Page 31 of Lord of the Dark (Drawn into Darkness #1)

Fiona Robertson

The bass of the club vibrated in my bones as I pushed through the crowd.

The room was dark, illuminated only by flickering colored lights that transformed the dancing bodies around me into shadow plays.

I felt the press of people shoving past me, and the smell of alcohol hung heavy in the air.

My breath quickened, but I forced myself to stay calm.

No weakness now. Not a trace.

I scanned the crowd for the lounge Carter had described, my eyes desperately searching the tangled mass in front of me.

When I turned to look for Alessandro, I noticed him behind me.

He moved with a casualness that radiated so much confidence, he parted the crowd effortlessly.

His gaze was fixed on me, and a filthy grin played on his lips as he deliberately slowed his pace.

He kept his distance, watching me, as if he wanted to see how I handled myself alone. I rolled my eyes, turned away, and took a deep breath.

Finally, I spotted Carter.

He sat in one of the lounges, separated from the noise by glass doors, bathed in warm, muted light that highlighted the sleek black leather sofas and the massive glass table in the center.

Bottles of expensive champagne stood on the table, alongside heavy crystal glasses already half-empty.

Matteo Ricci lounged in a corner, legs crossed, while Carter spoke to him.

His posture was relaxed, but his gestures seemed forced, as if he were trying to impress Ricci. God, how pathetic!

I turned around once more and thrust my right palm toward Alessandro in a blocking gesture.

He could at least give me a small head start.

His grin widened, but he gave me a curt nod, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms.

I knew he’d be watching everything.

With one last deep breath, I finally opened the glass door and stepped into the lounge.

Carter noticed me immediately, his expression shifting from surprise to confusion.

"Fiona! Where have you been?" His voice was overly concerned, but I saw the indifference in his eyes.

"I was so worried." Damned liar.

The first act of the play could begin.

I forced a polite smile, though I’d rather have slapped him.

Worried? I’d been watching him from above—not once had he looked for me, let alone been concerned.

My eyes flickered over the scene—the empty glass in his hand, the relaxed smirk on Ricci’s face.

Carter didn’t give a damn about me. He ignored any pretense of restraint and yanked me closer in one sudden motion. Before I could react, he pressed a wet, unwelcome kiss to my lips. My heart pounded wildly. Not from romance. It was the mix of cringing embarrassment and the unsettling certainty that Alessandro was watching. Part of me dreaded his reaction—would he put Carter in his place? But the truth was more complicated: Carter hadn’t done anything wrong. He was, after all, my boyfriend. For now. And yet, this moment felt so horribly wrong I could barely breathe.

I shoved him away and glanced toward Alessandro.

"I ran into someone you know," I answered with deliberate indifference.

Before Carter could press further, I saw his gaze stick to something behind me.

I knew exactly what—or rather, who—was approaching.

Disaster in its most beautiful form.

Alessandro entered the lounge with that unmistakable aura of his.

My heart raced into my throat.

The room already felt too small for all of us.

His jeans hugged his long legs, and his shirt revealed just enough of his muscular frame to spark imagination.

The sleeves were slightly rolled up, giving him a dangerously masculine edge and effortless elegance Carter could never achieve—not just because of proximity, but because of the sheer absurdity of the situation. Carter had no idea what had happened between Alessandro and me, and that made everything even more surreal.

Carter took a big, unsteady step toward Alessandro and extended his hand.

"Mr.

Russo.

Didn’t expect to see you here." His tone was friendly, but I caught the uncertainty in his posture.

I fought back the traitorous smirk his reaction to Alessandro provoked.

Carter was at least a head shorter, less present.

Alessandro, on the other hand, exuded a natural authority that had nothing to do with his clothes.

It was his stance, his gaze, his gestures, the way he spoke.

He shook Carter’s hand, his eyes glinting with faint, hidden amusement.

He knew Carter was nervous—and he was enjoying it. "Mr. Vaughn," he replied with a nod. "What a surprise to run into you in Florence, of all places." He was already testing Carter with just his greeting. Shit.

Carter held his gaze but stayed silent.

I couldn’t tell if he was too drunk or just afraid Alessandro might reveal too much.

Tension hung over us like a thick, dark storm cloud.

I nudged Carter back onto the sofa and sat beside him.

Alessandro greeted Ricci with a smile so slight I’d never have guessed these two men knew each other—if I hadn’t known better.

He could be so cold, so ruthless when he wanted to be, and somehow, that only made him hotter.

