Page 91 of Lord of the Dark

"Over my dead body," she shot back, her voice like ice.

A grin tugged at me—unwilling, but her defiance amused me. I leaned back. "Exactly. So I didn’t have a choice."

She scoffed, turning her head away, but I didn’t relent. "Giovanni contacted me right before the meet," I began, my voice steady. "The situation in Colombia was... brutal. It wasn’t a question of if I’d go. I had to go."

Fiona didn’t turn back, just kept staring at the dark wall of the room, her shoulders stiff, defensive. "You’re such a fucking liar," she muttered, barely louder than a whisper. "Just another story you made up."

"Look at me."

Her eyes flashed as she finally turned back to me, full of fire and pain. "Then why," she demanded, voice sharp, "didn’t you send me one fucking message? Anything! Instead, you pull this shit and treat me like garbage!"

Her voice broke, and I could see how hard she was fighting to hold back the tears. It hit me like a punch to the gut. She had to understand there had been no other choice—no matter how much pain it caused. I held her gaze, her eyes burning with fury.

"My distance was necessary," I began. "Men like Thompson are always looking for weaknesses. And when they find one, they exploit it. Without hesitation."

"Oh please, he called you Alessandro. You acted like best friends," she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I studied her in silence. She understood so little about the circles I moved in. In her world, politeness and a smile meant something. In mine, they were usually nothing more than weapons.

"In my world, Fiona, a smile means nothing. A name, a handshake, even a friendly tone—it’s all just a façade. Moves in a power game you don’t even begin to understand."

Her eyes narrowed, and I saw her anger flare. "So you just lie to everyone? Pretend to be their friend when you don’t give a damn about them?"

"It’s not lying," I replied calmly. "It’s strategy. Kindness is currency. You spend it when it benefits you, but you don’t get attached." I leaned back, hands slipping into my pockets, still watching her. "Thompson calls me Alessandro because he thinks it puts us on equal footing. But trust me, he knows as well as I do that’s an illusion."

"An illusion?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Then explain why you even work with him if you despise him so much."

I tilted my head, studying her with a mix of amusement and frustration. "Because he’s useful. And as long as he’s useful, he’ll be treated like he matters. In my world, no one is truly a friend. There are only allies and enemies—and the line between them can shift in the blink of an eye."

"That’s sick."

I shrugged. "It’s not sick. It’s the unspoken rule. Everyone gets to choose whether they use it to their advantage or remain nothing more than a pawn." Her expression was pure revulsion. "What do you think would’ve happened if I’d strolled through the villa holding your hand? You think Thompson would’ve accepted you as ‘my girl’? Or do you think he would’ve had you snatched at the first opportunity, just to have leverage over me?"

Fiona fell silent, her lips pressed tightly together. She understood.

"That’s what I thought," I said mockingly. I leaned back again, letting her sit with her thoughts for a moment. "While you were here wondering why I treated you ‘like garbage,’ I was in Colombia trying to clean up a goddamn mess."

I paused, dragging a hand through my hair before continuing. "Morales—he was my most important man on the ground—defected to the cartel. He turned against me, fed them intel that put our entire operation at risk. It was a massacre... a fucking nightmare."

I looked at her, letting the words sink in. "It wasn’t easy for me either," I added finally.

"Yeah, I’m sure," she sneered. "Maybe you should ask yourself why your most important man turned on you in the first place." Her voice was sharp, laced with venom. "I have a lot of sympathy for him, actually."

I stared at her for a long moment, carefully choosing my next words to keep from escalating.

"You’re hurt—I get that. I’ve explained why I had no other choice." A deliberate pause, letting it settle. "But if you insist, we can always switch programs. I’ve got an interrogation for unauthorized drug possession on standby. You should really see how good I am at it."

She looked at me with that impenetrable, unreadable expression—one that might seem like indifference to an outsider. But I knew her better. I saw the flicker in her eyes—that dangerous mix of defiance, pain, and an unbreakable will.

Then came the explosion.

She lunged, kicking out at my knee with full force—an attack out of nowhere. Instinctively, I twisted aside. Her leg missed me by a hair’s breadth. I straightened, watching her.

A faint smirk tugged at my lips. "That wasn’t very smart," I remarked coolly.

But inwardly... inwardly it seethed. My skin prickled, my heartbeat faster. This woman was driving me insane. And yes, it made me hard. In a primitive way. She wasn’t weak. No toy. No willing doll. She was my equal. My opposite. And that made her so damn desirable.

Her beautiful dark eyes grew even darker, narrowing into aggressive slits. "You want to interrogate me for drugs you planted on me?"

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