Page 14 of Lord of the Dark (Drawn into Darkness #1)

Alessandro Russo

I jolted awake as if something had yanked me from sleep.

No sound, no light—just a bone-deep chill in my limbs and a dull ache throbbing along my spine.

I was on the floor.

Still.

My neck stiff, my back screaming—but that wasn’t why my eyes flew open.

She was gone.

The space beside me was empty, the air still.

No rustling, no footsteps, no trace of her warmth.

Only the fleeting memory of her skin, the taste of her lips—and the pounding in my skull as I realized she had vanished.

Just like that.

I slowly sat up, braced myself on my elbow against the cold weave of the carpet, and let my gaze wander.

My neck cracked softly.

The room was silent.

Foreign.

The guesthouse. Delany’s overdone, tastelessly staged hideaway for wealthy narcissists. On this carpet, I had taken her. But now, there was no sign of her left. No dress, no shoes, no note. Nothing that hinted at her.

The night flickered in my mind’s eye.

Her moans, scraping against my nerve endings.

The metallic clang of her knife hitting the floor.

The scratches she left on my skin.

My teeth in her flesh. And that look—so controlled yet utterly mad with lust. That was how she had gotten to me. With what she so carefully concealed, she had touched the part of me I otherwise kept sealed with iron discipline.

And now? Now she was gone.

"Fuck!" No woman had ever left without me knowing.

Without my permission.

But Fiona didn’t care.

My anger wasn’t an explosion.

It was a cold current.

I let myself fall back, stared at the ceiling.

My heart beat far too calmly, far too steadily. As if my body hadn’t realized that everything had just shifted.

I reached for my phone.

Unlocked it.

Dialed her number.

Once.

Twice. Nothing. Of course not.

I closed my eyes for a moment, massaged the bridge of my nose.

Saw her in my mind—dressing, quiet, quick.

Disappearing without looking back.

Without regret.

Without explanation.

Maybe she was with him now.

Back in her everyday life.

Beside Vaughn, that fucking loser.

Playing the good girl again.

And actually believing she could just shake off what had happened between us. But that wasn’t how this worked. Not with me. Not with what she had torn open inside me. I clenched my jaw, dragged a hand through my hair. My skin still smelled like her. My muscles burned from her. My mind was already working.

She thought she could just leave.

But she hadn’t considered that by doing so, she was doing the one thing that made me unstoppable.

She made me hungry.

What I wanted, I got.

And I wanted Fiona.

At any cost.

Morning training was usually the time when I could gather myself and order my thoughts.

But as I ran through the cool air, feeling the rhythm of my heartbeat, my muscles straining with every stride, I couldn’t find my usual focus.

Instead, her face kept surfacing in my mind—her smile, the way she had looked at me—and finally, the emptiness she had left behind.

Even as I pushed the pace, trying to shove the thoughts away, they crept back relentlessly.

I was distracted, unable to start the morning with the determination that usually came so naturally to me.

Later than usual, I sat in my first appointment, a meeting with my executives.

But even the still-familiar streets at this hour and the steady hum of the engine provided no distraction.

Again and again, I caught myself glancing at my phone, hoping she would finally respond.

The time that had passed without any reaction from her felt like weeks, even though it had only been a few hours.

It wasn’t just desire driving me—it was that fascination, her singular personality that refused to be controlled. She had stepped out of my life as if I were just one of many, as if everything we had shared was interchangeable. That coldness made my blood boil.

I sat at the head of the long conference table and let my gaze glide over the faces in front of me.

Normally, this moment was the epitome of my control—every movement, every slightest nuance I could observe and interpret.

But today, my concentration refused to cooperate.

No matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept circling back to Fiona.

The way she had looked at me, the fire in her eyes that had haunted me through the night and into the morning.

A law partner’s voice reached my ears only dimly, as if through a veil.

Someone in the room was discussing strategic options for the upcoming quarter, but the usual interest I had for such details was absent today.

