Page 3 of Lord of the Dark

"That would be a fatal mistake, Karpin. Taking her means your death." Alessandro’s voice cut through the tension like a razor.

Another deafening gunshot shattered the strained silence, and I screamed. Alessandro’s right arm jerked back as Karpin’s bullet tore through his shoulder. A spray of blood arced through the air, staining the floor a deep crimson, his Glock clattering to the ground with a dull thud.

Blind panic flooded my veins.

Alessandro lifted his head, his lips twisting into a dangerous smile. "Karpin," he began, his voice vibrating with icy threat, "you should shoot me. While you still can."

"I fear no one, Russo. Not even you." Karpin laughed mockingly, but the words lacked the confidence he’d likely intended.

Blood streamed in an unrelenting flow down Alessandro’s arm, splattering in thick droplets onto the floor. Yet he still let out a low, dark chuckle. "I promise you, I will find you. No matter where you crawl. And when I do, Karpin, I will gut you. Piece bypiece."

Karpin nearly choked on his next breath, but he fought to keep his composure. "Big words for a man bleeding like a pig. Too bad, Russo," he hissed. "She’s coming with me."

Before I could process what was happening, I felt him yanking me toward the door. My heart hammered wildly in my chest, every fiber of my body yearning to fight back—but I knew any struggle would only escalate the danger. My gaze flew desperately to Russo.

Alessandro’s eyes locked onto mine, and the seconds stretched into an endless chasm between us. His gaze held a silent promise, an unshakable certainty that this wasn’t the end. His lips were pressed into a hard line, his stare a painful "Hold on," a wordless vow that he wouldn’t abandon me, that this nightmare wasn’t over for either of us. Yet beneath it burned a fury at himself—at the helplessness gripping him. His eyes spoke the entire time, swearing he’d find me, no matter the cost.

But Karpin didn’t let me linger in that moment. With a brutal jerk, he hauled me toward the door, and I felt my feet leave the ground as I was dragged to his side, robbed of even the faintest hint of a choice.

The door creaked open, and the cool, damp night air hit my face as he roughly shoved me outside. The room behind us—Russo, Carter, the table, the flickering bulb—all of it vanished as the door slammed shut with a final, deafening click.

The darkness of the night seemed alive, swallowing us whole—an impenetrable black that closed around us like a suffocating wall. I tried to orient myself, to grasp my surroundings, but my head felt numb—my pounding heartbeat the only thing I could truly feel. The cold air burned in my lungs, yet it wasn't the chill that stole my breath—it was the paralyzing pressure, the horrifying certainty that I was now at the mercy of a stranger, a man whose hungry gaze promised nothing but cruelty.

My heart raced, every thought a frenzied whirlwind of terror and the unshakable image of Alessandro’s eyes—that desperate promise between us, hanging by a fragile thread.

One

Fiona Robertson

A few weeks earlier

The sun blinded me as I stepped through the glass doors of Pierce & Clarke. Immediately, the bustling energy of the building enveloped me—a pulsing rhythm of conversations, the clatter of keyboards, and the soft hum of phones at the reception. The lobby was generously designed, with high ceilings, gleaming marble floors, and a massive steel art installation suspended at its center. The aesthetic was minimalist, yet it made a clear statement of the company’s success. Movement was everywhere. People in suits hurried past with briefcases, others stood clustered together, heads bent in serious discussion. The air carried an unmistakable aura of power and ambition. I took a deep breath. It felt like a small adrenaline rush, being here, being part of this world. And I loved it.

The elevators on the opposite wall were in constant motion, their sleek, polished doors sliding open and shut as if they, too, were part of the frantic rhythm. I pressed the button and waited, watching the hum of activity around me. It was fascinating how purposeful everyone seemed, as if doubt or hesitation were entirely unwelcome.

The elevator arrived with a soft ping, the doors parting smoothly. I stepped inside. The ascent was silent, the floor dark wood, the walls shimmering metal, and I caught my own reflection—the slender silhouette in my tailored sheath dress, my dark long hair pinned up, my smile confident. I belongedhere, and I knew it.

