Page 60 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

Mia turned to him then, desperation painting her plea in vivid strokes. “Can Andy come with us? Share a room with me?”

Matt cut through our exchange like a knife through silk. “Andy is staying here with me.”

The room seemed to contract until there was only space for their silent standoff.

“Mia,” I found my voice again, hoarse but clear enough to carry across the shrinking distance between us. “How long are you here?”

“A week.”

I nodded, resolve hardening inside me like setting concrete. “I’ll sort this out before you go.”

“That’s enough for now,” Matt said with finality as if he held dominion over time itself.

But at the door, when Mia was about to leave with James, I caught her eye once more—a silent promise passed between us in a glance that spoke louder than any vow ever could.

“Everything will be okay,” I assured her and myself both before she nodded and stepped away into the night beyond our door.

I woke with the dawn—damn internal clock had no respect for my need to brood in bed.

And brood I did, about Mia, about James, and the mysterious contract that seemed to have her tethered.

The need to see Mia twisted inside me like a spring wound too tight.

Sunlight trickled through the blinds, mocking my restless state.

I tossed the sheets aside, a plan formulating amid the clutter of worry in my mind.

Then the bathroom door swung open and Matt emerged, steam billowing out behind him like he was stepping off the set of some high-budget action flick.

The towel slung low on his hips left little to the imagination, clinging to him with a devotion I envied.

Water droplets journeyed down his chest, over each ridge and valley of muscle that seemed carved from marble rather than flesh and blood.

My mouth went drier than the Mojave. The man was all sinewy muscle and skin begging to be touched—by me, preferably. The part of my brain that wasn’t busy conjuring X-rated daydreams was having a field day with adjectives: hunky, hot, Herculean—pick your H .

But then my stomach churned, jerking me back to the grim reality of my sister entangled in whatever mess James had concocted.

That same unease nipped at my consciousness, whispering that maybe she was in a binding with James not unlike my own situation with Matt.

But no—I slammed that door shut in my mind. Not when Mia was involved.

Matt caught me ogling—he always did—and sauntered over with a smirk that should’ve been patented for its efficacy at unraveling me.

“Morning, pet.” His voice was gravel and silk as he planted a kiss on my forehead—a benediction or a brand? Hard to tell.

I watched him dress in a sleek suit that screamed power and authority. Every movement was deliberate, almost ritualistic. He caught me watching him in the mirror and turned to give me another kiss, this one lingering on my lips.

“We’re having dinner with James and Mia tonight,” he informed me casually, straightening his tie.

I nodded, barely managing a coherent response as he left for whatever high-stakes billionaire thing he had lined up for the day.

Shower water drummed against tile as I tried to wash away worries about Mia’s radio silence and our upcoming dinner rendezvous. Afterward, breakfast felt like an afterthought—a spread fit for someone without a rock sitting in their gut.

When is Mia coming over? I needed answers—about her contract with James, about this tangled web we were all caught in. My fingers itched to dial her number again, but hesitation gripped me. Maybe she needed rest after her trip… Maybe she’d call back when she woke up…

The waiting gnawed at me as much as the unanswered questions did. Where was James’ apartment in this labyrinthine hotel? Could I find it? Should I?

B y the time the morning had sauntered into a half-hearted attempt at midday, Mia finally turned up, with Bruno’s bulk parting the air ahead of her like a ship’s prow through water.

As she stepped into the penthouse, her eyes widened, taking in the opulence that Matt had so casually slung around the place like loose change.

She wrapped me in an embrace that could’ve rivaled Bruno’s for strength. “This place,” she murmured, stepping back and sweeping a hand through the air as if she could catch the grandeur in her palm. “It’s like something out of those movies we used to watch, dreaming of a different life.”

I couldn’t help but snort at that, the irony not lost on me. “Yeah, I’m gonna snag one of these for myself someday,” I declared with a bravado I was still growing into. “Just to rub it in his face. That’ll show him I’m not just some charity case.”

Her eyes lit up, reflecting the penthouse’s sparkle. “That would be amazing, Andy. You’ll keep a room for me, right? For when I come over?”

I tugged her back into my arms and chuckled against her hair. “What are you on about? Visiting? Hell no. You’ll be crashing with me permanently once I hit my stride. We’ll toss that dead-end job of yours out like last week’s trash.”

