Page 39 of Lord of the Dark

The three dots appeared, taunting me. My entire body locked onto that screen, seconds stretching into eternity—until his reply hit:

"Pick. Up. Now. Last warning."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Adrenaline prickled across my skin. I let the call go unanswered again and dropped into my chair, palms flat and tense against the desk.

Ever since I'd blocked Russo's attempts to contact me, a familiar calm had slowly but surely returned to my life. Piece by piece, I regained the feeling of control—over myself, over my choices. But now, that toxic cocktail of adrenaline and cortisol surged through me again, flooding my nervous system with that all-too-familiar mix of electric arousal and raw, primal thrill. I felt hunted, like prey in flight, hyperaware that the predator was just a breath away, poised to strike at any moment. And damn it, it was that very unpredictability—that danger—that sent a dark, addictive rush through my veins.

The silence didn’t last. My phone vibrated again. His persistence left no room for doubt—Russo wasn’t backing down.

I drew one more steadying breath and finally hit Accept.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Fiona?" His voice was a sharp crack through the receiver, rough with barely leashed fury. Just his tone alone sent a wave of dread crawling over my skin.

"It didn’t mean anything," I blurted, the words nearly breathless, as if I were trying to convince myself. "That night—itwas a mistake. A one-time slip."

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Thick, suffocating tension, like we’d both stopped breathing. Then I heard it—the slow, dangerous inhale on the other end.

"Didn’t mean anything?" he repeated, so quiet I almost missed it. His voice was nothing but a lethal whisper, charged with something that made me feel his glare through the phone.

"You can’t seriously believe that’s how this works."

A shudder ripped through me. His voice carried through the line with such intensity, it was like he was standing right in front of me. My pulse hammered so hard it had to be unhealthy.

"Alessandro…" I started softly, the tension inside me coiling tighter with every second. I wanted to draw a line. I needed to stay strong. But the memory of his touch, the way pleasure had seared through me like wildfire—it was an inferno I couldn’t extinguish. It flared up now, choking my words, forcing me to acknowledge just how little control I had over this craving.

He stayed silent, as if sensing the war raging inside me.

I shut my eyes, scrambling for composure. "It was... a mistake," I whispered, but even to my own ears, it sounded weak. "I’ve made my decision, Alessandro. And I’m asking you to respect that."

He laughed then—low, cold, sending another tremor down my spine. "Could’ve sworn I saw something different in your eyes when you looked at me in the mirror. And it sure as hell didn’t sound like a mistake when you were begging me to let you come."

In an instant, the memories of that night crashed over me. I remembered every second, every ragged plea torn from my lips—how sure I’d been, how desperate. And God, I wanted to surrender to that hunger all over again. But I couldn’t.

"I’m in a relationship," I forced out, the words brittle. "I won’t do this to Carter. He deserves better!" My desperation bledthrough now, my voice breaking into something close to a plea.

"You know, Fiona," he began, his words so quiet and deliberate it felt like each syllable was being fired straight at me, "now that I know you better, it's almost amusing how attached you are to Carter."

"What's that supposed to mean? You don't even know him." I wanted to sound cool, unaffected, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

"I know everyone in this industry," he shot back with such conviction I had no choice but to believe him. His tone was so infuriatingly sure. "I've worked with him before. And I value him as a business partner for the same reason you value him as a lover—his delightful lack of spine and how easily he bends to pressure."

"Stop it, Alessandro," I screamed. "This is pathetic—are you really trying to paint him in a bad light? He's… he's not like you."

"He certainly isn't, and that's exactly the point," he answered, his voice calm. "He's a child, Fiona. You could push him around however you like—and he'd thank you for it." Even through the phone, I could see his mouth twisting into a mocking grin. "It's sad, really, that you've settled for something like that."

His words seeped into my consciousness like poison. "This…" I finally began in a hushed whisper, one last attempt to regain control, even as I felt it slipping through my fingers like sand. "This ends now, Alessandro. I can't… I won't hurt Carter."

"You already did when you screamed my name uncontrollably through Delaney's guesthouse while I fucked your mind out…" My blood boiled, and he twisted the knife deeper. "I'm looking forward to next time," he added, taunting.

"There won't be a next time, you bastard!" I finally lost all composure and roared into the phone, gripping it so tightly in front of my face that my knuckles turned white.

He had already hung up without another word. I was besidemyself with rage, blood roaring in my ears. Who the fuck did this goddamn asshole think he was? I could feel the carefully constructed facade of control I'd built over the years begin to melt away, replaced by an almost fanatical fury—one I hadn't felt with this intensity in a long time. Every shred of rationality in me surrendered without a fight.

I was sick of drowning in his control, sick of letting him dictate the game. You want to play, Russo? Then buckle the fuck up.

You want to play, Russo? Then buckle up.

I typed Russo Ventures into our client database, but all that appeared was the general phone number and email address. Physical addresses and personal contacts required higher clearance. That wouldn’t stop me. I gathered my things and strode briskly into Mrs. Pierce’s office, her eyebrows lifting at my uncharacteristic urgency.

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