Page 18 of Lord of the Dark (Drawn into Darkness #1)

Fiona Robertson

Without the slightest effort, he threw me onto the gray armchair by the wall of windows and casually slid into the brown leather chair opposite—the same one he'd occupied earlier.

"Seems we've reached the point for a little chat about our mutual friend." He sat directly across from me now, which—given that he'd only pulled on dark jeans after our shower—did absolutely nothing to help my concentration.

"That you found these...

documents about me in my desk must have been thrilling for you." He seemed to analyze me thoroughly during his brief pause.

"But unfortunately, also incredibly stupid of you."

His long legs fell open casually, his perfectly sculpted torso bare and relaxed against the chair.

"Are you listening to me?"

I tried.

Really.

But I was distracted.

"Could you maybe put on a shirt?"

Silence—as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"Are you serious?" He leaned forward, incredulous.

My gaze traced the path of his prominent veins, starting from his defined bicep all the way down to his hand.

Unconsciously, I bit my lip.

"Listen carefully.

What we’re about to discuss won’t please you," he said calmly, sinking even deeper into the armchair as if he had all the time in the world.

I arched a brow.

"Because?"

"Vaughn."

For a moment, I froze.

Didn’t say a word.

"What do you know about his business?" he continued after a heavy pause.

I blinked.

"Why would you care?"

"That wasn’t the question." He leaned forward slightly.

"I’m not telling you anything." I crossed my arms, feeling a cold wall rise inside me.

"I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I sure as hell won’t be the one handing you ammunition to hurt him."

Alessandro let out a quiet scoff.

"I can’t hurt Carter more than he’s already hurt himself."

I studied him warily.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Then quickly, before he could push further: "And don’t you dare make him out to be the villain again.

He works himself to the bone, barely even comes home anymore."

Alessandro let his gaze slide over me slowly—deliberately long enough to feel like a provocation.

"It’s pathetic how reflexively you defend him.

As if he’s your ward, not your husband."

"He’s not my husband," I fired back.

"Then why keep up this charade?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping.

"Especially when you’re so eager to let me fuck you."

"Shut your stupid mouth." Heat flooded my face—shame and fury tangled together.

I jerked my head up, glaring, but the words died in my throat.

His grin widened, relishing how exposed he’d left me.

And worse, how I had no retort.

"Fine," I bit out, desperate to pivot. "You tell me what you think you know about him. Since you’re so well-informed."

"The property valuations he presents to investors? Fake.

Grossly inflated.

His company has been teetering on the edge for months.

And you know how he’s trying to save himself? He’s using his reputation and a few pretty shell companies to move funds—money that’ll never resurface.

Shady deals. Dirty partners."

My breath caught.

For a moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

I shot up like I’d been struck.

"You vile bastard! You actually think you can manipulate me like this? Do you really believe I don’t see what you’re doing?"

He remained seated.

No reaction.

Just that gaze, piercing me like an ice pick.

"Sit down," he said calmly.

I hissed.

"Forget it.

You’ve lost your damn mind."

"Fiona." He pointed at the chair I’d leapt from.

"Sit.

Down. Now."

"Asshole." Something in his voice made me hesitate.

My heart raced.

"You don’t even know him!"

"Sit.

The fuck.

Down." His eyes locked onto mine.

"And shut your mouth."

I fell silent.

Sat reluctantly.

Ready to hate him.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

I glared, pulse hammering.

After two rings, Carter’s voice crackled through.

"Russo.

To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Shit." My boyfriend apparently knew my half-naked lover lounging in front of me far better than I'd ever realized.

"Just confirming everything's prepared for our meeting," Alessandro began in that lethally professional tone that radiated pure authority.

"The financing isn't presenting any difficulties, I trust?"

A long pause.

Carter's voice stuttered briefly before recovering.

"No, everything's on track.

I've already ensured there won't be any issues."

Tears burned my eyes as I heard the uncertainty in Carter's voice.

But the worst part? Alessandro had been telling the truth all along.

And I'd been completely blind to Carter's troubles.

"Good," he replied, a cold smile flickering across his face.

"I'd heard there were some...

challenges."

I pressed my hand to my mouth in horror.

"That was before," Carter insisted, but his voice trembled unmistakably.

This wasn’t the man I knew.

"The situation is stable now.

Mr.

Sorrentino is a crucial investor for me. Mr. Russo... thank you again for your participation in the project. It’s made things significantly easier."

Wait—what? Project participation? Investor?

"Good to hear, Carter." Alessandro held my gaze.

"I place great importance on our business running smoothly." He didn’t wait for a reply, ending the call with a tap of his thumb and setting the phone down on the side table with triumphant calm.

