Page 118 of The Devil's Thorn

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But instead, he wrapped his lesson in silence and control. He got under my skin without ever laying a hand on me.

Which means I have to cut deeper.

The glass in my hand is half empty now, condensation dripping onto my thigh. I set it down on the table and lean my head back, staring at the ceiling.

I don’t know how long I sit there, drifting between thoughts and heat and calculation, but after a while, Kellan’s voice breaks the stillness.

“Got it.”

I turn to him. He pushes off the wall and walks toward me, phone in hand. “Rafael’s headed to the casino tonight. Not just for business—someone’s been sniffing around the edges.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Name’s Viktor Dreshaj. Albanian mafia.”

Ash lets out a low whistle. “They’re bold if they’re showing up there.”

“They’re not subtle,” Kellan says. “Our guys say Viktor’s been testing Rafael’s people—nothing too overt, but it’s getting aggressive. Tension’s building.”

My lips curl at the edges. “And they’ll both be there tonight?”

Kellan nods. “He’s on the guest list. Private suite upstairs, but he’s not hiding. Rafael’s keeping him close to watch him.”

I hum, already piecing it together in my mind. The space. The opportunity. The slow burn in Rafael’s eyes when he thinks he’s the only one setting the rules.

“Perfect,” I say softly.

Kellan raises an eyebrow. “You’re planning something.”

I look at him. “I want to play him at his own game.”

Ash narrows his eyes. “You’re not talking about Romanov.”

“No.” My smile sharpens. “Viktor.”

I rise slowly, walking toward Kellan. “Show me what he looks like.”

He swipes across his phone, taps something, and then hands it to me. The photo loads—Viktor, mid-forties, tall, lean muscle, gray at his temples, thick scar running down the side of his neck. Arrogant in the way men like him always are.

Easy to manipulate. Easier to disarm.

“He likes power,” Kellan says. “And women who look like trouble.”

I hand the phone back, smile sharpening. “Then I’m exactly his type.”

Ash leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re not actually going to sleep with him, are you?”

I look at him. “No. But he’ll think I might.”

He grunts. “Cold.”

Kellan’s watching me carefully. “And Romanov?”

I tilt my head, letting my smile fade into something colder. “He’ll be watching.”

Let him.

Thewomanin the mirror doesn’t look like someone anyone should fuck with. But she looks exactly like someone they all would.