Chapter Four-Lyssa
712 Words
I've spent days tracking Ares Rossi—learning his every move, studying his habits, trying to slip into his world unnoticed. The man's too careful, too guarded. It's frustrating.
There have been moments when I could have taken him out—he's cocky, rarely brings security—but that's not the plan. Not yet.
Then, my informant tipped me off: Ares would be at the opening of the mafia's new club, Club Onyx. A few calls, a couple of favors, and I'm on the guest list.
This isn't just about getting close to him; it's about making him want me. I want his curiosity piqued, his interest deepened. I want him craving me—to get under his skin.
I dress for the part: a black cocktail dress that hugs my curves in all the right places, the plunging neckline revealing just enough. Strappy silver heels elongate my legs. Men are predictable—they think with their d***s first, and I'm not above using that to my advantage.
Ares is in the VIP lounge, seated next to Leo Rossi. Leo isn't a Rossi by blood—he was adopted after Ares's father wiped out the Mikhailov family. Cold, calculated, but I can't blame them. The Mikhailovs were a cancer, and starting an internal war would've left us all vulnerable to outsiders. Now, the Rossi family is untouchable—a bloody understanding forged between the Italians and Russians.
But I'm here to change that.
I watch Ares from across the room, and damn, he's even more mesmerizing in person. He radiates power and control; even the way he sits exudes authority. But it's the way he looks at Leo—his right‑hand man—that catches my attention. Their bond runs deeper than I expected, a trust that could complicate things.
I may need a distraction—something subtle enough to keep Leo occupied while I work my magic on Ares. And what better way to catch a man's eye than to give him something to chase?
I glance at my phone and send Katarina my penthouse location. She'll meet me later. We'll talk then.
I tuck my phone away, but a sudden prickle crawls up my skin. Someone's watching me. My heart races as I scan the room—Ares isn't in the VIP anymore.
Where the hell did he go?
Before I can react, I feel him behind me. His presence is a living thing—heat and dominance pressing against the air itself. My pulse skips as I turn too quickly, nearly spilling my drink.
And there he is.
Ares Rossi stands just inches away, his piercing green eyes locking with mine. The air leaves my lungs. He's even more dangerous up close. His suit fits like a second skin, and his tousled hair looks like it's been tugged in frustration—or pleasure. His lips curl into a slight, calculated smirk, and my body betrays me. I should be in control, yet all I can think about is how badly I want him.
His voice is low, dangerous, dripping with confidence.
"Why, hello there. What's your name?"
I fight to keep my composure, my heart pounding. He's trying to get under my skin, and I refuse to let him see that he's succeeding.
"My name you want? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," I reply, my tone sweet but laced with challenge.
I trail a fingertip slowly up his arm, watching his muscles tighten beneath my touch. He reacts—no question about it. His nostrils flare, and satisfaction floods me. My fingers continue their path, gliding over his chest, up his neck, stopping just inches from his lips. His breath hitches.
I smile, teasing, taunting. I may be the one standing here, but I'm not the one losing control.
His eyes darken with hunger, and the electricity between us is almost tangible. He's no god—just a man. One who's about to be played.
With a final flick of my wrist, I rise from my seat, my heels clicking against the floor as I turn toward the door. I glance back over my shoulder, a flash of wickedness in my eyes.
I've burrowed myself into his mind. That's enough for now.
- Writer
