THALIA POV

"What a very brave way to invite a deep painful death."

The seriousness in his threat hits like a punch, my knees almost give out at the intensity of his grip on my cheeks as he presses them together

"Too soon to show weakness now," he continues in that whiskey-smooth growl, his nails digging into my skin.

Then he releases me.

"But, I've always had a weakness for brave things."

Before I can react or draw breath, his fingers clamp onto my jaw again, forcing my face up. His hands are like ice, but his eyes are lava.

He's so close I can see the faint scar cutting through his neck, covered in tattoos and the sharp, lethal edge of his jaw. He smells like expensive oud and tobacco.

I force myself to look back up at him. One of his brows is raised, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

He won't get that satisfaction.

"When a stranger needs something, the word 'please' usually comes first."

He releases my jaw, taking a precise step back, his eyes widening slightly.

"Hmmmm."

Is all he mutters and suddenly two of his men grab my shoulders.

"Let me go!"

"Am I... a stranger?

Carlos lights a cigarette with agonizing slowness,

drawling out each word like a taunt, and anxiety floods my system.

His men release me.

Does he know? No. Impossible. He never saw me that night-I was living with my grandmother across the country when it happened. I've lost the baby fat. I've sharpened my features. I've become someone else entirely.

But doubt creeps in, cold and insidious.

Instead of responding, I turn toward the door, desperate for air, space, and the ability to think clearly without his presence scrambling my thoughts.

"Leave," Carlos's lethal voice halts my step. When did he get so close?

His hot breathe fans my neck, holding my neck against the door.

His chest pressing against my back, a solid wall of muscle and threat, pinning me still.

Something warm spreads through my core and I want to vomit.

Never. Not him. Not when I'm this close

In one swift move, he turns me to face him

"Leave and you'll find out why people disappear in my presence."

He finishes then lets me go

I instantly hate myself for how weak his movements make me feel. All those years of training, and he can still subdue me easily.

"Move" Orio says but I remain still, watching Carlos's eyes rake over me, taking inventory of every curve hidden beneath my leather pants and lace top.

Searching for every angle, every vulnerability.

But he misses the gun strapped to my ankle.

His knife-edge jaw isn't the only intimidating thing about him. It's the pride in the way he carries himself, like he's ruler of us all.

"Interesting."

He breaks the stare first, turning away abruptly.

Then he seals my fate with five words:

"Get her to the table."

Orio's hand clamps onto my arm.

"I'll walk!" I shake away from his grip and he lets me.

CARLOS POV

In my years as the Don of Viper Lane, no one has dared not to fear me. Not my rivals. Not my enemies.

Not even Zara.

And I have never been more aroused in my life.

"I told you," I let my temper flare, "I. Don't. Repeat. Myself."

The temper isn't about her disobedience or lack of fear. It's about the fact that I want to watch that smart mouth form the word "please"-and mean it.

It's about the fact that I want to see her defiance crack. Watch her fair ass redden beneath my palm. Blindfold and suspend her, denying her release just for being bratty.

But I can't do that.

Instead, I watch her face cycle through emotions: defiance, anger, calculation.

She's not afraid.

Most people who face me realize their shit luck and start begging or preparing to die.

Not her. She looks like she wants to murder me instead.

Which is interesting.

Pretty doll stares at the chessboard between us, then eases back into her seat with a smile that's pure provocation.

I tilt my head, cataloging that smile. I want to swallow it whole. I want her to realize that I set the tone for any game, and a five-foot-ten woman with a mouth that's a recipe for chaos won't change that.

I lift a brow at Orio. He points his gun at her head, she goes completely still.

"Play," he orders, "or never play again."

Her lips tremble. Not at the command, but at the cold metal of the barrel pressing against her temple.

My heart peaks. Nice fear, pretty doll.

I watch her fists clench and unclench, trying to hide her panic. But the soft rise and fall of her chest is crack enough.

She's lived with monsters.

It's time she dances with one like me..

"What are you-" She stands to showcase het anger, but Orio shoves her back down with a hard push on her shoulders.

If looks could kill, I would be ash. But I just tip over two of her pawns with ravaging slowness.

Her eyes widen, lips part & close.

Full, soft lips.

"'Never play again'

isn't an empty threat."

The dominance in my words just infuriates her more, but she forces herelf to calm. She's assessing the situation. She knows she's outnumbered. Two of my men are visible. More lurk in the shadows and she probably figured it out

Because my first soldier she played with before Damien is absent

"You didn't introduce yourself or state the stakes." she says with that voice that does things to me

"I guess Damien didn't teach you the rules."

She adds.

Funny. I'm not playing stranger with you.

"You know who I am, Thalia.

Her eyes snap to me and I quirk my eyebrow at her.