The couch hadn't even warmed beneath his ass before the waiter appeared—along with his dutiful accomplice, though Carter, of course, had no idea.

He didn’t realize this was Alessandro’s club.

Carter’s tongue was noticeably thick as he tried to impress, ordering another bottle of champagne.

Alessandro raised a hand and ordered a Scotch for himself.

Hopefully, they'd serve it without ice here—wouldn’t want to ruin it for the distinguished gentleman.

Carter shot Alessandro a glare, visibly displeased by the rejection.

But I knew Alessandro would sooner cut off his own hand than let Carter treat him.

My nerves were stretched to breaking.

My stomach churned as my heart hammered violently.

Alessandro sat directly across from me, leaning back with one arm draped casually over the sofa.

Damn it.

My core still throbbed from his ruthless thrusts, yet I felt that treacherous ache between my thighs—proof that he, not me, ruled my body. His expression was the perfect mix of ease and natural dominance as he seized control of the conversation.

"So, Mr.

Vaughn," he began, and I prayed he wouldn’t ask why we were here.

"What brings you and—" He even paused, letting the words hang heavier.

His gaze slid to me.

"—your girlfriend to Florence?"

Damn him.

The effortless way he said it made one thing clear: he was lightyears ahead of me in this game.

If I didn’t know why we were putting on this act—if not for the raw, red line along his throat where my broken nail had torn into him less than an hour ago, trailing beneath his white shirt—I would have been gutted by his cold detachment by now.

"Fiona loves Italy," Carter cut in, trying to defuse the tension but only sounding half-hearted.

His arm rested possessively on my thigh, his grip demanding—uncharacteristically territorial.

He was using me as a trophy in front of these men, just like he planned to do with the Russians.

"It's her favorite country," he added, throwing me a quick glance, expecting confirmation.

"Yes?" Alessandro replied.

His eyes—they betrayed the volcano simmering within him.

They scrutinized Carter, tracked every movement of Carter’s hand on me with a mix of mockery and patience, like a predator who didn’t need to rush its prey.

"You seem so...

demanding. Italy suits you perfectly. It has much to offer for people with high standards."

Carter laughed nervously, visibly unsure how to take it.

"Oh, Fiona is demanding," he countered quickly, trying to sound casual.

"But she also knows how to enjoy life.

We arrived yesterday.

Saw Rome, did a little sightseeing. Tomorrow, I want to show her a few of my favorite spots."

Alessandro leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Carter, yet I felt every one of his words was meant just as much for me.

"Rome is essential to see," he said slowly.

Then, a mocking smile played on his lips.

"But Florence has its own unique charm.

Especially for those who know how to enjoy life." His eyes flashed, lingering on me briefly before adding with veiled provocation: "Don’t you agree, Fiona?"

I felt heat rise to my face, managing only a tight nod.

Carter patted my thigh, making me flinch involuntarily.

Alessandro spared him no further comment, his gaze locking onto mine.

We both knew tomorrow had long been reserved for him.

That knowledge hung between us like an unspoken pact.

Carter, oblivious to it all, slid his hand up and down my thigh—a gesture as possessive as it was clumsy.

I wanted nothing more than to throw his drink in his face.

Alessandro watched us in silence, seemingly weighing whether to say something—likely because he could plainly see how uncomfortable Carter’s behavior made me.

Suddenly, he straightened.

"Another round?" he asked rhetorically, not even waiting for our answer before signaling the waiter.

Carter merely nodded eagerly, visibly relieved at the change of subject.

Ricci, who had been a quiet observer until now, burst into loud laughter over some wine anecdote, his movements already slightly unsteady.

Alessandro spared him only a brief glance before leaning forward.

With a barely perceptible smile, he murmured something to the waiter—too soft for me to catch.

The waiter nodded wordlessly and swiftly withdrew.

"Florence is an interesting place," Matteo remarked.

"If I had more time, I’d invest in property here.

There’s a whole range of very intriguing options."

"Florence is ideally situated.

It’s not just the capital of Tuscany but also strategically significant," Alessandro agreed, piquing Carter’s interest.

"I’ve heard it’s one of Italy’s most promising regions.

Especially in terms of green energy." I could tell Carter was completely clueless, just trying to impress.

Almost reflexively, I shook my head.

"Green energy?" Alessandro leaned forward slightly, a trace of amusement in his voice.

"That’s indeed a growing market, particularly when paired with sustainable architecture.

Florence has a lot to offer—if one knows where to look."

Matteo nodded in agreement.

"Exactly.

