Michael's POV

The air was filled with the smell of cigar smoke, expensive perfume, and the quiet hum of sinister conversations.

The grand ballroom of Fernando's mansion was covered in golden light, its high ceilings adorned with beautiful chandeliers that cast numerous shadows over the sea of sharply dressed men.

I moved carefully through the crowd, holding a silver tray with crystal glasses of the finest whiskey.

My posture was relaxed, my expression neutral, but inside, I was fuming.

This wasn't just a party.

It was a gathering of criminals-men who had built empires on blood, drugs, and fear.

I recognized several faces immediately.

The bald man in the corner, laughing over a drink? Leonardo Vasquez, head of one of the biggest arms-smuggling rings in South America.

The sharply dressed Asian man sitting across from him? Wei Cheng, a known trafficker whose operations stretched from Hong Kong to Los Angeles.

And the old man, currently swirling his drink and smirking at a nervous young server?

Nikolai Petrov.

The Nikolai Petrov.

The bastard had been on the FBI's most-wanted list for over two decades, responsible for running one of the largest heroin distributions in Eastern Europe. And he was sitting here, sipping his drink like a king, surrounded by murderers and thieves who saw themselves as businessmen.

My grip tightened around the tray.

I needed to find the evidence and get the hell out of here.

I forced my body to relax as I approached one of the guests, lowering the tray slightly.

"Would you like a drink, sir?"

The man barely acknowledged me, taking a glass before returning to his conversation.

Good. That's how I preferred it.

I moved toward another table, distributing drinks while keeping an eye on the layout of the room.

Fernando was standing near the back, deep in conversation with two other men, his expression smug as ever.

Every fiber of my being wanted to put a bullet in his skull.

Not yet.

I turned my attention back to the guests, only to find myself caught in the sharp gaze of Nikolai Petrov.

His lips curled into an amused smile as he set his empty glass down on the table and motioned for me.

I had no choice but to step forward.

"Drink, sir?" I asked evenly, offering the tray.

Nikolai didn't take one. Instead, his sharp blue eyes studied me, his thin lips stretching into something that made my skin crawl.

"You're a handsome one," he murmured, his thick Russian accent covering every word. "What is your name, boy?"

I swallowed my disgust.

"Michael, sir."

"Michael," he repeated, rolling the name in his mouth as if tasting it. "How charming."

I kept my expression neutral, but my pulse ticked higher.

Nikolai leaned back in his chair, one hand resting against his knee.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Michael?" he asked.

I forced a polite smile.

"I'm just here to work, sir."

"Work." Nikolai smirked. "And yet, a face like yours... it belongs somewhere else. Somewhere... more pleasurable."

My stomach turned.

"I appreciate the compliment, sir, but I-"

"Come home with me," he said smoothly, cutting me off. "I'll take care of you. You won't have to work another day in your life."

I kept my hands steady, though my skin prickled with the urge to throw the tray at his face.

"I'm flattered, but I must refuse."

Nikolai's expression didn't falter. If anything, his amusement deepened.

"Oh? Why so shy?" His fingers tapped against the glass. "I assure you, you'll enjoy my company. Many have."

I inhaled slowly, keeping my voice polite but firm.

"Thank you, sir, but I must decline."

Before he could respond, a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"My, my," Fernando drawled. "How disappointing."

I tensed as he walked over, hands in his pockets, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

"Fernando," Nikolai greeted him, not breaking eye contact with me.

Fernando tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"I see you've met my dear Michael."

Nikolai's smirk widened.

"He's quite the beauty. You've been hiding him from me."

Fernando chuckled.

"Hiding? No, no, my friend." His smirk sharpened. "I've simply been keeping him for myself."

My stomach dropped as his hand slid over my butt in a slow, possessive touch.

Instinct took over, and I stepped away before I could stop myself.

Fernando's smirk widened.

I forced myself to stay calm, gritting my teeth as I bowed my head slightly in apology.

"I'm sorry, sir. I have work to do."

Fernando merely chuckled, turning back to Nikolai.

"As much as I'd love to continue this conversation, we have more pressing matters to attend to."

Nikolai sighed, casting me one last lingering glance.

"Another time, then."

I quickly turned on my heel and walked away, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Bastard.

I clenched my fists, forcing my breath to steady.

The way Fernando had touched me-the way he spoke about me like I was some kind of object-it made my skin crawl.

If I wasn't already determined to bring him down, I sure as hell was now.

Slipping into the hallway, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Marlo's stolen tag.

It's now or never.

The study was heavily guarded, but Marlo's tag gave me immediate access.

The second I slipped inside, I locked the door behind me and exhaled slowly.

The room was exquisite-large bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound books that I doubted Fernando had ever read.

A massive desk sat in the center, completely clear of any paperwork.

It was too clean.

No crime boss kept his operations this tidy.

Frustration curled in my gut as I began my search, pulling open drawers, scanning the bookshelves for hidden compartments.

Nothing.

Damn it.

I knew Fernando was careful, but I hadn't expected him to be this meticulous.

Gritting my teeth, I moved toward the desk, running my fingers along the wood, searching for anything-

Click.

A panel beneath my fingers shifted slightly.

I froze.

Slowly, a small compartment slid open beneath the desk.

My heart pounded as I reached inside, pulling out a thin black USB drive.

This could be it.

The proof I needed.

I quickly slipped it into my pocket, about to search further when-

The door handle turned.

My breath caught.

