." I reach up, unable to resist touching her face, brushing back a strand of hair. She trembles slightly. "The apartments next door, for instance."

A smile tugs at her lips. "Right…about the living arrangements…”

"The apartment is yours if you want it." I move closer, ostensibly to pour both of us a drink. My arm brushes hers as I reach for the whiskey, and I feel her shiver slightly. "Though I meant what I said about...other options."

"Careful, Stefano." She straightens, bringing our bodies dangerously close. "A girl might think you're propositioning her."

"And if I am?"

Her breath catches, but she meets my gaze steadily. This close, I can count her eyelashes, see the gold flecks in her dark eyes, taste her breath on my tongue.

"That would be highly inappropriate," she murmurs, but she doesn't move away. "Employer-employee relations and all that."

I let my hand trail down her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in its wake. "When have we ever been appropriate, Ava?"

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