A brutal shove sent me slamming into the door, my skull cracking against the wood. Pain pulsed through my forehead, the world tilting for a dizzying second. I tried to twist, to fight—but before I could move, his weight crushed me. His chest pressed against my back with bruising force, his hands gripping my shoulders, pinning me so hard the air left my lungs in a ragged gasp. His breath was hot against my ear—but not the familiar heat of passion. This was the heat of a man consumed by rage.
"You sneak into my office," he snarled, wrenching me back only to slam me into the door again. "You trick my people, dig for—" Another slam. "—blackmail? And then you try to shoot me? After holding your little toy knife to my dick yesterday?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Are you insane, you fucking psychopath?"
Pure terror flooded me. My heart battered my ribs, my mind screaming for escape—but there was none. I was trapped between the door and his fury.
"Look at me." His hand fisted in my hair, wrenching my head sideways until my cheek ground into the wood. "You know your problem?" His voice was so harsh, my fear twisted into full-blown panic. "You think you figured me out. A lawyer. Maybe a little corrupt. Maybe dabbling in dark circles." His grip tightened, and I gasped as pain seared my scalp. "You wanted a thrill. A taste of ‘bad vibes.’ To pretend you’re someone who dances with darkness—as long as the music stays controlled." His gaze raked over my face. "Let’s be clear: I don’t negotiatecontracts. I decide who doesn’t survive them. I’m the man Colombia’s cartels lower their eyes for." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And if I want, your name disappears faster than you can blink." He tilted his head. "You want ‘bad vibes’?"
Suddenly—something cold and hard pressed under my chin.
A click.
My body recognized the sound before my mind could—pure, primal terror surging through me. He’d pressed a gun to my throat. And just racked the slide.
For a fraction of a second, panic overwhelmed me, adrenaline racing through every cell. I closed my eyes. My body remembered. Remembered situations where control was no longer an option. Remembered nights when death felt closer than morning light.
But I wasn't that girl anymore.
I took a deep, deliberate breath. Felt my muscles twitch, tense—and fought to regain my composure. Slowly, I opened my eyes, blinking against the weight of fear and adrenaline. I wouldn't break. Never.
"You know what really sickens me, Alessandro?" I asked quietly, my voice sharp as a blade. "That you think I'm the problem."
He stared at me, motionless.
"You're the lunatic who stalked me while I was jogging. You forced me into a game whose rules you don't even follow."
His jaw muscle twitched.
"I carried that knife because a damn shadow was following me through the streets." I felt the panic receding, replaced by a searing rage that spread through me like wildfire.
"You pressure my professional life because you can't stand that I walked away from you. And now we're here. Because you can't handle someone like me refusing to submit. That I won't crawl for you." My voice was nothing but an angry hiss now. "Andmake no mistake—I never will." I lifted my chin, feeling him immediately adjust the gun's barrel, pressing it harder against my skin.
"So pull the trigger if you need to. But stop blaming me for your personality disorders. You're not angry at me, Alessandro."
He yanked the gun away and spun me around—my back slammed against the door, my palms scrambling for purchase on the cold wood.
"You're angry because you feel," I continued, raising my gaze. But what I saw then was far worse than the loaded gun pressed beneath my chin moments earlier. There was no mask left. No facade. Just him. In his rawest, cruelest form.
His pupils dilated. A bizarre battle between pure bloodlust and burning desire raged within him. For a moment, I thought he might tear me apart—with the same hands that held me so tightly, as if he couldn't let go.
"I am angry because I feel?" he repeated slowly, as if he needed to let the words dissolve on his tongue first to appreciate their full absurdity.
Then he leaned closer until his face was mere centimeters from mine. "When exactly did you make your diagnosis, Dr. Robertson?" His gaze was pure mockery. "Was it when I shattered a man's kneecaps because he stayed silent when he should've talked? Or when I ordered one of my men to stomp out someone's pulse because I couldn't be bothered to dirty my own hands?"
He braced his hand against the door beside my face, fingers splayed to balance his body's weight. "Maybe you should think twice about whether you really want to uncover what's behind my facade. Because whatever you think you'll find—" His voice scraped hoarsely from his throat. "—it might be far uglier than you ever imagined."
My body was electrified, trapped between the panic thatparalyzed me and the unbearable desire I could no longer rationally control. It was so twisted. And yet real. So real I could barely breathe. I wanted to push him away—and feel him at the same time. I wanted to scream—and bite him. I was torn between fleeing and surrender, between fear and a craving for him that pulled the ground out from under me. And I no longer knew what would destroy me more—his closeness. Or the moment it ended.
Yet everything about him, everything with him, was fundamentally wrong.
"Let me go," I hissed, staring stubbornly into his eyes. "You're a sick monster."
A dark smile flashed across his lips. "I suppose I am," he said with full irony. Then he lowered his head until his forehead nearly touched mine. "I want the other one. Only then will you truly have me. Those were your words. So stop lecturing me about right and wrong. You're playing the outraged one because you're afraid of the truth."
"Morality... it's called morality, and while you no longer possess any—" I broke off, my eyes flying wide as his hand suddenly slid downward with purpose. A sharp gasp escaped my throat. "What are you— stop!" I tried to push him away, but my body had already betrayed me. I couldn't prevent his fingers from finding what they sought.
"I want to know how your morality feels," he growled as his fingers roughly pushed beneath my panties.
Every part of me tensed—from shame, from fury, because I knew he would expose me. My cover, my last protective wall—and he tore it down as if it were nothing. The delicate fabric was already soaked through, and when he dragged his fingers over my throbbing heat, a choked moan escaped me.
