☆☆☆
Camilla clutched the towel tighter around her body, the steam from the shower still clinging to her skin.
Dominic gaze lingered on her —sharp, unrelenting, as though the thin fabric did nothing to shield her.
"I…" she began, but the words dissolved as soon as his eyes narrowed in warning.
The pressure in the air shifted, heavy, magnetic.
Her fingers trembled where they gripped the edge of the towel. Slowly, hesitantly, she loosened her hold.
The pressure in the air shifted, heavy, magnetic.
Her fingers trembled where they gripped the edge of the towel. Slowly, hesitantly, she loosened her hold.
The fabric slackened, slipping an inch lower over her chest.
His gaze followed its descent, dark with hunger, but he didn't move closer—he just waited, demanding she obey.
Heart pounding, she let the towel fall. It slid down her body, pooling at her feet.
For a heartbeat, silence hung thick between them.
Camilla's eyes fluttered shut the instant her body was bared to him.
Even with her lids closed, she could feel his gaze—hot, heavy, lingering over every inch of her exposed skin.
Her breath quickened, and she instinctively pressed her thighs together, as though the gesture could shield her from the intensity of his stare.
Her pulse hammered in her ears.
The urge to move, to shield herself, burned inside her—yet her body remained utterly still.
Dominic's gaze consumed her entirely, leaving no part of her unseen.
His lips curved into a thin, knowing smirk—one that deepened at her every trembling reaction.
He had never believed in having a "type," only in maintaining his standards. But now, staring at her, he wondered if that had just changed.
Dominic leaned in closer, her delicate peony flower scent filling his senses.
Dominic's gaze lingered on her for a fleeting second—dark, unreadable—before he straightened and stepped back.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked out.
The door went shut behind him.
Camilla's eyes snapped wide.
The air felt colder the moment his presence vanished, as though he had taken all the heat with him.
she exhaled the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding.
How intoxicating was this man, that he could make her forget how to breathe?
☆
" LUCCHESES MANSION"
Mr. Lucchese stepped into the mansion through the front door, his presence instantly commanding attention.
His gaze swept toward the dining room, where the entire family was gathered. Then his eyes narrowed, settling on Veronica.
A sharp, questioning look crossed his face.
"Aren't you supposed to be at your husband's home?" he asked, his tone clipped and disapproving. "What are you doing back here?"
Mr. Lucchese turned sharply to his wife, Tiziana.
"Help me ask your daughter why she's back home," he said, his voice heavy .
Veronica slammed her hand against the table, the sharp sound echoing through the dining room.
"Can you all stop with this husband nonsense?" she snapped, her eyes blazing. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? I didn't get married!"
Mr. Lucchese's expression darkened as he swung his gaze back to Tiziana.
"What the hell is your daughter talking about, Tiziana?" he demanded, his tone laced with anger and disbelief.
Elizabeth's phone buzzed on the table, breaking the heavy tension in the dining room.
She rose quickly from her chair, muttering a brief excuse before slipping away from the scene.
At the front door, she pushed it open and stepped outside, the cool air greeting her as she crossed the porch.
Her heels clicked softly against the stone pathway as she made her way toward the mansion gates.
The guard on duty straightened at her approach and, without hesitation, swung the gates open for her.
Elizabeth stepped outside and found a man in a dark hoodie waiting just beyond the gate.
Without a word, he extended an envelope toward her.
She took it quickly, tearing it open without a moment's hesitation. Inside were photographs—every single one of Dominic.
Her eyes flicked over the images, sharp and calculating. "Did you get everything he has done this week?" she asked.
The man gave a silent nod.
"Next time, don't make the photos blurry," Elizabeth said coldly as she turned and walked back into the mansion.
She headed straight for her room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
Pushing the door open, she stepped inside.
☆
"ELIZABETH'S ROOM"
Her room is different—unique. Unlike other girls' rooms, often painted in bright, flashy colors, hers was stripped of all excess.
The walls were painted a stark, pristine white, giving the space an air of quiet detachment.
Elizabeth crossed her room and stopped at a smaller door tucked neatly to the side. She pushed it open and stepped through.
A dim red light instantly bathed her in its glow, spilling out like a warning.
She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.
It felt less like a room and more like a shrine. A gallery of obsession.
Ropes stretched taut across the walls, running from right to left in carefully measured lines. There were more than two dozen of them, each one strung tight, sagging only slightly beneath the weight of what they carried.
Clipped to those ropes with small silver pegs were photographs.
Dozens upon dozens of them.
The dim red light caught their glossy surfaces, making some gleam eerily as Elizabeth stepped further in.