"You’re such a colossal asshole," I spat, gasping for air.

"You should be thanking me." He leaned back, voice dripping with smugness.

"Thanking you?" I scoffed, my mouth and eyes flying open in shock at his audacity.

"I asked for the truth, yes.

But you—you’re a rat, slithering into every crack of my life.

So what exactly should I thank you for? For making Carter completely dependent on you?"

"A rat?" He arched a brow.

"Your boyfriend is the one driving his company into financial ruin.

Without me, his business would already be history."

"Oh please—yes, of course.

You’re the epitome of selflessness!" I shot to my feet, my voice cracking with rage.

"You manipulate everything.

You pull the strings so I—so I—"

"So you see the truth?" He cut me off.

"Or so you finally understand that I’m not the one lying to you?" Alessandro sat perfectly composed, one ankle casually resting on his knee, watching as I paced the room like a caged animal.

His infuriating calm drove me mad.

"No!" I hissed in his direction.

"So I’d run into your arms."

"Carter’s been lying to you this whole time.

He told you nothing about his ruin, nothing about the investors.

And yet you’re putting on a show for me?"

"That’s not the point."

"Then what is the point?" His gaze turned flint-hard.

"What you did was a power play! You didn’t just manipulate my professional life—you dragged my boyfriend into dependency." I glared at him, naked hatred in my eyes.

"You want to control my entire life, you vile—"

"Are you actually worried about Carter?" he asked with venomous calm, eyes pinning me.

"Or are you furious because your control issues don’t work on me?"

"I hate you," I spat, jabbing a finger toward him.

Suddenly he stood—so fast I flinched.

In three strides, he was in my space.

"You came to my office, rifled through my files, and knew exactly what you were looking for." His quiet tone was more dangerous than any shout.

"You wanted leverage.

And you’re angry because I’m seven moves ahead. People have disappeared for far less, by the way."

"Save your threats—they don’t work on me." I turned away, shaking my head, barely containing my rage.

"You drive me insane."

"Then leave! Get out, Fiona!" he snapped, jerking his chin toward the door.

I hesitated.

Wanted to go.

To finally leave this madness behind.

But every fiber of me refused to take even a single step toward that exit.

A furious scream tore from my throat—because I hated him for holding up that mirror so perfectly. He knew damn well it was already too late for me. Knew how badly I wanted to walk away, to erase all of this. To return to my old, boring life.

But there was nothing left of that old life after the short time I'd known him.

And I couldn't tear myself away anymore.

I needed him far too much.

I turned to face him, and just his arrogant look alone sent my blood pressure skyrocketing.

"Yes, I thought as much." He practically savored the superiority in his own words.

"You need me like fucking oxygen to breathe."

My nails dug painfully into my palms as I clenched my fists.

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" I hissed.

Alessandro stepped closer.

"I'm the only one you can't fool.

Twist and turn all you want—by now, I know you better than you know yourself."

"You don't know me at all!" I nearly screamed the words.

He stepped even closer, so near I could feel his body heat.

"What really happened to your father? He disappeared when you were still a teenager.

There's not a single trace leading to him."

My heart nearly stopped, shock freezing me in place.

How had he uncovered that?

My thoughts raced, scrambling for any possible explanation as to how he knew my darkest, most guarded secret.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, I sank back into the armchair.

"How did you find out?" My voice nearly failed me.

"You still don’t get it, do you? I know everything about you.

I know everything about everyone I deal with."

"No one knows that—no one but me and my mother." The nausea rose at the thought of how he could’ve uncovered it.

"Maybe not," he said with a shrug.

"I pay people to find things that aren’t in records anymore.

If I want information, I get it.

Always." His gaze cut through me.

"So. How did you get rid of him?"

The lump in my throat grew heavier.

How could he know I got rid of him? Maybe he didn’t—maybe he was just bluffing.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

With a frustrated shake of his head, he dropped into the chair opposite me, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Seriously, Fiona?"

How smart was it to confess everything to him—things I’d never told another soul? But under the weight of his unrelenting gaze—as if he already knew exactly what I was hiding—I felt the words spill out.

Like a secret river finally carving its path after years of silence.

I took a sharp breath.

"My father..." I began, my voice catching as memories rose, painfully vivid.

"He was a tyrant.

A man who took pleasure in keeping us terrified.

The nights were pure horror—like an abyss with no escape." I held his stare, saw the understanding in it.

"I remember one night—I was about fifteen.

He'd beaten my mother so badly she lay motionless on the floor.

Blood on her lips, her face blue and swollen...

I wanted to call the police, to save her, but he grabbed my wrist and shook me.