Infuriating her further by puffing my cigarette.

THALIA POV

"Thalia"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of my name. His face remains neutral-no anger, no satisfaction. Just dark pitch eyes.

"And neither of us needs the money." He continues while I steady my heart that's in overdrive.

Gun to my head

He knows my name.

I hold my breath, forcing calm into my racing pulse.

How much else does he know? Nope. Damien probably told him. On paper and internet I'm a normal student who launders Trustfund

Orio presses the gun harder.

Gun.

The few people remaining in the lounge rush out.

"Don is here!"

"Viper lane strikes again!"

Words and screams muffling into each other

If this turns to a gunfight, would it be smart to use mine?

"You blew your cover? a six years careful revenge over chess game?!"

The shrill voice of Marcus makes me shudder. I can imagine his words and heat. Even Vaughn's disappointment flash through my mind.

No. Marcus and Vaughn would kill me themselves if they found out I'd blown my cover over this.

I only wanted to rattle him, see if he was as volatile as the reports suggested. Now I'm about to get executed over a chess game.

"I don't know what you mean, but I do need the money." A lie. I need something far more valuable-access.

He leans closer. My pulse hammers as his nose grazes my skin, his cheek pressing against my neck. I expect words, threats, something. Instead, he just breathes me in. Slow. Deliberate. Taking me in like I'm evidence.

Then he pulls back, removing the gun from my temple and settling into his seat as he lights a fresh cigarette. By my count-that's his sixth tonight.

"You say you need money," smoke curls between us as he studies me, "but your leather isn't cheap."

The flame casts sharp shadows across his features.

"And? Some of us want more."

His eyes narrow, his cigarette stick in place between his plump lips. But there's something else beneath the scrutiny-a current I can't quite name.

"What kind of debt are you in, pretty doll?"

There it is. He's profiling me, searching for leverage.

"Why? Want to be my pimp?"

Laughter erupts from my left. I took in this place to know it's Damien, he sits in the shadows, eating prawns with a grin that hasn't left his face since Carlos dragged me here.

Carlos's expression doesn't change.

We hold each other's stare until he dumps his cigarette for a cuba & Orio lights it

"Okay, pretty doll, what do you want?"

I don't need to think, I know what I want

"You didn't take this long to state your terms earlier," Damien adds, his first words since they sat me down.

"Pretty. Doll." Carlos draws out each syllable, rough-voiced and sharp-edged.

The calm I hadn't noticed on his face evaporates, replaced by something lethal.

"I'm thinking." I force the words past the tension in my throat.

What do I want?

The truth burns: I want you suffering. I want you begging. I want you to lose everything before you die choking on your own blood.

But that's the endgame. Right now, I need proximity. After years of surveillance, I've learned that taking down Carlos means dismantling Viper Lane, and vice versa. Even with Shadow's resources, Marcus, the mafia lord who trained Vaughn & I, we agreed it's nearly impossible to destroy both simultaneously.

But if I'm inside? I'll have access to his schedule, his meals, life, contacts, his vulnerabilities

"Give me a job."

Laughter ripples through the room, Orio. Carlos shoots him a glare and the sound dies like it never existed

Carlos just tilts his head, curious.

I move my rook to h8, facing his pawn.

"Told you I need the money."

He moves his knight to d7, trapping me.

"What are you good at?" His voice cuts through my analysis.

I meet his gaze then he puffs a smoke at the ceiling.

"Cooking." Damien chuckles, but I continue.

"For someone who chain-smokes, shouldn't you pair it with something to drink? Or does your throat not burn anymore?"

Metal presses against my temple before I finish the sentence. I gasp: sharp, involuntary.

I can shoot a gun. I've trained myself past the phobia, mostly. But I hate having one pointed at me.

My chest rises and falls too rapidly. I repeat my mantra silently: Live to kill Carlos. Live to kill Carlos.

It doesn't work.

Carlos stands so quickly his chair scrapes the floor. He draws his own weapon and my entire body goes cold, throat goes dry.

But he aims it at Orio's head.

"Never point your gun at her without my direct order. Ever."

"Yes, sir." Orio's voice shakes as he lowers his weapon.

I remain frozen, staring at Carlos's sharp profile.

"Do you all hear me?" The harshness in his tone makes me want to cover my ears.

"Order received, sir." Five voices-maybe more-respond from the darkness.

I scan the room but see only Orio and Damien. When I look back, Carlos is seated again, casual as if he hadn't just threatened to execute his own man.

I bite my lower lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to slow my racing heart.

"My personal assistant." He makes his move on the board without looking at it.

"You start tonight if you win."

"Personal assistant?" I can't hide my shock. "Tonight?"

I don't need a job or information that chains me.