Every photo was of Dominic.
Dominic in his car. Dominic walking through a lobby.
Dominic on the phone, caught mid-step. Some photos were blurred, hurried shots taken from a distance,
while others were frighteningly sharp—as if the camera lens had been close enough to catch the faint curl of his smirk or the cold gleam in his eyes.
Elizabeth's gaze swept across the gallery slowly, reverently, her fingers grazing the photos as she walked past them.
Each image was pinned in perfect order, documenting his movements day after day, week after week.
Nothing about his life, it seemed, escaped her collection.
Elizabeth carried the envelope deeper into the room, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor.
She stopped in front of one of the ropes, the faint red light shimmering against the glossy photographs already hanging there.
With careful precision, she slipped the new photographs from the envelope, fanning them out in her hands.
Her sharp eyes flicked over each one—Dominic in the lobby of a hotel,
Dominic stepping out of his car, Dominic with a cigarette between his fingers, his expression unreadable.
A satisfied hum escaped her lips.
She unclipped a few older photos from the rope, letting them fall soundlessly into a small box at her feet.
Then, one by one, she pinned the fresh photos in their place, her movements almost ritualistic, like a curator arranging masterpieces in a gallery.
When she finished, Elizabeth stepped back to admire her work.
Her fingers trailed along one particular photo—Dominic leaning against his car, his shirt collar undone, his jaw sharp in the evening light.
She lingered on that single image, her eyes tracing every detail of his face.
From her back pocket, Elizabeth pulled out a slim cigarette case and selected one with practiced ease.
Reaching for the lighter on the nearby table, she sparked the flame and lit the cigarette, the faint glow briefly illuminating her features.
She leaned back against the wall, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, her gaze never leaving the photographs.
To her, it was the most natural, the most satisfying thing in the world—watching her masterpiece, piece by piece, moment by moment.
☆☆
" CROWN CASINO"
Crown Casino isn't just any casino—it's the casino. The beating heart of Italy's nightlife and the crown jewel of its gambling empire.
Towering in the city's center, the building itself was a statement of wealth and power.
Crystal chandeliers glittered from the high ceilings, casting light across polished marble floors that seemed to stretch endlessly.
The air buzzed with the rhythmic chime of slot machines.
It's the most popular casino in Italy, drawing in everyone from ambitious tourists to the country's wealthiest elites.
Jayden stood outside the bar, shifting his weight impatiently.
He had been waiting for over twenty-five minutes now.
He couldn't go inside—Camilla had always made him promise never to step foot in a bar, insisting he wait for her outside instead.
Normally, she would only take a minute to appear, sometimes even beating him there. But tonight was different.
From where he stood, the heavy thrum of music pulsed through the walls, spilling into the night air.
The scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke lingered thickly, clinging both inside and outside the bar.
Every girl who walked past him into the club couldn't help but steal a glance at him—some curious, others lingering—before disappearing through the neon-lit doors.
Jayden shifted uncomfortably, his brows furrowing.
Why isn't Camilla out yet? Isn't her shift over by now? he wondered, glancing toward the bar's entrance.
Just then, a girl finally summoned the courage to approach him.
"Put your number in my iPhone 16 Pro Max," she said boldly, holding the device out toward him.
Jayden offered a polite, almost awkward smile before giving a small bow. "I'm sorry. I'm only nineteen… and I don't have a phone," he said, half-lying.
The part about being nineteen was true. But the part about not having a phone—completely false.
The girl blinked at him, clearly not expecting that answer. For a moment, her perfectly glossed lips parted as if she wanted to argue.
Then she let out a small laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.
"No phone? At nineteen? You've got to be kidding me," she teased, tilting her head playfully. "You're either lying or the most boring guy I've ever met."
Jayden forced a polite smile, his hands folding behind his back. He had no intention of explaining himself further.
The girl studied him a little longer, as though waiting for him to change his answer.
But when he didn't, she sighed, muttered something under her breath, and finally slipped back into the bar with a toss of her hair.
Jayden exhaled slowly, relief mixing with frustration. He didn't care about random girls.
His thoughts returned instantly to Camilla.
"It's getting late… I should head back to campus," Jayden muttered before quickly hailing a taxi and climbing inside.
☆
" VERCETTI'S HOUSE "
☆
" VERCETTI'S HOUSE "
Caroline lounged in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, the smoke from her cigarette curling toward the chandelier above. A half-empty bottle of vodka sat on the table, glass in hand as she poured another reckless splash.
Her mind was burning.
Camilla still hadn't come back.