My thoughts kept dragging me back—back to that night, how she moved in my lap, writhed beneath me, screamed my name in ecstasy.

And to the audacity with which she had simply walked away.

No message, no word. As if I were just a fleeting memory she erased the moment it became inconvenient. But to me, Fiona had long been more than a memory. She was like a splinter under my skin, one that had embedded itself far too deep, far too quickly. Damn it, I was fucked.

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure.

Then I noticed the glances of my employees, studying me with a mix of curiosity and unease.

They weren’t used to seeing me distracted.

A man like me didn’t allow himself moments of weakness—until now.

"Alessandro, everything alright?" one of the directors asked, and I felt the slight lift of my lips—a mask I had mastered perfectly.

"Yes...

of course," I replied calmly, fixing my gaze on him.

"Carry on."

He nodded and continued speaking, but my thoughts refused to let go.

I forced myself to focus on the projection on the screen in front of me, yet every time I let my attention waver for even a second, images returned, reminding me with every breath just how much I wanted her.

The rest of the meeting passed in a haze.

While the others immersed themselves in discussion, I struggled in vain to regain my footing.

When the meeting finally ended and the others rose to leave, I leaned back for a moment and exhaled deeply.

Never before had I despised my packed schedule as much as I did today.

One meeting bled into the next, each seemingly more important than the last, and none I could cancel.

And yet, all I truly wanted was to go to Fiona and put an end to this unbearable silence.

The next appointment was with Franco Sorrentino, taking me to the headquarters of Sorrentino Industries.

It was no secret that his networks reached into the highest economic and political circles.

Partnering with him wasn’t just a business advantage—it was my best chance to rid myself of Vaughn in the most elegant way possible.

I drove up the impressive complex’s driveway, a massive, ultramodern building that radiated status and exclusivity from the outside alone.

Normally, before a meeting like this, I felt a sharp, focused clarity, the sure sense of being in my element.

Today, however, something hung in the air—a subtle tension.

Like an ill omen stirring deep inside me.

The lobby of Sorrentino Industries was a gleaming labyrinth of glass and marble, the afternoon sunlight fracturing into shimmering beams along the walls.

Influential figures moved through the space—executives, investors—their expressions businesslike as they navigated the reception areas.

And then my gaze landed on him.

Carter Vaughn.

He stood on the other side of the lobby, engrossed in conversation, shoulders relaxed, a smile on his lips.

I paused briefly to watch him.

Something tightened inside me.

Every muscle in my body coiled, as if someone had flipped a switch.

A part of me could have laughed—how small the world was, that we would meet here without him having the faintest idea of what had happened last night.

As I watched him in his smug, performative self-satisfaction, I felt an uncontrollable obsession stirring inside me.

This man, this insignificant figure, was apparently the one Fiona preferred—the one she kept at her side despite everything.

At the very least, her escape and her stubborn silence pointed directly to that.

That was the difference.

Vaughn was a man for Sunday mornings—not for nights when you had blood on your hands.

Dependable and deathly boring.

And maybe that was exactly what she wanted.

The one thing I could never give Fiona—that kind of... predictability, or even routine. The realization cut deeper than I expected. Rage surged through me, and I felt my hands curl into fists inside my suit pockets. How I would have loved to wipe that smile off his face. To finish this supporting actor here and now.

But Miami wasn’t Florence, and Fiona wasn’t the kind of woman to be won over by such theatrics.

I was here to strike a deal with Sorrentino—one that would allow me to bury Vaughn in the abyss whenever I pleased.

Besides, he stood there completely unaware that it was my cock his girlfriend would feel with every step she took today.

The thought tempered my anger slightly, and watching him—so smug, so secure in the belief that he held Fiona’s undivided attention—gave me a sliver of satisfaction.

My gaze lingered on Vaughn, but I finally tore myself away and continued toward the conference rooms.

Sorrentino himself was already waiting in his office on the top floor.

I entered and was met with his usual stiff, businesslike demeanor.