He looked me dead in the eyes and just said: 'Not a word.'" I closed my eyes briefly, the memory visceral. "I hated him with every fiber of my being. Felt guilty for not helping her. But I was powerless. He made me complicit."

I saw Alessandro register the tension coiled in my bones.

"Then one afternoon, deep in the woods, as my father knelt over a wolf he'd shot—it hit me like lightning.

That was my chance.

The only way to end the nightmare."

Alessandro nodded slowly, the hard glint in his eyes shifting to something like approval.

"You handled the problem yourself." His gaze bore into me, a dangerous smile ghosting his lips.

"Good.

That explains why you were ready to shoot me without flinching.

You're made of stronger stuff than I thought."

I met his stare.

"This darkness inside me," I said quietly, "I've always kept it locked away, buried deep.

These abysses—they have no place in the world I built around myself.

You can't just erase or forget them."

"And Carter? Your shield?" Alessandro asked.

"You used him as a buffer against that darkness."

"Yes," I whispered, the admission loosening something in my chest.

"Carter...

he's part of the facade.

An illusion of a normal life.

But the darkness... it was always there. I was terrified, Alessandro. Terrified it would erupt someday. Carter... it would have destroyed him."

"Fiona," he said softly, almost gently.

"You can't suppress that darkness.

I knew it the moment I looked into your eyes.

Because I carry the same thing."

"What did you see?" I breathed.

"Myself," he said simply.

"You might hide those abysses from others, but I recognized them instantly.

Because we're the same." He leaned forward in his chair, intensity radiating.

"What happened to the body?"

I held his gaze, my pulse steady as a war drum.

"There was never a trace of him because nature took its course," I said flatly.

"That area had large predators.

A corpse that far out wouldn't last a night."

He smiled, the flicker in his eyes leaving no doubt what he was thinking.

"Fiona," he murmured, voice rough, "you have no idea how much that turns me on."

"You're truly sick, you know that?" My voice was cold, almost mocking, refusing to cower under his penetrating stare.

"A goddamn psychopath—that's what you are."

"You'd know better than anyone," he teased with a sharp grin before turning toward a section of the wall I hadn't noticed.

Only when he touched it did a narrow door reveal itself—flush, handleless.

He entered a code; a soft hum sounded before the passage opened.

I was about to ask where he was going when he turned back.

"Wait here.

You can't leave anyway."

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

He jerked his chin toward the hallway.

"Elevator's locked.

Stairwell too.

After your little desk excursion, I wasn’t in the mood for a chase through the building."

"And the building management just plays along?" I crossed my arms.

"Or are they already on your payroll?"

He grinned.

"I am the building management."

"Hm?" I frowned.

His gaze swept the room, as if weighing how much to reveal.

"The Obsidian—this tower—belongs to me."

My jaw dropped.

Briefly.

Then I shook my head in disbelief.

"I need to change," he announced.

"You’re half-naked.

And change where exactly?"

"In my apartment, obviously."

My gaze drifted to the open door.

"That door...

leads there?"

"Yes." He looked at me with an expression that sent a flutter of unease through my stomach.

"Come with me.

If you're not scared."

I bit my lip.

"I'll wait here."

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, the dark opening in the wall behind him like a portal to some forbidden world.

"Suit yourself," he murmured, his grin dangerously lopsided.

Then, almost as an afterthought: "But if you dare to rifle through my desk again, I'll have to lock you up.

As my prisoner.

The cameras are rolling, by the way."

"False imprisonment is a crime."

"So is attempted murder, last I checked." His stare pinned me with that unmistakable blend of calculation and desire.

"Though it would be a convenient excuse to finally separate you from Vaughn."

A disbelieving laugh escaped me—so typical of him.

I shook my head, buried my face in my hands, and muttered, "You're impossible."

"Be a good girl and stay put." Then he disappeared through the door, which slid shut soundlessly behind him.

The moment the door clicked shut, it was as if the room itself had shifted.

Just me—and the weight of my thoughts.

I sank back into the armchair, gripping the armrests like I needed an anchor.

My eyes traced over the office—the expensive materials, the sleek design, all of it polished like flawless armor.

Here, he'd threatened me. Here, he'd kissed me. And here, I'd surrendered. Everything in this space felt different. More intense. Dirtier. I inhaled deeply. It was almost as if I'd left my old life behind in the elevator, and now, with every moment at his side, everything I knew was being rewritten.

A soft hum came from the door before it opened again.

Alessandro stepped back into the office—black T-shirt, black pants.

I studied him, leaned back in the chair, and shook my head with a grin.

"Wow.

That wardrobe change was so worth it.

