The Enemy I can't Resist

CHAPTER 5

Maya’s POV

The constant beeping of the heart monitor was the only noise in the clean hospital room. A steady reminder that my sister was still alive, still breathing.

I sat next to Mia's hospital bed, lightly touching her fragile wrist, feeling the weak beat of her pulse. She seemed so tiny, nearly covered by the clean white sheets. Her skin was very pale, her once-bright hazel eyes now lifeless from tiredness.

I felt a lump in my throat as I watched her chest move up and down with difficulty. God, she was only seventeen. She should have been out in the world, laughing, falling in love, living. Not lying here, connected to machines, struggling in a fight her weak body couldn’t handle.

I made myself smile when she turned her head to see me.

"Did you eat?" Mia’s voice was weak, but her concern was real. She always worried about me, as if she wasn’t the one fighting a serious heart problem that had taken so much from her.

I moved a strand of dark hair from her forehead, pushing aside the sharp pain in my heart." "I had a huge breakfast," I lied.

She gave me a knowing look, the kind that made it impossible to fool her. "Liar."

I chuckled softly, but it felt hollow. "Alright, I’ll grab something later. Happy?"

Mia hummed, her gaze searching mine. "You look tired."

I was tired. Deeply, completely worn out. The burden of responsibility, of feeling powerless, weighed on me like a heavy blanket.

But I couldn't let her see that.

So I smiled. "I just had a long night."

Her lips moved slightly, amused even though pain crossed her face. "A long night or an interesting night?"

A sudden feeling of guilt stabbed at me. Because, God help me, I had been thinking about something else. About him.

Dario Cassandro.

His dark steel grey eyes, the way they had stripped me down in that ballroom like he had already decided I was his to take apart. His voice—low, smooth, a whisper of a threat wrapped in velvet. And his touch, brief yet possessive when he had handed me the card.

I reached into my purse, my fingers brushing against the sleek black surface of that damn invitation.

Tomorrow. Seven o’clock. The St. Regis Hotel.

A meeting with the devil himself.

A chill went down my back, but I couldn’t tell if it was fear or something much more risky.

Because being in front of him had felt like being on the edge of something huge and dark—scary, yes, but also exciting.

But this wasn’t about me.

It was about her.

I glanced at Mia’s fragile form, at the IV line taped to her arm, at the way her lips were slightly tinted blue.

She needed me.

She needed a chance. And I would be damned if I let her slip away because I was too scared to take a risk.

No.

Fear had no place here.

I clenched the hotel card in my fist, my resolve hardening.

Whatever it took. Whatever price I had to pay. I would do it.

For her.

“Zoning off again, Maya?" Ava’s voice snapped me from my thoughts.

I turned to find her in the doorway, her dark hair tied in a messy bun, her face showing concern. She likely had just ended her shift at the club, still in her snug black jeans and short top.

She walked in, her keen eyes quickly checking Mia like she always did. "Hey, baby girl,” she said softly, bending down to kiss Mia’s forehead.

Mia smiled faintly. "Hi, Ava."

I watched as Ava checked the IV, adjusted the blanket, and made sure Mia was comfortable before she finally turned to me. That’s when she saw it—the black card in my grip.

Her expression shifted.

Instantly alert.

Instantly terrified.

She snatched it from my hands, her blue eyes wide with horror. "Maya."

When I said nothing, her lips thinned and she grabbed my arm, and drew me closer to herself.

She turned the card over, as if hoping it would magically change into something else. "Tell me you’re not actually going."

My jaw tightened.

Ava's voice rose. "Maya, no."

I crossed my arms. "Yes."

“Maya, this is insane!" She breathed out sharply, running her hand through her hair. "Do you even know what men like Dario Cassandro do to women like us?"

I did.

I had heard the rumors. The whispered stories of people who had crossed him, who had underestimated him.

But I had also seen the look in his eyes.

Dario Cassandro was a predator. But predators could be outplayed.

Ava’s hands trembled. "What if he just wants to f**k you?" she whispered, her voice raw. "Is that what you want?"

I forced a sad smile. "If sleeping with him gets me close enough to ruin him, then yes."

Ava's breath hitched, defeat flashing in her gaze for the second time in less than 24 hours.

Deep down, Ava knew she couldn't stop me. She knew that once my mind was set, there was no changing it.

She let out a deep, shaky breath. “God, I shouldn’t have let you go to that gala last night,” she muttered sadly. “Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you would snag his attention in one night!”

“Never knew I had it in me too," I joked with a mirthless laugh. “Guess I can still be able to pull guys after all”

Ava punched my shoulder. “Shut the f**k up! You're gorgeous, guys would be stupid not to fall for you.”

I grinned. “Gee, thanks.” Sighing, I pulled my best friend into my arms. “I will be careful, I promise.”

****

(Location: THE ST. REGIS HOTEL – 7:00 PM)

The St. Regis Hotel loomed over me, all glass and steel, an untouchable monument to wealth and power. The kind of place that swallowed girls like me whole.