We took our seats, and Franco began discussing the details of an upcoming major project.

"I’ve been told you have a weakness for challenges," Franco tested me, his scrutinizing gaze fixed on me as he slid the project brochure across the table.

"Weakness is the wrong word," I countered.

"Challenges are appealing to me when they’re worth the effort."

Sorrentino nodded, smiling, satisfied with my answer, and continued his explanations.

I glanced at the brochure, its glossy pages showcasing the vision of an exclusive development project in one of the West Coast’s most up-and-coming cities.

Exactly the kind of deal I wouldn’t let slip through my fingers.

We discussed the details, and I slowly settled back into the familiar rhythm of negotiation—until an assistant discreetly entered and handed Sorrentino a document.

He dismissed him with a curt nod and passed it to me.

"We’ve compiled a list of potential partners and investors for this project.

Some of the names should be familiar to you."

I took the list, my eyes scanning it calmly.

Names that carried weight—established figures, predictable, useful.

And yet, one was missing.

Not because he was of any particular value.

But because I wanted him in my sights. Like a goddamn specimen in a terrarium. Embedded in an environment that laid bare his every move, giving me the chance to bury him under so much work that Fiona would be free for me.

"Carter Vaughn," I said, setting the paper back on the table.

"He’s missing.

Surprising, really.

Don’t you know him?"

Sorrentino raised a brow.

"Vaughn? Of course I know him.

He was quite active for a while, networked well.

I even have a stake in one of his ventures.

But I hadn’t considered him for this context. I thought he was dealing with some… difficulties at the moment?"

I shrugged slightly, a subtle twist at the corner of my mouth.

"Nothing he won’t survive.

Sometimes, those with a little resistance behind them are the most ambitious."

Sorrentino nodded slowly, considering.

"Hm.

Maybe you’re right.

Certainly not a bad option.

But you’d be vouching for him."

I leaned back.

I’d gotten what I wanted.

And Vaughn was now exactly where I needed him.

We wrapped up the meeting after finalizing the initial steps for execution, and I assured Sorrentino I’d take Vaughn under my wing.

Something I was all too happy to do.

When I stepped out of the elevator back into the lobby, I saw Vaughn still deep in conversation with another colleague.

I caught the brief flicker of surprise on his face as he looked up and our eyes met.

Quickly, it shifted into a polite, almost forced smile.

I strode toward him with purpose, taking my time to study him—the unconscious tightening of his lips, the slight twitch of his fingers betraying that my presence unsettled him.

The way the situation was already slipping from his grasp before I’d even spoken a word was evident in these tiny tells.

I savored the moment, the subtle tension coiling between us.

"Mr.

Vaughn," I said smoothly, extending my hand, my smile as controlled as my tone.

He raised his brows in surprise, but his expression quickly shifted into a polite smile.

"Mr.

Russo.

It’s a pleasure.

I’ve heard nothing but good things about you."

Of course you have.

Your girlfriend could give you an update on that.

"I wanted to personally inform you that I’ve recommended you for the joint project with Mr.

Sorrentino in Los Altos Hills.

West Coast."

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he regained his composure.

"I don’t know what to say.

Thank you, Mr.

Russo.

This is a tremendous opportunity."

I gave a slight nod.

"I’m sure you’ll prove the trust well-placed.

I look forward to working together."

He beamed now, almost relieved—as if I’d just opened a door he hadn’t even known existed.

I smiled professionally, not a trace of warmth in it.

"I anticipate a productive partnership."

He nodded eagerly, and I could see in his posture how hard he was trying to assert his importance in this deal.

A born charlatan.

But standing before me was also the man who believed Fiona’s loyalty was his—the man she confided in, even as she kept a side of herself reserved for me, one Vaughn would never see.

"A new challenge for both of us," he said finally.

His meaningless drivel was already grating on me.

"Quite right," I replied, still professional.

"I believe we’ll both benefit."

Without another word, I turned away, supremely satisfied.

I couldn’t have planned it better.