She smiles, venomous. “Assumed you’d prefer privacy. Though privacy seems... flexible lately.” Her gaze slides past me—to Lea, entering now.
“Blake,” I say, not turning, “escort Ms. Vega to the sitting room. This isn’t the venue.”
Isabel rises fluidly, but her grin cuts. “Of course. Admiring the Machiavelli first edition—fitting for you.”
She saunters past, pausing inches from me. This is about power, not seduction, though the heat of her proximity reminds me of past negotiations where lines blurred. “Sitting room it is.”
As she brushes Lea: “Ms. Song. A pleasure to see you again. Still as captivating as our last encounter.” Her voice drips with that purring invitation, eyes tracing Lea’s form with open appreciation, a subtle reminder of the way she’d leaned in before, fingers grazing Lea’s arm, whispering about “continuing the conversation.”
Lea meets her stare level, a slow, knowing smile touching her lips. “Ms. Vega. I was hoping you'd think so.”
Isabel’s laugh shatters like ice, laced with intrigue. “Bold as ever. No wonder Nico keeps you close.”
The jab lands. She’s implying weakness, distraction. For Lea’s ears as much as mine. Dangerous.
No room for delay. “Lea, with me.”
I lead her to my bedroom. The door shuts behind us with a decisive click that seals us in this charged space. Her eyes bore into me, sharp and unyielding, even as the storm rages outside.
“Why the theatrics?” she asks, her voice laced with that edge I crave.
“She’s probing for cracks, don’t you see it? Moretti, the Koreans, you.” I strip off my wet clothes with efficient movements, the fabric clinging before peeling away, revealing the hard planes of my chest. I feel her gaze on me, that flicker of heat in her eyes despite the welts I’ve branded into her skin. It stirs my cock, thickening it with a dark hunger, a visceral reminder of how she yields beneath me. Her body arching, slick and begging, a perfect canvas for my deepest, most depraved desires.
“She seemed...interestedin me last time,” Lea says, her voice steady but edged with intrigue.
I fucking knew it. Isabel’s playing on both teams. “Don’t let it get to your head, piccola. She’s always hunting for leverage.” I button up the dry shirt slowly, facing her fully now, letting my eyes rake over her form, noting the way her breath catches. An idea’s forming. “You’ll sit in. Let me watch her watch you. If her interest in you is what I think it is, that sexual pull she couldn’t hide last time, we might leverage it. Draw her in, make her slip.”
Lea’s eyes widen, a flush creeping up her neck despite the pain I know still throbs through her. She steps closer, her arms crossing defensively over her chest, but it only pushes her breasts higher, drawing my gaze to the swell. “You’re serious? You want me to... entice her? Flirt back, play into her attraction, just so you can manipulate her? Because that went so well for me the last time you asked me to flirt with someone.” Her voice cracks with bitter heat, her hand instinctively brushing her thigh where the welts from my punishment after Richter still burn, raw and aching under her clothes.
She’s right. I pushed too far then, my control fracturing at the sight of her charm turned on another. But admitting that would cede ground I can’t afford.
“Richter was a fool’s errand,” I say, my voice cold and dismissive, stepping into her space until her back hits the bedpost, her body heat radiating against mine. “Clumsy, petty. This is different. This is survival.” My hand trails down her arm, fingers grazing the edge of where I know a welt hides, feeling her shiver under my touch, a mix of pain and that undeniable spark. “Isabel’s no rival club owner; she’s a key to doors I need opened. You’ll play the part because you know the game now, piccola. And deep down, it excites you.”
She swallows hard. Her pulse flutters under my fingers, but her chin lifts in that defiant way that makes my cock ache. “Fine,”she says, her voice steady as she meets my gaze, something calculating flickering in her eyes. “I’ll do it. But not as your puppet. For every piece of intel I extract for you, you answer one of my questions. Truthfully. No games, no evasions.”
The counteroffer turns my strategy into a negotiation, positioning her as an equal in this twisted dance. I search her face, seeing the wheels turning. I bet she’s already plotting how to use Isabel against me, perhaps to unearth more about her mother, the Korean shadows that bind us both. It’s brilliant, infuriating, and goddamn arousing, her fire unbroken despite the marks I’ve left.
I grip her hip, pulling her flush against me, letting her feel the hard ridge of my arousal pressing into her belly. “Bold,” I murmur, my lips brushing hers in a ghost of a kiss, tasting the salt of rain and defiance. “But accepted. Play well, and you’ll get your truths. Fail, and we’ll revisit those welts—with interest.”
Her breath hitches, body molding to mine for a fleeting second before she pulls back, eyes blazing. “Then let’s see what Isabel has to say.”
We enter the sitting room. The air is thick with Isabel's perfume. She has claimed the center of the sofa, a queen on her throne, Blake a silent sentinel in the corner.
“Apologies,” I say smoothly, taking the opposite seat and pulling Lea down beside me, her thigh brushing mine. “Now, the urgency that braved a monsoon?”
Isabel’s eyes lock on Lea, her smile curving as she sips her drink, effectively dismissing me in my own home. “Moretti’s expanding, Nico. He’s locked the North Korean pipeline.” Hergaze never leaves Lea, a silent invitation that makes my blood simmer.
Lea doesn’t flinch or offer a practiced purr. Instead, she lets the silence hang for a moment before speaking, her voice calm and measured, cutting through the tension. “The problem with a man like Moretti isn’t his strength,” she says, her gaze meeting Isabel’s with the unnerving focus of an analyst. “It’s his arrogance. He’s a man of brute force, not subtlety. He won’t build a complex, resilient network. He’ll find one thing that works—one route, one connection—and exploit it until it breaks. His greatest strength is always his greatest vulnerability.”
Isabel’s painted-on smile falters, replaced by a look of genuine, sharp-edged surprise. Her body language shifts entirely. She leans forward, placing her drink on the table, her focus now absolute. She isn’t just looking at a beautiful woman; she’s seeing a strategic mind.
“Nico,” she says, a low laugh in her throat, “you failed to mention she has a brain to match the beauty.” Her eyes cut back to Lea, full of a new, more potent kind of interest—respect. “You see it so clearly. You’re right.” She leans in, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone meant only for Lea. “Moretti’s greed made him careless. His ‘unbreakable’ chain has one very fragile link: Vancouver.”
I watch the exchange, my hand tightening on the arm of my chair. This isn’t the performance I commanded. This is Lea wielding her own weapon, dissecting the situation. She didn’t just play the siren; she established herself as a peer, forcing Isabel to offer the intel not as a seduction, but as a sign of respect.
It’s infuriating. It’s brilliant. And watching her, marked by my hand, outplaying a master of the game right in front of me is the most goddamn arousing thing I have ever seen.
Isabel finally glances my way, her smile triumphant. “That’s the bombshell, Nico. Disrupt Vancouver, and you gut him.” She rises, pausing by Lea, her hand brushing Lea’s shoulder in a lingering caress that is no longer a proposition, but a recruitment pitch. “When you tire of being his beautiful asset, darling, you know who to call. I value partners who bring more than just a pretty face to the table.”