You're wearing the exact same thing as before."

He walked past me, tossing me a wink.

"I rarely wear tailored suits for the kind of work where you'd rather not send the clothes to the cleaners afterward." He reached for the gun on the table as if it were the most natural thing in the world, sinking into the chair with the casual ease of a man who owed no one an explanation.

"I was already up to my elbows when the motion sensor went off...

You just had to play secret agent and break in here.

Though the fake name bit—I’ll admit, I was impressed," he remarked appreciatively, unlocking the bottom drawer where he’d apparently stashed the ammunition and rummaging through it.

"Ah yes, you were 'out on business all day,'" I repeated dryly.

"With someone who probably won't ever walk straight again without assistance." Unconsciously, my face twisted into a disapproving grimace.

The casualness with which we discussed this was downright grotesque.

He looked up at me while calmly clicking the magazine into place with stoic indifference.

Then his gaze lifted, eyes glinting with mockery.

"There you go with that Mother Theresa face again." He gestured with the barrel toward the large, pale rug in front of his desk.

"Convenient how you forget that I’d have bled out right there if this damn thing had been loaded."

That same old tune.

"You already got your revenge by holding that gun under my chin," I reminded him.

He leaned back, the weapon resting casually in his hand, studying me with an expression caught between amusement and something darker.

"True, I did press a gun to your throat." A quiet, almost inaudible laugh.

"Would’ve been dramatic—if it hadn’t made you so fucking wet." He stood, stepped closer, let his gaze roam over my face like he was dissecting every reaction.

"I knew you were different.

Not so easily shaken. Maybe a little unhinged." Then he paused in front of me, a half-smirk playing on his lips. "But getting off when someone holds a loaded gun to your neck?" He shook his head, as if even he couldn’t quite believe it—or how much it thrilled him.

I lowered my eyes, feeling the heat rise to my face.

"Shut up," I hissed, mortified.

He just grinned shamelessly, knowing full well he was right.

Then he pulled me into his arms.

"It's time for you to go," he whispered, his tone as tender as a romantic confession against my ear.

I had to laugh—it was so absurd.

"Hm, no one's ever kicked me out of their office quite so...

romantically." I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

"I'll remember this the next time you barge uninvited into mine."

"Like day after tomorrow, for example.

That’s when our next meeting is scheduled.

Will you be there?" His grin was mocking.

"Well, the reason for our...

fiery interlude today is the despicable fact that you’ve already arranged everything.

So yes, I suppose I have no choice."

"There you go.

Good planning is half the battle," he said with smug satisfaction.

We walked together to the stairwell, where he used a keycard to unlock the heavy door and then the elevator.

I couldn’t help but shake my head and roll my eyes.

"Come on," he said, still grinning.

"You noticed yourself how massive the security gaps here are."

We stepped into the elevator, and the doors slid shut silently behind us.

A brief jolt, then the cab began to move.

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the machinery.

"Will you be visiting your Colombian friend again today?" At the thought of what he might still do, my stomach twisted.

His eyes darkened instantly.

"I have to."

Oh God.

"And, will you take Vaughn apart today as well, to make him explain his successful business models to you?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

We laughed almost simultaneously.

He stepped closer and kissed me as gently as a newborn lamb.

"Don’t forget, Fiona." His grip around my waist tightened.

"You were poaching in my territory today," he said quietly, his voice warning yet silk-soft.

"From now on, I’ll be watching your every step.

Every move, every word." His fingers traced lightly over my cheek, a contradiction to the threat in his words. "You know too much now."

Then he seized my face, pulled me to him, and his mouth conquered mine in a kiss that swept everything away—thoughts, doubt, reason.

When he broke away, he didn’t retreat a single millimeter.

He looked into my eyes, calm, deep, as if to make sure I understood.

And I did.

The doors slid open.

Without another word, I stepped out into the lobby.

When I turned around one last time, he was still standing there, motionless, his gaze fixed on me.

The doors closed again, and the elevator carried him down to the garage.

Or to the underworld.

With trembling legs, I left the building, his words and touches still seared into my skin like a brand.

Outside, the humid evening air hit me, but it brought no clarity.

My thoughts raced.

I had shot at him.

I had aimed the gun at him, pulled the trigger. And yet... the gun hadn’t been loaded, and he knew it. It had all been a game, a test of his power and my limits. And I had failed. Or won—I didn’t know.

The fear he had instilled in me had been real.

I despised myself for how much his strength turned me on, his dominance, his ruthless way of controlling the world around him.

But I also hated him because he kept making me question myself—my morals, my choices, my control.

I felt so vulnerable, so exposed, because he could read me better than anyone else in my life.