She snorted against my chest—a sound that was all Mia—and it made me grin even wider. “And what about when some girl snags you up? Won’t she mind?”

My laughter cut short, replaced by a grin sharp enough to slice through any awkwardness. “A girlfriend or wife? Trust me, that’s not on my agenda.”

Her brow furrowed, a perfect arch of confusion. “Huh?”

I held her at arm’s length, studying her reaction as I dropped the bombshell. “Mia, do you think any less of me if… if there’s never a Mrs. Donovan in the picture?”

Mia’s confusion dissolved into something warmer, something like acceptance. “Think less of you? Never in a million years.”

I grinned and leaned back on my heels, grateful for her in ways words would always fail to express. My gaze landed on her attire—a shirt so big it could double as a tent—and I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at it. “Why are you swimming in that thing?”

Her laugh tinkled through the room as she shrugged helplessly. “Would you believe a teacup-sized terror shredded most of my clothes? And then there was this beast of a dog who seems to think tearing fabric is the highest form of entertainment.”

My laughter joined hers—boisterous and tinged with the ridiculousness our lives often skirted around.

“Come on,” I said, tugging at the hem of her oversized shirt. “Let’s get you into something less… tentlike.”

She tried to protest, but I was already leading her toward the walk-in closet with all the resolve of someone saving another from fashion purgatory.

The walk-in closet was like stepping into another world—one where order reigned supreme until you hit my corner which boasted a controlled chaos that would make Matt twitch.

“Wow,” Mia breathed out as she stepped inside after me.

“Yeah,” I said with a smirk while picking through my neatly folded shirts. “I keep my side just shy of military precision.” My smirk grew wider as I added, “Sometimes though, I let things slip just to get under his skin.”

Her laughter was genuine and warm—it filled up the closet and spilled out into the rest of the penthouse.

Mia hesitated then, biting her lip before she asked softly, “What exactly is going on between you two?”

I stiffened despite myself—the question was like an icy draft slipping under a doorframe.

“You don’t have to answer,” she quickly amended upon seeing my discomfort.

But honesty bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me—a place not yet smoothed over by cynicism or weariness. “No,” I said after a beat too long spent wrestling with my own feelings. “It’s not that… It’s just—I don’t know what we are.”

The sigh that followed felt like it pulled from depths uncharted even by me.

Shaking off the momentary lapse into vulnerability, I handed her one of my crisp dress shirts before moving to sift through jeans that would never fit her right.

“Andy—” She held up a hand before I could dive too deep into denim despair.

“Just the shirt will do,” she insisted with a small smile.

I eyed Mia, a smirk playing on my lips despite the concern gnawing at me. “You think you’re stepping out in that getup? Honey, those Vegas vultures will eat you alive. You’re like a lamb prancing in a lion’s den.”

Her innocence was endearing but as much a shield as tissue paper against the sin of the Strip. “I was just like you once,” I admitted, nostalgia laced with a bitter twist. “Blissfully unaware, until this city chewed me up and spat me out.”

Snatching a pair of jeans from their neatly folded perch, I tossed them to her. “Here, change into these.”

Mia caught them, her face the picture of gratitude. “Thanks, Andy,” she said, a note of relief in her voice.

I chuckled, shaking my head as I turned away to give her some privacy. “No sweat.”

She began fiddling with the button, so I spun on my heel to leave her to it—privacy and all that jazz. I’d made it halfway to the door when something stopped me dead—a feeling like I’d missed a step on the stairs. I turned back, my heart plummeting.

Mia had started to unbutton her shirt, but she paused at my sharp intake of breath. Her eyes were wide pools of concern. “Andy? What’s wrong?”

Words lodged in my throat as I reached for her, my fingers working faster than my brain. The fabric fell away, revealing more than I was prepared for—angry marks marring her skin.

“What the hell?” The words came out as a growl, dark and dangerous.

Mia’s eyes were twin flames of defiance and embarrassment. She tried to cover herself with what remained of her shirt.

“Andy! Stop!”

I couldn’t help it; anger boiled over, spilling out through clenched teeth. “Who did this to you? Who dared touch my sister?”

She shook her head, quick and dismissive. “It’s nothing.”

“Damn it, Mia! It’s not nothing.” My frustration peaked as I pieced together what those marks meant—the intimacy they implied.

Her gaze softened, and she reached out to me with hands that spoke volumes more than words ever could. “Andy…”