The Mafia Devil's Vow

chapter 3

It was a little past 7 PM, and Graeme was still holed up in his office. His once perfectly tailored suit now looked slightly crumpled. His suit jacket lay carelessly on the sofa adjacent to his chair, while his dress shirt, three buttons undone, had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The tie that had nearly strangled him in his air-conditioned office was now loosened, hanging lopsided around his neck. He sat lazily in his swiveling chair, his gaze fixed intently on the computer screen in front of him.

A knock echoed at the door. With an exasperated sigh, Graeme didn’t lift his gaze from the screen. “Come in,” he muttered.

Kim stepped in, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Dressed in a crisp white blouse tucked into a pencil-length skirt, she held a sleek tablet in her manicured hands, his schedule in perfect order, just as he preferred.

He didn’t look up.

“What is it now, Kim?” he asked, his voice flat and edged with exhaustion.

She swallowed, her throat tightening as she fought to keep her voice steady.

“The Vice President of the Bratva empire requested a business meeting with you. It’s about the alliance with his newly commissioned foundation.”

That made him glance up. His eyes,sharp, unreadable, locked onto hers.

“What day did he ask for?” he asked, each word clipped.

“Tomorrow morning,” she replied, shifting slightly, trying and failing to escape the gravity of his stare. It stirred something in her she’d buried long ago.

“Push that to Monday,” he said coolly, returning his attention to his screen.

“But…” she started, only to freeze mid-sentence as his gaze snapped back to hers, warning, commanding.

“Do as I've said.”

“…Okay, sir.”

A moment passed.

“Anything else?” he asked, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips, half challenge, half tease.

The question knocked the breath out of her. Her pulse quickened, drumming in her ears. She couldn’t name what she felt—whether it was the cold fire in his eyes or the magnetic pull in his presence. Either way, it made her knees weak.

He rose without warning, moving toward her in slow, deliberate strides with hands buried in his pockets. His towering frame closed the distance effortlessly. The power that radiated off him was suffocating, the confidence in his walk, lethal.

Kim's breath caught in her throat as his shadow fell over her, his expensive Cologne , clean, dark wrapped around her like invisible chains.

“You're trembling”. He said almost amused as his eyes roamed her face, “should I take that as fear or…something else”?

Her lips parted but no words came out.

His grin grew even wider. “You should be careful, Kim”, he said almost in whispers but sharp enough to burn. “If you can't tell the difference…I might just show you”.

“I… um… Graeme…” she stammered, the words tumbling off her tongue before dying somewhere in her throat. Instead, she just nodded, nervous and uncertain.

Just then, his phone rang, slicing through the heavy tension. Normally, he would’ve ignored it and continued his quiet torment, but the call flashed across his personal line and that meant something. Whoever it was, they mattered.

His gaze flicked to her once more, unreadable. “I’ll see you on Monday, Kim,” he said coolly, his tone final, dismissal wrapped in authority.

Kim exhaled, her breath shaky and almost ragged. Relief and confusion swirled inside her chest as she turned to leave, her heels clicking faster this time, desperate to escape before another strange, electric moment could unfold.

“Don’t tell me you’re still buried in that dull excuse of an office,” Robert’s voice crackled through the line, dripping with amusement.

Graeme exhaled sharply, the sound carrying a weight of exhaustion that said more than words ever could. That alone sent Robert into one of his signature fits of maniacal laughter. It clawed through the room, bouncing off the walls until Graeme’s patience began to fray.

“You really need to get your damn life back, man,” Robert pressed on, still laughing. “I mean, look at you, what the hell happened to the city’s most secretive yet most prolific playboy?”

“He got old,” Graeme muttered flatly, eyes never leaving the glowing map of the global supply chain expanding across his laptop screen. The pale light reflected off his tired features, catching the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Robert snorted. “Old my ass. You’re forty five, not some seventy years old man”.

And despite himself, Graeme’s lips curved into a small, reluctant smile.

“You can't be f*****g serious right now, Graeme. It's Saturday, you should hit the club, burn off some of that tension. It's been ages since you last showed your face there and right now, you look pathetic.”

“What club?” Graeme frowned, pulling a face.

“Chameleon, you dumbass. Jesus, Graeme. You're too rich to play innocent.”

Graeme chuckled dryly, typing out an email. “I'm not… I just, uh, forgot about it for a bit.”

“For a whole year,” Robert shot back.

“Yeah, thanks for keeping track.” Graeme’s voice dripped with mockery.

“Seriously, man. It's been way too long. You didn't forget. You renewed your damn membership this year. What’s up? Did you suddenly get amnesia? Hit your head on some door and lose your memory?” Robert’s sarcasm was sharp.

“You’re an asshole, Robert,” Graeme muttered, fingers flying across his keypad.

“I heard that,” Robert shot back, his tone dripping with amusement.

“How the hell did you even know I renewed it, huh? Oh…wait, don’t answer that. I forgot you’re the damn king of locks.”