There are many historic buildings here that can be renovated and modernized without losing their original charm.

With the right investments, one could achieve quite a lot."

Carter cleared his throat, attempting a comment that came off awkwardly.

"That does sound like an exciting opportunity.

I could imagine such projects being interesting for foreign investors as well.

Italy is, after all, known for...

well, its beauty and history."

Alessandro remained unshaken, replying with a charming smile: "Precisely, Carter.

History meets innovation.

Though it requires finesse and a deep understanding of Italian culture.

It’s not for everyone." His words were polite, but the undertone wasn’t lost on me—nor, likely, on Carter.

Matteo shifted the topic slightly, perhaps to diffuse the tension.

"The blend of culture and modernity here is unique.

Florence is like a chessboard—every move must be carefully considered.

To invest here, one needs not just capital but, above all, the right network."

"True," Alessandro agreed, his gaze now fixed directly on Carter.

"Networks are everything in Italy.

Connections, trust...

and sometimes a good instinct for risk.

But that’s your specialty, isn’t it, Mr. Vaughn? Even in Europe, people talk about your network in the States." You cold-blooded liar. He was playing his part flawlessly. He despised Carter, knew he was insignificant, and yet managed to shower him with praise—without betraying the slightest emotion.

Carter squared his shoulders slightly, as if savoring the unexpected flattery.

"Well, I do like hearing that," he replied with a smug smile, basking in the words.

"My team works hard to build those connections.

I believe that nowadays, success in a market like this requires not just capital but vision." He paused, as if gauging the impact of his words, before continuing.

"And, of course, a certain appetite for risk. But I’m sure we all know that the greatest risks often yield the highest returns." His eyes flicked to Alessandro as he delivered this with a mix of conviction and pride.

I noticed the subtle twitch at the corners of Alessandro’s mouth—a telltale sign of the amused game he was playing.

"Without a doubt, Carter," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with flattery.

"You’re a man who knows how to spot and seize opportunities."

Carter had leaned forward slightly, just enough to miss my faint headshake in Alessandro’s direction.

When the waiter returned, he carried a tray of drinks in colors that looked venomous and unnatural—one pale yellow, one pink, one blood-red, and one particularly toxic green.

I reached out to distribute the glasses, but Alessandro was faster.

His fingers closed around my wrist as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his grip firm.

He paused, his gaze locking onto mine with unsettling intensity.

"I’ll handle this," he murmured, velvet-soft yet leaving no room for argument. His grip loosened, and he picked up the glasses one by one, distributing them—the toxic green to Carter, the pink to me, the yellow for himself, and the blood-red to Ricci.

Alessandro raised his glass, his voice deep and measured.

"Gentlemen...

and honored lady—to us.

Shall we keep up with the formalities, or finally pull the stick out of our asses?"

'Honored lady'—and from his lips, no less.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

"Russo, what the hell did you order for us? Trying to poison us?" Ricci asked, amused, as he twisted his glass in front of him like he could decipher its contents by sight alone.

"That would be murder," Alessandro joked with exaggerated irony, swirling his own glass of yellow liquid.

Carter, suddenly far from relaxed, eyed his drink suspiciously.

"Why do I get the toxic green one while you get the boring yellow?"

Alessandro grinned.

"Because the green one’s laced with a sedative." It wasn’t entirely out of the question—he had already slipped me drugs tonight.

He’d do anything to get his way.

My pulse spiked as Carter turned to him, indignant.

"Cut the bullshit," he hissed.

"I want the yellow one."

Heat flooded my face, my breath catching.

Like a petulant child, I thought.

"Pull yourself together, Carter," I snapped.

"You’re acting like you’re five."

Alessandro fought a smirk, shrugging as he tossed Carter an indifferent smile.

"No problem.

If you want the yellow one, it’s yours."

I barely believed my eyes as they actually swapped glasses, like kids trading lunchboxes.

Carter took the yellow drink, holding it like he’d just won the better hand.

"A toast," Alessandro finally said, his voice laced with mockery only I caught, "to Florence.

And to bold choices."

Carter, noticeably unsteady by now, raised his glass with a grin too wide.

Alessandro downed his in one go, slammed it onto the table, and locked eyes with Carter—an unmistakable challenge.

"Your move, Vaughn." His voice was rough, taunting.

Carter hesitated, then drained his glass.

Alessandro watched, sharp-eyed.

As Carter set his glass down triumphantly, he yanked me against him.

Before I could react, his tongue was in my mouth—a kiss so sloppy, so wet, I nearly recoiled.