Marcus PA doesn't have a life outside of work. Lives in his building. Has access to everything but he knows his breathing schedule.

"What PA starts work at eight PM?"

He sets down his cigarette and drains a full glass of clear tequila in one swallow. I wince at the burn he must feel.

Or maybe he's too burnt to feel anything anymore.

"Have a problem with it?" His eyes lock onto mine. "Then lose."

The challenge in his voice sparks something defiant in me, but I force it down.

He makes another move.

"Play. " Demanding as usual

I stare at the board before making a Mindless move

"I'm not good at paperwork or taking orders." I feel the weight of his gaze and the intensity brings out a limited respect in me, so I add

"Sir."

For the first time tonight, I hear his teeth grind.

He makes another move-

another opening for me to attack.

I throw it again, playing a meaningless response.

He shoots me a glare. Damien chuckles before adding

"This is getting interesting"

Carlos downs another tequila and play. This time, he mirror me.

Instead of protecting, he opens space around his king-an obvious path to checkmate.

He's better than this. I glance at Damien, who raises his glass in mock salute.

He knows I'm throwing the game.

And Carlos knows too

"I'm better in a kitchen." The words come out flat, disinterested.

A smile crosses his face, but it makes him look more dangerous, not less.

"Are you now?"

He plays again-an obvious trap that any decent player would see.

He puffs his smoke straight at me. Challenging, unwavering gaze.

Please. That open slot for chef & I'll play well

Marcus made one of his live out kitchen staff get sacked so there'll be soace for me to apply.

Like now.

I make another careless move, my mind already working through the implications.

If I win, I'm his PA. Trapped & monitored. In days he'll find out my records on net are lies. My affiliation with Shadows, his enemy.

He plays, I reach for another piece and throw it. Losing it is

The glass in his hand shatters.

Blood wells from his palm, dripping onto the board. Onto the floor.

Red. So much red.

My breath catches.

No. Not now. Stay present. Stay focused.

But the red spreads, and suddenly I'm not in the lounge anymore.

I'm seventeen, standing in the doorway of my childhood home.

Blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. Blood everywhere.

"Stop playing games within games." Carlos's voice sounds distant, muffled.

My mother's face, eyes open and empty. My brother.

I suck in a breath. Force my eyes to focus on the chessboard. The pieces blur.

"Shit." Damien's voice cuts through the fog.

"Carlos-"

Carlos walk towards me, blood trailing behind from his palm,

my vision returns to my dad's blood on his palm

Don't look at his hand. Don't look at the blood

Another breath. Deeper. My nails dig into my palms.

You're not there. You're here. In the lounge. With your enemy.

But I look.

I feel his attention on me like a physical weight.

Blood drips from his fingers onto the tiled lounge but all I can see is theirs: My family's.

And the lounge fades into fog

"Interesting." His voice wraps around me, cold. Intrigued. Weapon. Close

"I think we should get her a doctor," Damien says, sounding restless.

"No." Carlos cuts in, so close to me.

From the fog, I see his hand move up to my cheek

"NO" The scream tear from me.

That hand killed them

I try to stand, get away from him but my legs wobble and I collapse onto rigid body

THALIA POV

"She's awake. Set the table."

Not Marcus's voice. Not Vaughn's.

I open my eyes-complete darkness. I'm blindfolded.

"You're playing a dangerous game." Damien's voice, unmistakable.

I test my limbs. Legs free. Arms unbound. I'm on a bed, and the scent surrounding me is familiar: bergamot and vanilla. My custom candle-the one I make because store versions never match my father's recipe.

"I'm making things fast and easy for her." Carlos, closer than expected.

Footsteps retreat. A door closes.

I rip off the blindfold. Carlos stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching with dead eyes.

Fuck. He captured me.

"Took you forever to wake up. Bathroom's there." He points forward but I refuse to look in case he stabs me

" Get dressed. Let's continue from last night."

More words than I've heard him speak at once. My throat is sandpaper-dry. He could have killed me while I was unconscious.

The room is massive-double the lounge's size. Everything dark: black furniture, charcoal walls, slate curtains. But there on the nightstand burns my candle.

"This isn't my room."

"True. It's mine. Go wash up."

He disappears through another doorway.

I'm in Carlos's bedroom.

Adrenaline floods my system. My mission crashes back into focus.

I find my purse on the bed.

Fuck!

I dump the contents. Scissors, Q-tip. I open the hidden zip-all three cameras still there. Relief makes me dizzy.

My gun. Where's my gun?

I search frantically, find it under the pillow. He left it within reach while I slept, vulnerable and unconscious.

What game is he playing?

No time. I check the clock: 5:14 AM.

My wake up time.