"Where the hell else would she go?" Caroline muttered to herself, exhaling smoke with a bitter laugh. She knew damn well the girl had nowhere. No family. No friends she could truly run to. And yet—gone.
She slammed the glass against the table, liquid spilling over the edge. The frustration boiled over, gnawing at her chest.
"She's testing me," Caroline hissed. "After everything I've done for her, I didn't throw her out on the street and this is how she plan to repay me ? That ungrateful little—"
The fury in her voice echoed through the house, the silence that followed making her anger feel even heavier.
She got up, pacing back and forth, heels clicking against the marble floor as her mind spun with a hundred ugly thoughts.
"No," she finally spat, flicking the ash of her cigarette carelessly onto the carpet. "She won't last a day out there.
She'll come crawling back. And when she does…" A cold smile tugged at her lips. "…she'll wish she never left."
☆
" THE NEXT DAY; DOMINIC'S VILLA "
Dominic sat in the vast living room, the morning light cutting through the tall windows in fractured beams.
A glass of whiskey glinted in his hand, amber liquid swirling lazily as he leaned back against the leather armchair.
His expression was unreadable.
Blake entered quietly, his steps measured, his head dipped in a slight bow. He stopped a few feet away.
"There was another envelope in the mailbox, sir," Blake said, his tone low but firm.
Dominic's jaw flexed. He lifted the glass, finished what was left, and set it down on the table with a dull thud.
"Burn it," he ordered flatly, his voice dripping with impatience. "Same shît, every damn month."
Blake didn't need to ask; he knew exactly what his boss meant.
For over a year and a half, those red envelopes had been arriving—once every month without fail.
Always the same: photographs of Dominic, taken from the shadows, paired with twisted love-confession letters signed with the name Mischief.
It wasn't the first time someone had dared stalk him. But what made this different was the persistence. The obsession.
Dominic had hunted down one suspected sender months ago—tracked, cornered, and killed them without hesitation.
But even after their blood soaked the ground, the envelopes never stopped.
That was when it hit him: the person he killed had never been the real Mischief.
The true sender was still out there. Watching. Waiting. Playing a game only they understood.
Blake cleared his throat, shifting the subject. "There's also news regarding Mr. Saint. He's agreed to the terms. The exchange of goods been carried out today."
Dominic rose from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket with slow precision. His face was calm, but his silence carried the weight of command.
"Good," he finally said. "Get the car ready. We move now."
Blake bowed again and turned for the door, already knowing Dominic wasn't a man who wasted time once decisions were made.
☆
" GUEST ROOM "
Camilla stirred as a thin ray of sunlight slipped through the velvet curtains, brushing against her face.
Her lashes fluttered open, adjusting to the warm glow that poured into the guest room. For a moment, she lay still, savoring the unfamiliar comfort beneath her.
Her hand slid lazily across the mattress, fingers pressing into its soft, cloud-like surface. God… this bed is like heaven, she thought with a soft sigh.
Far better than the stiff, squeaky thing I have back home. I could sink here forever.
But her thoughts soon drifted back to reality, tugging her out of her comfort. "I need to go back to the casino,"
"What if the real Veronica comes here… would I be chased out? Or worse… what would he do to me?" Camilla thought, pressing her lips together, a shiver running down her spine.
Last night's scene flashed through her mind—the image of herself standing naked in front of him made her bite down on her lips hard, heart hammering.
"I need to resign from the casino and collect this month's paycheck…"She murmured aloud, her voice still husky from sleep.
"…and also find a suitable job, so even if I get thrown out, I wouldn't have to go back to Caroline."Her gaze hardened as she added, almost to herself.
Camilla pushed the soft blanket aside and sat up.
The chill of the polished floor kissed her bare feet, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.
She stretched, yawning, before springing up from the bed in one swift move.
☆
" CROWN CASINO "
Dominic's sleek black car rolled to a halt in front of the grand casino, its polished exterior reflecting the neon lights that danced along the building.
The moment the engine quieted, Blake stepped out swiftly.
his very presence seemed to silence the noise around him.
Dominic emerged; The air thickened; even the hum of the city appeared to hold its breath.
His aura was commanding—dark, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
Dominic strode inside, his pace steady, unhurried, as if the entire casino belonged to him. Blake followed closely.
He entered a private suite where Mr. Sanit was already seated, waiting for him.
☆
A taxi pulled up in front of Crown Casino, and Camilla stepped out.
"I'm going to quit and collect my paycheck for the month," she muttered to herself, determination hardening her voice.
"I don't need to work here anymore. I'll find something better… something suitable," she added as she pushed open the casino's door.
The moment she walked in, the flashing lights, ringing machines, and cloud of smoke wrapped around her.