It was clumsy, invasive, anything but welcome.

My eyes flicked to Alessandro while Carter kept me trapped.

His face had gone glacial, his eyes screaming murder. I could see it—the way he wanted to rip Carter off me and shatter him against the glass table.

But then, with terrifying control, the mask slid back.

A faint smile, revealing nothing.

"How long are you lovebirds staying in Florence?"

Carter, finally releasing me, answered eagerly: "A few more days.

I’ve got so much planned! I want to show Fiona everything—the museums, the gardens..." His tone dripped pride, like he’d orchestrated it all for me.

"She loves when I plan things for her." At least, I’d always let him believe that.

In reality, his "plans" were lifeless, copied from the first tourist site he’d found.

Alessandro leaned back, a devil’s grin curling his lips.

"Sounds like a full schedule.

She must mean a lot to you." His gaze never left mine.

Fuck.

I tilted my head slightly and shot him a pleading look, begging him to stop.

But he was savoring every word—his expression spoke volumes.

His smile remained defiant, and all traces of restraint had already been stripped from his eyes by raw hunger.

He kept staring at me with that signature gaze, the one that left no doubt—there was no escape.

My heart began to race, and I took a sip of my drink just to mask the tension.

Then, without the slightest regard for Carter or Matteo, he let his words slip into the room like a provocative flame.

"You know, Fiona," he began, his voice casual, as if discussing something trivial, "you look so damn sexy in that dress that I’ll take you at least one more time before the night’s over."

I choked on my drink instantly, the liquid lodging in my throat.

A sharp burn spread as I coughed violently, the alcohol seeming to both pour down my windpipe and spray the wrong way.

Alessandro watched me, utterly unfazed—not even a flicker of remorse in his gaze.

Ricci burst into loud laughter, but Alessandro paid him no mind.

Instead, he arched a brow, giving me a loaded look.

And suddenly, the shift in the room crashed into my awareness.

My stomach twisted—something had gone terribly wrong.

Carter hadn’t spoken a word in minutes, just staring dazedly into space.

I watched as he slumped sideways, muttering, time itself seeming to slow.

"Hey! Carter?" My voice came out shriller than I intended as I frantically tried to prop him up.

But he only mumbled incoherently, slipping through my arms again and again.

His eyelids fluttered before finally closing completely.

Horrified, I turned to Alessandro.

He sat sprawled on the sofa, arms relaxed, as if he were the king and this was his personal entertainment.

It hit me then—he must have slipped something into Carter’s drink.

And Ricci had clearly gotten a dose too: his eyes were half-lidded, though not as far gone as Carter.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I demanded, my voice nearly cracking with outrage.

"You drugged him?"

Alessandro merely quirked a brow and grinned.

"I don’t have infinite patience for this shit tonight."

"What did you give him?"

"Relax," he shrugged.

"He’s just going to enjoy the sleep of his life and wake up halfway sober."

In one fluid motion, he rose from the sofa and checked his watch.

"Just before ten…" His gaze locked onto me, his grin deepening.

"Now that we’re finally rid of this deadweight, I’ve got something planned for you.

You love it when I make plans for you, don’t you?"

The words that had sounded so harmless coming from Carter's mouth earlier now sent shivers down my spine.

I turned my gaze away from Carter, who now lay completely lifeless and slumped against the leather sofa, and half-rose to my feet.

Alessandro looked impatient but visibly pleased with his handiwork.

"What do we do with him? I can't just leave him here..." My stomach twisted into knots.

Part of me didn't want to abandon Carter like this, but another part could already tell Alessandro had very different plans for me.

I swallowed hard, cast one last glance at the deeply unconscious Carter, then looked up at Alessandro.

"Why not?" He gave Carter a disdainful look as a thin string of drool dripped from his mouth onto the leather sofa.

"He's ruining my sofa.

We could either leave him here or call him a taxi back to his hotel."

"He's ruining your sofa because you knocked him out.

I...

I feel somewhat responsible for him.

Yes, he's a massive asshole—"

Alessandro cut me off sharply: "That's exactly the point, Fiona." Then he leaned in closer, his tone turning impatient.

"Why do you think you owe him anything?"

"Because unlike you, I still have a conscience.

I can't just leave him here."

"He's definitely not getting in my car—I'll kill him if he pukes in it."

"Don't you have some ugly work car here? For jobs that get messy?" I asked provocatively.

His mouth twisted into a mocking grin.

"Of course I have a work car here.

Work follows me everywhere.

But I didn't bring it this time."