Robert’s sinister laughter filled the room.

“That’s more like it,” he said smugly. “Now quit whining like a baby and tell me what’s really eating you. Maybe I’ll let you in on how sweet things are at Chameleon tonight. Might just be what you need.”

Graeme leaned back, the words catching somewhere between his teeth and his pride. How could he even explain it? That slow rot of boredom that seemed to crawl under his skin lately, turning everything dull, even the things that used to burn.

The women were supposed to fix it. To distract him. To make him feel something again. For a while, it worked, especially with Kim, his P.A.

There had been chemistry, or at least her version of it. She was eager, hungry for him, and he played along. s*x was good—raw, even electric but it burned out too fast. The spark died, and what was left was the same old emptiness staring him in the face.

So he did what he always did, cut her off, leaving her tangled in her own feelings while he sank back into the only thing that still made sense, his work.

Maybe he wasn’t unlucky with women. Maybe he was just cursed with the kind of hunger nothing and no one could satisfy.

“What's on your mind?” Robert’s voice cut through Graeme’s thoughts.

Graeme leaned back, lips curving slowly. “You know what, I think I might just hit the club tomorrow night, how about that”?

“Tomorrow?” Robert snorted. “Hell no, go tonight. You don’t have to flirt with the women throwing themselves at you, just feel the music, burn off that stress because honestly, you look like s**t right now.”

Graeme shot him a side look, half amused, half annoyed.

Robert grinned wider. “Besides, I’ve got this feeling that something might go down tonight.”

“Yeah, right.” Graeme resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Look into the Japanese market,” he continued, voice turning sharp, precise , all business now. “Nothing solid yet, but with the whispers around their central bank and the shifts I’ve been tracking all week, something’s about to break. Keep your eyes on commodities.”

“I will,” Robert replied, and the line went dead.

Graeme leaned back in his chair, letting it spin once before he rose. He adjusted his cuffs, straightened his tie, and stared at his reflection that cold, composed, and dangerous aura crept back in, with a faint curl of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Thirty minutes later, his sleek black Tesla glided to a stop at the grand entrance of Chameleon.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmured under his breath.

His driver swung out and rounded the car, opening the door with silent precision. Graeme stepped out with that effortless grace people either envied or feared, his eyes sweeping the vibrant exterior before heading toward the entrance.

The bouncers gave him curt nods of recognition, that quiet kind of respect reserved for men whose names carried weight.

“Welcome back to Chameleon, Mr. Romano,” the host greeted, surprise flickering across his face before professionalism took over.

Graeme’s grin widened as he caught it, that split second of shock. A coat boy rushed forward to take his jacket, bowing slightly before disappearing into the private chamber.

“I’m good, Simon,” Graeme said smoothly, his voice low with amusement. “You look a little surprised to see me.”

“Well, Mr. Romano, it’s been quite some time since we’ve had the honor of your presence. And even when you were a regular, you never attended Open Nights. Tonight, it seems we’re twice as lucky.”

The host wasn’t wrong. Open Nights were never Graeme Romano’s scene. It wasn’t distaste that kept him away, but boredom. There was no thrill in the obvious. He preferred encounters veiled in subtlety the quiet game of curiosity and intent. Open Nights stripped that away. Everyone knew their purpose, especially the women whose stares were too eager, too deliberate.

“Graeme? Is that you? Wow… welcome back.”

He turned, suppressing the sigh that threatened to escape. A polite smile curved his lips as he shook hands with the vice president of one of the city’s banks, a man who mistook arrogance for charm. Beside him stood his mistress, the same one Graeme remembered from years ago. Some habits never changed.

“What kept you away, Graeme? Do you even still hold membership here?” the man asked, tone dripping with casual insolence.

Graeme’s smile remained fixed, but his eyes hardened, the steel in them sharp enough to slice through the man’s false bravado. “I never left,” he said smoothly.

The silence that followed was heavy, cutting. The vice president faltered, coughed, muttered a hasty “Enjoy your night,” and retreated with his mistress clinging to his arm.

A waiter appeared almost instantly, offering a glass of champagne with practiced precision. Graeme took it and made his way to his box, a secluded, elevated enclosure with a perfect view of the stage. It was discreet, elegant, and detached, just the way he liked it.

By the time he sank into his seat, the smirk had faded. The performance below held his attention for a while, but there was something in the air — an undercurrent he couldn’t quite name. Maybe Robert was right. Maybe he had needed to escape the suffocating monotony. Or maybe there was something else waiting for him tonight, something his instincts had already begun to sense.

The lights dimmed as the next performance began, fluid, mesmerizing, almost intimate. And then he saw her.

A vision draped in deep velvet.

She moved with a grace that was almost predatory. The dress clung to her figure like it had been crafted for her alone, the slit a whisper of temptation, the neckline a calculated invitation. His chest tighted...