My office was on the sixth floor, its glass front offering a breathtaking view of the city. Mrs. Pierce wasn’t exactly known for her generosity, but I knew my worth to the company—and I had fought hard for this office. The office was bright, spacious, and tastefully furnished. A dark wood desk stood at its center, upon which sat an orchid I’d received from a satisfied client weeks ago. A large world map hung on the wall, dotted with pins marking the cities I’d traveled to with my boyfriend, Carter. A small shelf to the side was filled with books on real estate and negotiation. I was structured, driven, and maintaining control meant everything to me. But I also sought challenges—opportunities to push beyond my limits.

On the desk stood a framed photo of Carter and me, taken almost a year ago. I picked it up, studying it with a quiet melancholy settling in my chest. His arm was around me, both of us laughing. Back then, it had felt easy, uncomplicated. But lately, doubt had crept into my thoughts. It wasn’t anything dramatic, no grand catastrophe. Quite the opposite—everything with Carter had become predictable. Routine. We knew each other so well there were no surprises left, no thrill, no moments that made my heart race. Still, I had no right to complain. He had always been there—in good times and especially when I needed him most. He’d given me stability when I needed it most, because my life hadn’t exactly been easy. Maybe I was the one expecting too much. I set the photo back down and let my gaze drift across the room. Despite the doubts, I didn’t want to risk what we had recklessly. Carter was a good man—loyal, honest. I had no reason to doubt him.

"Fiona, come into my office, please." Mrs. Pierce's voice tore me from my brooding. It was time for our weekly meeting, and I knew today’s discussion was critical. The big deal everyone in the office had been talking about was imminent, and it was myresponsibility to ensure its successful closure.

When I entered Mrs. Pierce’s office, the atmosphere was, as always, taut and tense. The walls were adorned with awards and certificates showcasing her triumphs in the real estate world. The boss herself sat behind a large mahogany desk, impeccably dressed as ever. "Sit," she said curtly, gesturing to the chair across from her. "We have much to discuss."

I took my seat and instinctively reached for my notepad. I knew Mrs. Pierce had a precise vision for how this deal should unfold.

"We’ll soon be meeting with the potential buyer’s attorney regarding the coastal estate. It’s a lucrative deal, and I expect us to be prepared for detailed negotiations. I want you to take the lead, Fiona." Mrs. Pierce leaned back in her chair, fixing me with a penetrating stare. "This is a major opportunity—but also a challenge. The client is demanding, and I expect you to close it."

I nodded calmly. I was no stranger to high expectations. "I’ll handle it," I assured her again, knowing full well this deal could define the next step in my career.

Back in my office, as I sifted through emails on my laptop, thoughts of Carter gnawed at me with growing insistence. Our relationship was stable, secure—and increasingly unbearable. It wasn’t that Carter was doing anything wrong. No, he was catttentive, caring, affectionate, always by my side. But that was precisely what tortured me.

I remembered how we’d met—at a corporate event in the opulent halls of a luxury hotel, where the glitter of chandeliers mirrored the where the glitter of chandeliers mirrored the ambition in the guests’ eyes. Back then, I was still carving out my place in real estate, but I knew exactly how to present myself. Carter, however, was different. I’d noticed him first in a small circle of colleagues. He was speaking, his tone polite and measured, but I saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He had charm, no question, yet it was clear he was straining to maintainthe façade of a confident businessman. I could see how hard he fought to be taken seriously in this world, how desperately he sought a foothold in the very sphere I had already conquered.

Carter was kind. Too kind, if I were honest. When we spoke later, I realized how easy it was to win him over. He never asked uncomfortable questions, was unfailingly polite, and showed genuine interest in my work. If I were truly honest with myself, I had chosen him not out of fascination, but because he was the safer path. The safe, predictable path. In Carter, I found someone who would never challenge me, who would never peer deep enough into my soul to see the shadows I so carefully concealed. He was a man too preoccupied with his own struggling firm to pry into my life. And that was exactly what made him the best choice. A safe choice—one that would never truly question me.

But lately, that safe choice had begun to feel like a corset cinched too tight. The more time passed, the clearer it became—with Carter, I hadn’t just chosen the easiest path, but also the most uninspiring one. Our conversations were polite but superficial. Our intimacy was gentle, but lacking passion. It lacked depth, intensity—something that made me feel truly alive.

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