Page 12 of Lord of the Dark

"Naturally... though I rarely register it."

"Really? I'd think you'd be accustomed by now."

He reclined slightly, that dangerous half-smile playing across his mouth. "One grows accustomed to many things, Ms. Robertson. But some... prove far more interesting than others."

"The Dade County deal then," I pivoted sharply to safer ground. "Your thoughts? The price is steep, yet your client seems eager to put fifty million on the table."

My abrupt change of topic drew an amused smirk from Russo. He took a deliberate pause before responding. "My client can afford it," he said, as if stating the obvious. "But I'm interested in your assessment." His voice remained calm, yet the intensity in his gaze left no room for superficialities. "Do you believe the market value will rise in the coming years? Or is this a long-term investment that will only appreciate gradually?"

I gave a slight nod, my fingers tracing the edge of the table as I weighed my words. "The Miami market is volatile right now," I began, meeting his eyes. "There are too many variables at play. But we're talking about Fisher Island—this isn't just any location. Long-term, I see potential for appreciation, even at this price point. Though, of course, much depends on how yourclient, Mr. Thompson, develops the property."

He nodded, as if he'd already considered this. "Thompson is only interested in profitable exits. He doesn’t just buy—he plans for resale. You’re the expert here, Ms. Robertson. How would you proceed?"

His phone lit up at regular intervals—silent but relentless. The frequency of calls and messages surprised me, yet he paid them no mind. His attention never wavered from me, as if nothing else held significance.

"As I outlined in the meeting, I’d advise cautious but strategic maneuvering," I replied. "Secure options for future developments to maintain flexibility. Miami is unpredictable, but with the right approach, this property could far exceed $50 million. The architecture and finishes are exceptional, even by Miami standards."

A sharp smile curled at his lips, as if this was precisely the answer he’d wanted. "Flexibility. A valuable trait in every respect."

The waitress returned with our drinks, setting them down before retreating discreetly. Her gaze flickered over Russo one last time before she disappeared. Yet he didn’t even seem to notice. In this moment, I was his sole focus.

I took a sip of my coffee, then set the cup down softly. "So, Mr. Russo..." I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "Why all of this?" I held his gaze. "The meeting, then immediately to my office, rescheduling your appointments—why go to these lengths?"

He stilled, as if my directness had caught him off guard. His eyes narrowed slightly. "You fascinate me." His words were quiet, almost gentle. "Your strength. Your control. The way you handled my questions in the meeting, how you rose to the challenge—that’s not something I encounter every day."

"I’m sure you have plenty of meetings with people who... operate similarly."

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “They don’t. And that’s for a reason.” His voice dropped, low and edged with something darker. “I don’t let just anyone talk to me like that. But you?” His eyes burned into mine. “You made it interesting.”

Was he trying to warn me?

"And I don’t tolerate disrespect!" My voice cut through the charged air between us. "Why even attend a meeting if you’re not interested?"

He laughed—a low, dark sound that vibrated with genuine amusement. Then he shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His piercing gaze locked onto me, stripping away pretense. "You know, I travel constantly, deal with countless people—but women like you are exceedingly rare."

"And what exactly makes me so special?" I challenged.

He leaned back slightly, as if weighing the question, though I knew he already had the answer. "That... fire." A barely perceptible flicker of intensity sparked in his eyes. "An inner strength most don’t possess."

"That sounds dangerously close to romanticizing," I countered flatly. "You don’t know me."

"Sometimes a moment is all it takes," he replied without hesitation.

"Spoken like a man who’s always certain."

"I’ve learned to trust my instincts. And when something feels right—why hesitate?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to an intimate timbre despite the crowded room. "You, Ms. Robertson, crave challenge. You just haven’t fully surrendered to it yet."

His words struck with unsettling precision. He read me like an open book, and the certainty in his voice unsettled me—even as it pulled me in.

"What do you want?" I demanded, defiance sharpening mytone.

His gaze held mine, the air between us crackling. "You already know," he said finally, so assured it stole my breath. My heart stuttered as the realization hit: he’d crossed the line long ago—the line between professional and personal. But what unsettled me most wasn’t that he’d said it. It was that I’d let him. Some part of me had known from the start.

I studied his face—calm, as if his declaration were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps for a man like him, it was. But for me?

"Well, Mr. Russo," I began, my voice laced with deliberate provocation, "you may have missed it—though your eyes lingered rather extensively on the photo—but I am in a relationship. So tell me, where exactly is this going? You and me?" I searched his face for answers.

He leaned back, the motion exuding victory—and the worst part was, he’d probably already won. "That’s entirely up to you," he said, his smile devoid of triumph or arrogance. Just certainty. "I don’t push. I simply recognize inevitability."

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