"Waiter!" a familiar regular at one of the tables called out, waving his empty glass in her direction.
Camilla didn't even spare him a glance. She kept walking, her heels clicking against the glossy floor.
She was done with this job the only reason she work here is only because Caroline forced her too. There was no point in serving drinks to men like him anymore.
Camilla moved through the glittering chaos of the casino, her mind fixed on the manager's office.
But just as she passed a row of card tables, a hand shot out and grabbed her firmly by the ass.
She froze for only a fraction of a second before her instincts took over.
Without thinking twice, Camilla spun around and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across the man's face.
The sound cracked through the air, louder than the music and chatter.
Gasps rippled through the nearby crowd. Players at the table paused, dealers stilled, and curious eyes darted toward the scene.
The man she struck staggered back, his drink spilling across the floor.
Camilla stood tall, chest heaving. She had grown used to men like him—And this was the only way she had learned to fight back—By slapping some sense into there fùcking head.
From the upper floor, behind the tinted glass balcony that overlooked the roaring casino floor, Dominic had been watching.
His eyes narrowed the instant the scene unfolded below.
The first question that hit him as he stared at Camilla was—what the bloody fùck is she doing here? The second… still the same—what the bloody fùck is she doing here?
Blake, standing close, studied Dominic's face carefully, reading every flicker of his expression to gauge his mood.
Across from him, Mr. Sanit leaned back in his chair, a glass of whiskey in hand.
He had been speaking about the deal only moments ago, but now his sharp eyes followed Dominic's line of sight.
"You seem… distracted, Dominic," Sanit remarked smoothly, his voice carrying both curiosity and caution. "What has caught your attention down there?"
Dominic rose slowly from the couch, the smoke from his cigarette curling around him. His gaze never left the scene below.
He descended the staircase with measured strides, his presence slicing through the commotion below.
Blake followed closely behind, silent but alert.
The man Camilla had just slapped suddenly lurched toward her in anger, his hand already half-raised as if he meant to strike back.
But before he could even lay a finger on her, a firm grip closed around her wrist.
Startled, Camilla turned, her breath hitching when her eyes met Dominic's.
His presence was like a sudden storm—calm on the surface yet dangerous underneath.
Without giving her a chance to speak, he pulled her away from the commotion, his hold unyielding .
Blake followed behind.
The crowd parted in silence, watching as Dominic escorted her out with a kind of commanding authority that made it impossible to intervene.
Camilla's pulse raced; she didn't know whether to feel relieved or more terrified.
He didn't stop until they reached the sleek black car waiting at the curb.
Only then did he release her, positioning her firmly by the door, his tall frame towering over hers.
Before Camilla could fully catch her breath, Dominic suddenly closed the small space between them.
His hand slid down with deliberate arrogance, gripping her ass as though testing her—testing if she would dare treat him the same way she had treated the man inside.
The contact sent a jolt of heat and fury rushing through her veins.
Out of instanic, her palm snapped across his face in a sharp slap.
The sound cracked through the air, startling even herself.Her eyes widened instantly at what she had done.
Blake's hand slipped into his pocket, fingers curling around the gun as if he was ready to blow her brains out.
She had just fùcking slapped him. Not even his own mother would dare to do that.
For a moment, Camilla's chest tightened with panic, her breath caught in her throat as she stared between Blake's hand on the weapon and Dominic's intense, unreadable gaze.
Dominic's hand shot forward, gripping Camilla's wrist before Blake could even draw the weapon fully.
Without a word, he dragged her toward the car and yanked the door open.
She stumbled inside, her pulse racing, but Dominic gave her no room to breathe.
Cold metal clicked around her wrists as he cuffed her hands together.
Her eyes flew wide, panic and confusion flooding her.
He leaned in close, his voice low and sharp. "I Don't like been hit ? But Fine if you wanna play it that way. I'll return the slap . But not on your face…" his gaze flicked downward, dark and dangerous, "…on your damn butt."
Before she could process his words, Dominic seized her by the waist, lowering her onto the leather seat with effortless strength.
Her body was turned, positioned until her ass faced him, vulnerable and exposed.
Her skirt was shoved up to her waist, the sound of fabric rustling in the quiet car.
Then her panties were tugged down, baring her completely to his gaze.
The sting came fast.
His palm snapped against her ass, sharp and deliberate, making her gasp.
The heat bloomed across her skin, shocking her senses.
But what followed next was even worse—his body pressing close, his hard, thick length straining against the fabric of his trousers, grinding against her ass as though it might break free at any second.
Camilla's eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat. Every nerve in her body went wild.