The room's layout becomes clear as I move. The bathroom faces the bed. Another door sits across the his bed, down three small steps. I creep toward it, cameras clutched in my palm.

It's an office. His office. Empty.

I don't let myself look around. I place the first camera underneath his desk with the mic facing out. The adhesive holds immediately.

One down.

I peek through the doorway-the bedroom remains empty.

Back in the bedroom, I position the second camera behind his bedside lamp, angled to capture the bed and the room's main entrance.

Confirm, Mic on.

The third one goes back in my purse. If I'm lucky, I'll find somewhere more valuable to place it later. A safe room. A weapons cache. Something that will give Shadow the leverage we need.

I should call Marcus. I search for my phone but can't find it.

𝐻𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ it

I scoff. It's clean as grave thanks to Vaughn's tech knowledge.

Least of my worries. I'll find a way to reach Marcus later.

A smile spreads across my face . Marcus will see everything through these feeds-meetings, phone calls, vulnerabilities. The reality settles in: after six years, I'm inside his sanctuary

I'm finally, finally making progress.

I actually do a small victory dance toward the bathroom.

Then I stop cold.

All my products lined up on the counter. My shampoo. My specific Portland body wash. My toothbrush.

But no clothes. Just his-the shirt from last night, boxer briefs that might be clean.

How does he have all this?

Twenty minutes later, I emerge drowning in his clothes. The shirt hangs to mid-thigh.

Carlos sits at a small table positioned near the floor-to-ceiling windows. A chessboard waits between two place settings. Toast. Coffee. Water

"You can't be serious. It's not even six AM."

"We had a deal. But you passed out."

His hand is bandaged. White gauze.

The blood.

I scan the room quickly

No sign of anyone except the peppery, woody scent that I'm beginning to recognize as distinctly Carlos. We're alone. I'm trapped if he becomes a threat.

"How did you get my candle?" I ask as I sit.

"I had someone pick it up." He moves his knight.

"The candle is custom-made. Not available retail."

"Then I guess it's not that special."

His nonchalance is more unsettling than anger. He either broke into my apartment or knows more about me than he should.

Neither is good.

We play. He's calm, composed. I lose pieces carelessly.

"You must be trusting, bringing a stranger home."

His eyes travel down my body slowly-lingering on how his shirt maps every curve, nipples visible through thin fabric.

I match his stare. He picks up my half-eaten toast and bites exactly where my mouth was.

My lips part, breathe hitch

He leans back, legs spreading wider as he chews. Each movement hammers in my chest.

Tank top showing muscled arms. Hair down. Tongue piercing visible when he licks his lips as he stares a bit longer between my lips and chest

Dangerous edges and casual dominance.

"You intend to hurt me, pretty doll?"

Cocky amusement. Like the thought is laughable.

"I can try."

He quirks an eyebrow, gaze back at my visible nipple.

"It's rude to stare"

"You're wearing my shirt"

"You didn't give me another option"

I make another move. He doesn't look away from my face when he plays

"You're 𝑛𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑑 underneath my shirt"

He enunciates the word and I roll my eyes.

Carlos eyes never left my body

It's past seven when I finally win. Now he's handing me his bag, rattling off his schedule: Warehouse, shipments, meetings,

as we wait for the elevator.

"What am I expected to do at this job?"

"Be you."

I snort.

"If I've heard of ways to get killed quickly, it's by being yourself."

He chuckles-low and rusty.

"Think ahead. Be discreet. Intelligent. Comfortable around the men and woman I meet."

Woman. Singular. Not women.

Maybe that's why he needs a female PA.

"What's my pay?"

"Enough to ensure you never need money again."

"Like a billion dollars?"

"Yes."

Of course.

"Can I have my phone now?"

"As my PA, it's being checked for security. You'll get it back later."

"As my PA, it's being checked for security. You'll get it back later"

I mimic his voice under my breath. His mouth twitches

Surprise... His car is white.

No driver.

I slide in, hyperaware I haven't contacted Marcus since last night. My smartwatch is gone too.

Carlos starts the engine.

"Where are we going?"

"Your apartment."

My head whips toward him as I grab his wrist with force that could've caused an accident.

"NO."

Every surveillance photo is in that apartment. Every note. Four years of intel hidden behind a false panel. My TV connects to field cameras. If he walks in. Goes wrong room, press my TV...

Six years of work. Gone.

"We can't go there."

He drives ignoring me

"We can't," I say again, desperate.

He doesn't respond. Just pulls out and heads toward the exit.

No watch. No way to signal Marcus. No way to warn him Carlos is about to walk into evidence of my obsession, my hunt for revenge.

My heart hammers in my throat.

Live to kill Carlos.

But right now, I'm not sure I'll survive the next hour.