Raven's POV:
The red-lit room pulsed with the club's bass, a low, sensual throb that matched the rhythm of my heartbeat.
The leather chair in the center was a throne, and Lorenzo De Luca sat on it like a king, his legs parted, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to reveal inked forearms. His blond hair caught the dim light, giving him an almost angelic glow, but his eyes, it was dark, sharp, and predatory, it betrayed the devil within. He didn't smile, and didn't speak, just watched me with a hunger that made my skin prickle.
They'd told me he wanted a private dance. Just me. No one else. My heart knocked once, hard, against my ribs, but I buried it deep. Victor's voice echoed in my head, his fingers still burning on my throat from last night's warning. "Make him want you. Make him trust you. Then slit his throat."
Lily's face flashed in my mind, her wide, hopeful eyes, her sketches of a world she'd never see if I failed.
I stepped forward, my heels clicking on the polished floor, the black lace of my lingerie clinging to my curves like a second skin. The mask hid half my face, but I felt naked under his gaze. Lorenzo De Luca wasn't like the others, were greedy CEOs or leering senators who fell for a smile and a sway. He was a predator, and I was dancing into his jaws.
"You're the one they call the Siren," he said, his voice gravelly, laced with an Italian accent that curled around me like smoke.
"Why the mask?"
I tilted my head, letting my hair spill over one shoulder. "Mystery's part of the charm," I purred, my voice low, practiced. "Don't you like a challenge, Signore De Luca?"
His lips twitched, a shadow of a smirk. "I like winning."
I moved closer, climbing onto his lap, one leg on each side, my thighs brushing his. I rolled my hips slowly, deliberately, watching his eyes darken. He didn't touch me… yet, he just leaned back, his jaw clenched, breathing shallow.
"You don't speak much," he said, his tone probing, and testing.
"Only when I'm told to," I replied, leaning forward, my lips hovering near his ear. My breath grazed his skin, and I felt him tense beneath me. "Unless you want me to."
He growled something low in Italian "Fottutamente perfetta" (Fucking perfect), and his hands finally settled on my hips, it was strong, possessive, but controlled.
Fucking perfect.
I moved with purpose, grinding against him, teasing with every twist of my body. My lips brushed his throat, a whisper of a kiss, but I pulled back before he could claim more.
His fingers grazed the edge of my mask, and I froze, my breath catching. "Don't," I whispered, breaking my own rule of silence.
He paused, his hand hovering, his eyes narrowing. "What's behind it, tesoro?" (treasure). His voice was a blade, sharp and curious.
"Nothing you can afford," I said, forcing a smile, resuming my movements to distract him. His chuckle was low, dark, and dangerous.
He leaned back, letting me continue, but his gaze never wavered, like he was peeling back my layers, searching for the lie.
I had him. His body betrayed him, the tension in his shoulders, the heat in his eyes. But he wasn't prey. He was a hunter, and I was playing a game I might not win.
Lorenzo's POV:
She moved like sin in a given form, every sway of her hips was a calculated strike. The Siren. Raven, they called her.
I didn't give a fuck about her name. I wanted to know what hid behind that mask, what made her dance like she could unravel a man's soul.
My throat tightened as she straddled me, her warmth a breath away, her perfume, something exotic, disarming, and wrapping around me like a chain.
I'd ruled territories, slit throats, signed contracts in blood. I'd watched men beg and laughed. But this woman? She made me forget I was a killer.
Her eyes, dark pools behind the mask, held shadows I recognized, full of secrets, danger, and control.
She wasn't here for money. She was here for something else.
"Who the fuck are you?" I murmured, too low for her to hear, my fists clenching to keep from pulling her closer.
She bent low, her hands skimming her thighs, then rose, head tilted, hair spilling like ink. I shifted in the chair, my body betraying me.
No woman had ever made me feel this… unbalanced. I wanted to rip that mask off, claim every inch of her, but I let her lead. For now.
"Speak to me," I demanded, my voice rougher than I intended.
She paused, her lips curving faintly. "Watch," she said, her voice cool, a command wrapped in velvet.
That one word hit me like a shot. I was obsessed. She straddled me again, hovering, not touching, her warmth a tease that drove me insane. Then she leaned in, her lips near my ear, her breath sending chills down my spine. "I don't dance for anyone," she whispered. "You're the exception."
My skin burned. I gripped her hips, hard enough to bruise, but she didn't tremble.
Our eyes locked, and for a moment, the world vanished, the club, my empire, the blood on my hands. It was just her, this masked enigma who saw my sins and didn't look away.
"Domani," I said under my breath. Tomorrow. I'd find her. I'd strip away her secrets, her mask, her lies. And if she tried to run? I'd burn the fucking world to catch her.
Raven's POV:
I slipped off his lap, my legs steady despite the tremor in my chest. The music faded, the red light casting long shadows as I grabbed my robe and walked toward the door.
His gaze followed me, heavy, possessive, like a brand on my skin. I didn't look back, I couldn't. Not when my body still hummed from his touch, not when my mission felt like a noose tightening around my neck.
Back in the dressing room, I slammed the door, locking it. My hands shook as I tore off the mask, tossing it onto the vanity. My reflection stared back, smeared lipstick, tousled hair, sweat-slick skin. His scent clung to me, woodsmoke and gunpowder, a fingerprint I hadn't asked for. I touched my collarbone, where his fingers had lingered, and cursed under my breath.
"Damn it, Raven," I muttered. "Get it together."
He'd made me forget, for a moment, that I was playing a role. That I was here to kill him. His eyes, his voice, the way he hadn't begged or broken, they'd slipped under my skin, and that was dangerous. More dangerous than Victor's threats.
A hard knock rattled the door. "Open it. Now."
It was Victor. His voice was a blade, slicing through my thoughts. I hesitated, then unlocked the door, bracing myself. He stepped inside, shutting it behind him, his presence filling the room like poison. His eyes flicked to the mask, then to me, cold and calculating.
"He asked for you," he said, his tone deceptively calm. "That's good."
I stayed silent, my jaw tight.
"Don't fuck it up, Raven," he growled, stepping closer. "You didn't talk, did you?"
"Not a word," I lied, my voice steady. Watch. That one word to Lorenzo burned in my throat.
His hand shot out, grabbing my jaw, forcing my eyes to his. "You're not paid to feel things," he hissed, his breath hot and acidic.
"You're a weapon. Mine. You make him want you, every inch, every secret. Let him drown in you. And when the time's right…" He mimed a slash across his throat. "You vanish."
I didn't flinch, though my chest heaved. "I know the job."
He released me, smirking. "Good. Because if
I see a hint of softness, I'll send Lily's fingers to you in a box." He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut.
I sank onto the chair, staring at the mask. Something twisted inside me, sharp and unfamiliar. Lorenzo didn't want me like the others. He wanted to own me, break me, see what lived behind my silence. And the scariest part? I wanted to be seen.