Page 96 of Lord of the Dark

"Fiona," I finally murmured against her skin, my voice rough but warm, "you still alive?"

A soft, breathless laugh escaped her before she mumbled, "That… was the most intense thing I’ve ever felt." Her voice trembled slightly, a mix of exhaustion and raw awe.

My hands slid gently over her sides, feeling the heat of her skin still quivering under my touch. She turned her head, cheek pressed to the cold table, her eyes searching for mine. "I don’t ever want it to end."

I never thought words like that would mean anything to me. But with Fiona, it was different. Everything was. From the very beginning, in ways I couldn’t even name.

Our bodies were still joined, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. There was only us. No tomorrow, no obligations—just this searing, unbreakable tether.

"Neither do I," I murmured, my lips brushing the soft skin of her back. I wanted to memorize her, to trap this moment and keep it forever. My fingers traced tenderly over her arms, holding her in a touch that was protective this time.

After a while, I slowly pushed myself up. My legs felt like lead, heavy as if I’d just run a marathon. Carefully, I began undoing the restraints at her wrists. When her hands were free, I let them rest for a moment before lifting them gently. My thumbs stroked lightly over her wrists, massaging the spots where the pressure had been strongest.

"You okay?" I asked, watching her face. She gave a weak nod, her cheeks still flushed.

I crouched behind her to cut the zip ties at her ankles. The firstsnip made her flinch slightly, and as I freed the second, I noticed the deep red marks branding her delicate skin. "Okay… that’s definitely gonna raise questions," I admitted, unable to suppress a filthy grin as my fingers skimmed over the imprints, as if I could wipe the pain away.

She craned her neck to inspect the evidence of our madness now etched into her skin, shaking her head. "Russo… you’re completely insane, you know that?"

"Maybe," I countered, amusement lacing my voice as my gaze lingered on the marks. "But you seem to find crazy fucking irresistible." I lifted her carefully—her legs were unsteady, her body leaning heavily into mine. "You were incredible," I rasped, holding her close, pulling her in to press a kiss to her forehead.

"I didn’t even do anything…" She arched a brow, a crooked smile playing at her lips as she slumped against me, spent.

"That’s what made it incredible," I murmured against her skin before kissing her again.

She shook her head. My lips found hers once more—warm, soft—a kiss that spoke everything I felt. Intense but tender, almost devoted.

Slowly, I guided her toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, lowering us both until we sat naked before the glass. The world below pulsed on, club lights painting flickering patterns across our sweat-slicked skin. Fiona’s head rested on my shoulder as my arms encircled her protectively.

After a while, I felt her shift. Her skin slid against mine, and I let her go without resistance. She moved just far enough for her back to meet the cool glass.

"Can they see us from down there?"

I shrugged, grinning, letting her imagination run wild for a beat before answering: "One-way mirror."

Relief flickered across her face as she let her head fall back against it. I watched her trace an idle finger down the glass, hergaze drifting to the scene below—where club-goers moved like insignificant pawns in a game.

My eyes followed hers until they locked onto one figure in particular: Carter, lounging below. His relaxed smile, the ease in his posture—like nothing in the world could touch him.

"He’s been sitting there this whole time without a damn care. What a piece of shit," Fiona finally muttered, her voice low but dripping with venom. She dragged her finger in a slow circle on the glass, as if trying to order her thoughts. "To think I was stupid enough to fall for his bullshit…"

I tilted my head against the window, studying her—every micro-expression, every flicker of emotion. "He exploited your trust. But you underestimated him, too."

"Three weeks," she continued, eyes still fixed on the lounge. "He knew he was putting me in danger. Knew it, Alessandro. And still—nothing.* No explanation, no honesty. Just lies."* Her fingers dug into her thighs, as if grounding herself. "I should’ve known better. Should’ve seen what a goddamn coward he was from the start."

I stayed silent, absorbing the sharpness of her words—less aimed at Carter than at herself. My body remained still, but my eyes never left her.

Fiona turned her head slightly, her gaze finding mine again. "Is this your club?" she asked flatly.

A single nod.

She exhaled a slow, bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Of course," she murmured, more to herself. Her fingers fidgeted along the glass edge. "Did you have Ricci tail Carter?" Her eyes searched mine, probing. "Do you even know what hotel we’re at?"

I held her stare, unflinching. "You’ve met Giovanni," I said finally. "He has a six-man team for intel."

She laughed softly—a bitter sound echoing in the quiet room. "Of course." She turned her head away, staring back down atthe club below. "You know what?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don’t even care anymore. I can’t hide anything from you anyway. No matter what I do, you’ll always know." Her head thudded lightly against the glass as she closed her eyes for a moment. "You’re the most corrupt thing I’ve ever met, Alessandro," she murmured, exhaustion and anger seeping into every word. When she opened her eyes again, they locked onto mine. "That you’d actually go this far—" Her voice cracked, and she shook her head wordlessly, too drained to finish.

"It’s my club," I said evenly. "Whatever they planted on you doesn’t matter. There would’ve been no consequences."

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