I paused for a moment before going through the grand entrance.

The lobby was stunning—marble floors shone under the warm light of chandeliers, and the air smelled of expensive cologne. The kind of luxury that made me very aware of how nervous I felt.

A sharply dressed concierge approached before I could even find my voice.

"Miss Lia?" he asked smoothly, and I frowned. That was the name I'd given Matteo last night, how on earth...

A shiver crawled down my spine.

He was expecting me.

I forced a nod. "Yes."

"This way."

I followed him past the elegant bar and deeper into the hotel, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Every step felt heavier than the last.

What was I doing?

What if Ava was right? What if this wasn’t about business or intrigue, but something more... primal?

I shoved the thought away. No matter what Damien wanted from me, I needed to be here.

The concierge stopped before a discreet wooden door, opening it with a slight bow.

"Mr. Morello will be with you shortly."

And just like that, I was alone.

The lounge was cozy, dimly lit, with the city skyline visible through the large windows. One table stood in the middle, covered with clean white linen, next to two velvet chairs. whiskey decanter and two crystal glasses sat on a silver tray, undisturbed.

He had planned this.

That thought made my stomach clench.

I took a deep breath and sat in one of the chairs, crossing my legs on purpose. If he wanted a show, I’d give him one.

Minutes passed.

I traced the rim of an empty wine glass, my heart pounding harder with every tick of the clock.

And then—

The door clicked open.

A presence filled the room before I even looked up an I instantly knew it was him.

Dario Cassandro stepped inside like he owned the air itself.

Dark eyes swept over me, dragging slow and deliberate from my heels to my exposed legs and then to my throat.

There it was—that hunger.

Barely restrained.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, his lips parting slightly, as if tasting something he wasn’t sure he wanted.

I held his gaze, refusing to shrink beneath the weight of him.

"You're early," he murmured, his voice smooth as aged whiskey.

I tilted my head. "So are you."

Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe. Distrust, definitely.

Then, without saying anything else, he walked over and pulled out the chair across from me. He moved like a predator, careful and slow, every part of him filled with something dark and unclear.

As he sat, his eyes stayed on me.

You must be hungry,” he said. It was more of a statement.

Before I could respond, he grabbed the decanter and poured a dark amber liquid into the glasses. The smell of oak and spice filled the air between us.

One nod from him, and the door opened again, and a waiter entered, pushing a gleaming silver cart.

The air was filled with the smell of delicious food—perfectly cooked steak, buttery potatoes, and roasted vegetables covered in a tasty sauce.

They placed the plates down gently, the sound of porcelain breaking the heavy silence.

As soon as the waiter left, Damien picked up his knife and fork and cut into his steak with sharp, almost dangerous skill.

I hesitated, my fingers gripping my utensils tighter.

Was this a test?

I looked into his eyes as I took my first bite, trying to stay calm. The flavors exploded on my tongue—rich, decadent. But I barely tasted it.

Because Damien Morello was watching me eat.

Not just watching.

Studying. His gaze fixated on my lips as I chewed.

Minutes went by like that—just the sound of utensils and the tension building between us.

Then, he leaned back in his chair, swirling his whiskey. “Tell me about yourself," he said.

I wiped my mouth with my napkin, trying to keep my face blank. "What do you want to know?"

He smirked. "Everything."

A lie.

He wanted to know who I was, who I was connected to, and why I had entered his world without an invitation.

I tilted my head. “That’s a risky question.”

He took a slow sip of his whiskey. "I like danger."

So did I.

Which was why I met his gaze head-on and whispered my lie. “I’m Lia.’"

I half-expected him to call me out on it.

Instead, he merely hummed, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass.

"Lia," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "And what does Lia do?"

I took a sip of my whiskey, letting the burn take my mind off how his voice wrapped around my fake name like a promise.

"I'm in event planning."

"Ah." His gaze darkened slightly. "So you make things beautiful."

I smirked. "I make things memorable."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And what brings you to my world, Lia?"

The question pressed against my ribs like a blade.

I forced a slow, teasing smile. "Maybe I like danger too."

His fingers drummed against the table, slow and deliberate.

Then, while still looking at me, he reached into his pocket and took out a small, shiny black keycard.

He placed it on the table between us.

"Do you know why I invited you here?"

My breath hitched.

I shouldn’t have picked it up.

I should have hesitated, made him wait, kept the upper hand.

But my fingers moved before my brain could catch up.

The key was cold in my palm.

Damien leaned in, his voice quiet and filled with something risky.

"I find you interesting,” he said, and a chill ran down my back. “And I don’t trust things that catch my interest.”

I swallowed, pulse hammering. "So what now?"

He smirked, slow and dark.

"Now?" His eyes moved to the key in my hand. "Now you prove if you're worth my time."

My stomach tightened.

I had come here with a plan. A purpose.

But sitting across from him, I understood something scary.

I wasn’t the only one playing a game.

And Dario Cassandro.

He played to win.