The lock clicked open.

I turned just in time to see the door swing open, and there he was.

Fernando.

Tall, sharp, his smirk etched in amusement.

My stomach dropped.

Shit.

Fernando's POV

I stepped into my study with confidence only to stop in my tracks when I saw him-Michael-standing silently beside my desk.

His presence was as unexpected as it was audacious, and immediately, my pulse quickened with a mix of irritation and delight.

I closed the door behind me softly, the click echoing in the quiet room, and took measured steps toward him.

"What a surprise," I said, my voice low and inviting, yet laced with a dangerous edge. "I wasn't expecting a guest in my study this evening."

Michael's eyes flickered, guarded yet defiant, as he attempted a measured response.

"The door was open," he replied, his tone calm but steady.

I arched a brow, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.

"The door was open, was it?" I repeated, letting the words hang in the air.

He shifted his weight, a motion that betrayed his inner discomfort, but he quickly masked it with a shrug.

"Yes," he said simply.

I took another deliberate step forward, watching as his posture tensed and he instinctively moved back-only to find his retreat stopped by the solid, unyielding presence of my desk behind him.

He was trapped, his only escape cut off by the imposing barrier of polished wood and my own advancing form.

I leaned in closer, my presence overwhelming, my eyes never leaving his.

"Tell me, Michael... what exactly were you doing in my study?" I asked, my voice a murmur that seemed to vibrate with both menace and desire.

He swallowed hard, and for a moment, I saw the vulnerability beneath his practiced composure.

"I saw the door open," he said, his voice steadying despite the tension. "I assumed it was unguarded, so I entered."

A slow, amused chuckle escaped me.

"You expect me to believe that?" I asked.

I reached out and, with a deliberate slowness, cupped his chin in my hand. I forced his eyes to meet mine, letting my thumb trace the line of his jaw.

His skin was warm under my touch, and I savored the power of that moment.

"Or perhaps you're simply curious," I whispered, my voice now soft and seductive. "Curious about things you shouldn't be, and about men you shouldn't dare to admire."

He shuddered under my gaze, a silent admission of both fear and something else.

"I'm not... I mean, I didn't mean-" he stammered, struggling to find words as his heart pounded in his ears.

"Silence," I commanded, my voice firm. "I don't want to hear excuses. I want the truth."

His eyes widened, and for a moment, I saw him waver.

"I told you-the door was open," he repeated, as if that simple statement could absolve him of any wrongdoing.

I let my fingers linger on his skin before releasing him slowly.

I stepped even closer, my body almost brushing his, and continued, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Look at me, Michael. I want to see it-every hidden emotion. I want to know what makes you tick. I want to feel the heat behind those guarded eyes."

He hesitated, his face flushed as he fought his inner turmoil.

"Boss, please... I'm not lying," he said softly, as if pleading for mercy. "If you doubt me, check for Marlo's tag on me. I don't have it."

I laughed-a rich, throaty sound that resonated in the dim light of my study.

"You suggest that I search you?" I scoffed, feigning outrage as I stepped back slightly. "How insolent can you be, Michael? To propose that your own boss stoop to such common measures."

His eyes darkened with a mix of fear and something that looked almost like desperation.

"I'm sorry, Boss," he replied quickly, his voice low. "I meant no disrespect. I just-"

"Enough," I snapped.

I stepped forward again, closing the space between us until his back pressed firmly against the cold, smooth surface of my desk.

I could feel his heat radiating against me, a reminder that he was flesh and blood-and undeniably attractive.

I pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath my palm.

"I hate it," I whispered into his ear, my voice a mix of scorn and seduction, "when you look at me with such hateful eyes. It stings, Michael. It makes me wonder what you truly feel."

His eyes darted away for a moment, but then he met my gaze again, steadier now, though laced with confusion.

"I-I'm sorry," he managed, his voice catching. "I didn't mean-"

"Shut up," I interrupted abruptly, my tone soft yet commanding. I held his gaze, unwilling to let him speak, savoring the charged silence that enveloped us. "I want you to listen," I said slowly, "to understand that your insolence both infuriates and intrigues me. I find your defiance... delectable."

For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes searching mine.

He tried to pull his face away, but my hand held him firmly.

His eyes searched mine, pleading silently for some understanding, some release from the torment of his own heart.

"Boss," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry if I upset you-I never meant to disrespect you or your rules."

I paused, the intensity of our shared silence filling the space between us.

Before Michael could form another word, I seized his face in my hands, my gaze locking onto his with an intensity that bordered on possessive.

"You irritate me, Michael," I said again, "but you also intrigue me more than you know. I want to peel back every layer of your guarded soul-until there is nothing left but raw truth."

His eyes shone with a mixture of defiance and submission, and for a long, breathless moment, neither of us spoke.

Finally, Michael managed to whisper,

"I...I don't know what you want from me, Boss."

I allowed a slow, predatory smile to appear my lips as I released his face, stepping back just enough to let him feel the lingering warmth of my gaze.

"What I want, Michael, is simple," I said, my voice both commanding and tender. "I want you to understand that in my world, there is no room for lies."

He took a shuddering breath, his eyes softening as he looked up at me.

"I am honest," he vowed, voice quiet but determined. "I'm not lying."

Although he said those words, my gut kept telling me he was lying, and my gut was never wrong.

Okay, since he doesn't want to tell me the truth, I'll continue playing this game.

It had only just begun, and I was more than willing to see it through.