Page 93 of Lord of the Dark

Fiona’s eyes widened, and I could see the thoughts racing behind them, her mind scrambling to process the information. Her breathing quickened, but she finally shook her head. "I don’t believe you," she snapped—but her voice lacked the conviction she’d probably intended.

„"Oh no?" I said quietly, my gaze never releasing her.

"Where is he anyway? He must be worried by now! How long are you going to keep me here, you psychopath?" she snarled at me.

The fury boiled inside me, hot and unstoppable. How could she still cling to him? To that man who lied to her, who put her in danger without a second thought. She didn’t understand. Or refused to. I shot up in an abrupt motion, the chair behind me crashing loudly to the floor. Before she could react, I grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly to her feet. "You want to know where Carter is?" I growled. "Then come. I’ll show you."

"Let me go!" she spat, and her attempt to wrench free only made a bitter grin twist my lips. She was so damn stubborn. But I was stronger. And I was done with her stupid illusions. I dragged her across the room until we stood before the mirrored wall.

Her eyes flickered briefly to the reflective surface—she’d clearly noticed it before. "What—?" she started.

With a quick, hard press, I hit a button on the wall. The mirrored surface shifted, turning transparent, revealing the club below. Pulsing lights in sync with the beat, bodies moving in rhythm—it all stretched beneath us like another world. Shestared, her breath hitching for a second. I pulled her closer, almost violently, pressing her face to the glass. "Look closely," I hissed, my voice a sharp command. "There’s Carter."

Her eyes darted frantically over the crowd until I turned her head with firm pressure. "There," I said, my tone ice-cold. "See him? See how little you fucking matter to him?"

And there he was. Carter, sitting perfectly at ease in one of the private lounges, glass in hand, deep in conversation with Matteo Ricci. He laughed, gestured casually, as if he didn’t have a single care in the world—least of all about Fiona.

The realization hit her like an avalanche. I saw it in her face—the slow dawning, the disappointment, the hurt. Her eyes locked onto Carter, lounging, relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. She swayed slightly in my grip, her shoulders sinking as if someone had let the air out of her.

"Let me go," she whispered, her voice now just a broken rasp. "You got what you wanted, didn’t you? You finally won, Alessandro. Congratulations." Her eyes burned with anger, but the pain beneath it was worse. "So take these fucking zip ties off."

I held her gaze a moment longer, searching for that spark of defiance, for the fire that always burned in her. But all I saw was resignation and hate. And that wasn’t fun. Without a word, I grabbed a pair of pliers from a nearby drawer and bent down to cut the restraints.

She rubbed her wrists, her eyes locked on me, and I could feel something raging inside her. Before I could react, she swung with full force and punched me square in the face. The pain was sharp and immediate, the metallic taste of blood flooding my tongue. God, how I’d missed this. I felt alive again.

I spat, watching the dark droplets hit the floor before slowly lifting my head to look at her. My lip was split. "You fucking—" I started, but the rest died in my throat. My hand shotforward before I could stop myself, and the backhanded slap sent her reeling. She crashed into the wall beside the window, her shoulders taking the impact with a pained groan.

A moment of absolute silence followed. The club below pulsed on, lights flickering through the glass, painting the room in alternating violets and reds—but here, time seemed frozen. I wanted to speak, to move, but my body was locked in place.

Fiona pushed herself up slowly, one hand braced against the wall, the other pressed to her reddened cheek. Her breathing was ragged, her eyes locked on me, blazing with fury and pain. "You ruined everything!" she said softly. "My life, my feelings, my fucking control! You tore me apart, Russo!"

Her words echoed in the silence, digging deep into the darkness of my soul. But before I could answer, before I could even move, she lunged at me with a determination that nearly caught me off guard. Her free hand shot forward, aiming for my chest—I caught her wrist just in time. But she didn’t stop. With a cry that unleashed all her pent-up rage, she swung with her other fist. This time, she connected, her knuckles driving into my ribs. The dull pain exploded inside me, but I didn’t let go.

"Enough!" I snarled, gripping her shoulders and trying to shove her back.

"No!" she screamed, her voice raw and shaking. She was preparing for a fight, kicking off her heels and sending them skidding across the floor. "You took everything from me!" She lashed out—knees aiming for my legs, fists for my ribs. I was afraid of hitting her too hard again, struggling to keep her at bay without hurting her. But her movements were precise, calculated—she knew what she was doing, and I realized this wasn’t her first fight.

"Stop this shit right now," I forced out through gritted teeth, "or I’ll put you in a place where you won’t feel anything but pain."

I saw it in her eyes before she moved—the raw fury buildinginside her, searching for release. When she lunged again, I caught her arm, twisted it behind her back, and slammed her into the wall with brutal force. Her body hit the hard surface with a gasp, and I shifted my weight to pin her completely. A rough, involuntary moan escaped her lips.

I yanked her head back, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Had enough yet?" She held my gaze without a flicker of fear. Then a dark, almost crazed laugh tore from her throat. Before I could react, I felt wetness on my face. She’d spat on me. Again.

It was like pouring gasoline on an already raging fire. "Should I cut out your tongue?" She was trapped between my body and the wall. "You never learn, do you?" I murmured, wiping my face with my free hand. She wanted this fight—and she was going to get it.

Without another word, I dragged her from the wall and hauled her back to the table with an iron grip. She thrashed, fought, but every attempt to break free was useless. She could rage and pull all she wanted—it didn’t matter. "I don’t give warnings for no reason," I said coldly, every word a decree. I picked up the gag and let my gaze roam over her tense body.

Deliberately, I stuffed the cloth into her mouth and tied the ends behind her head. Her eyes blazed with fury. Her breathing quickened, and I could see the tension coiling tighter in her body. She was wild, rebellious—and that was what made this moment so electrifying. I guided her bound hand to my hard cock and grinned darkly at her. "I meant it when I said your fighting turns me on."

She gave me a look of pure contempt. The gag robbed her of the last word. A blessing.

My gaze lingered on her mouth, slightly parted by the fabric, her teeth flashing behind it. "You have no idea how good you look like this," I murmured darkly.

She rolled her eyes and exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Should I take that as a ‘fuck you’?" I mocked, lips twisting in amusement.

She nodded eagerly.

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