Page 5 of Lord of the Dark (Drawn into Darkness #1)

Fiona Robertson

The café was small and unassuming, an oasis amid the city's relentless pulse.

The warm lighting and muted hum of surrounding conversations created an atmosphere that might have been cozy—were it not for the man beside me, whose presence crackled like a live wire in the stillness.

I felt the weight of stares as we entered.

They weren't looking at me.

Their gazes clung to him. Russo commanded attention without intention, his tailored suit a stark contrast against the café's rough-hewn tables and rustic charm. Yet he belonged—not by conforming, but by the sheer force of his presence. He slid into a chair with the ease of a man accustomed to owning every space he entered, his natural authenticity making him fit where he chose to exist.

I couldn't help but admire his composure.

As I set my bag down and took my seat, my gaze flickered around us.

The waitress passing our table stole a glance at him—as if physically unable not to—before quickly turning away.

For him, this seemed entirely natural.

Russo leaned back, his eyes sweeping the café with predatory absorption before locking onto me again.

That charged moment when our eyes met transformed this supposedly "harmless" coffee into something far beyond business.

I noticed the waitress staring a beat too long before collecting herself, approaching with professional polish.

"What can I get you?" Her eyes darted between us, lingering on Russo as pink flooded her cheeks.

Her reaction drew a smirk from me.

"An espresso," he said smoothly.

Then his attention shifted to me with such intensity it felt like he'd redirected the room's entire energy.

"And for you?"

"A café latte, please," I answered with polite detachment.

The waitress scribbled our order, stealing one last glance at Russo as she left—which he either didn't notice or chose to ignore.

His focus remained entirely on me, as if nothing else in the space mattered.

"What?" Russo murmured, catching my smirk.

"Nothing." A sly smile teased my lips.

His eyebrow arched in silent challenge.

"Amusing you?"

"Have you noticed how magnetic you are to wandering eyes?" My tone was light, but the subtext was clear: I saw everything.

"Naturally...

though I rarely register it."

"Really? I'd think you'd be accustomed by now."

He reclined slightly, that dangerous half-smile playing across his mouth.

"One grows accustomed to many things, Ms.

Robertson.

But some...

prove far more interesting than others."

"The Dade County deal then," I pivoted sharply to safer ground.

"Your thoughts? The price is steep, yet your client seems eager to put fifty million on the table."

My abrupt change of topic drew an amused smirk from Russo.

He took a deliberate pause before responding.

"My client can afford it," he said, as if stating the obvious.

"But I'm interested in your assessment." His voice remained calm, yet the intensity in his gaze left no room for superficialities.

"Do you believe the market value will rise in the coming years? Or is this a long-term investment that will only appreciate gradually?"

I gave a slight nod, my fingers tracing the edge of the table as I weighed my words.

"The Miami market is volatile right now," I began, meeting his eyes.

"There are too many variables at play.

But we're talking about Fisher Island—this isn't just any location.

Long-term, I see potential for appreciation, even at this price point. Though, of course, much depends on how your client, Mr. Thompson, develops the property."

He nodded, as if he'd already considered this.

"Thompson is only interested in profitable exits.

He doesn’t just buy—he plans for resale.

You’re the expert here, Ms.

Robertson. How would you proceed?"

His phone lit up at regular intervals—silent but relentless.

The frequency of calls and messages surprised me, yet he paid them no mind.

His attention never wavered from me, as if nothing else held significance.

"As I outlined in the meeting, I’d advise cautious but strategic maneuvering," I replied.

"Secure options for future developments to maintain flexibility.

Miami is unpredictable, but with the right approach, this property could far exceed $50 million.

The architecture and finishes are exceptional, even by Miami standards."

A sharp smile curled at his lips, as if this was precisely the answer he’d wanted.

"Flexibility.

A valuable trait in every respect."

The waitress returned with our drinks, setting them down before retreating discreetly.

Her gaze flickered over Russo one last time before she disappeared.

Yet he didn’t even seem to notice.

In this moment, I was his sole focus.

I took a sip of my coffee, then set the cup down softly.

"So, Mr.

Russo..." I began, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Why all of this?" I held his gaze.

"The meeting, then immediately to my office, rescheduling your appointments—why go to these lengths?"

He stilled, as if my directness had caught him off guard.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"You fascinate me." His words were quiet, almost gentle.

"Your strength.

Your control. The way you handled my questions in the meeting, how you rose to the challenge—that’s not something I encounter every day."

"I’m sure you have plenty of meetings with people who...

operate similarly."

A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

“They don’t.

And that’s for a reason.” His voice dropped, low and edged with something darker.

“I don’t let just anyone talk to me like that.

But you?” His eyes burned into mine. “You made it interesting.”

Was he trying to warn me?

"And I don’t tolerate disrespect!" My voice cut through the charged air between us.

"Why even attend a meeting if you’re not interested?"

He laughed—a low, dark sound that vibrated with genuine amusement.

Then he shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

His piercing gaze locked onto me, stripping away pretense.

"You know, I travel constantly, deal with countless people—but women like you are exceedingly rare."

"And what exactly makes me so special?" I challenged.

He leaned back slightly, as if weighing the question, though I knew he already had the answer.

"That...

fire." A barely perceptible flicker of intensity sparked in his eyes.

"An inner strength most don’t possess."

"That sounds dangerously close to romanticizing," I countered flatly.

"You don’t know me."

"Sometimes a moment is all it takes," he replied without hesitation.

"Spoken like a man who’s always certain."

"I’ve learned to trust my instincts.

And when something feels right—why hesitate?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to an intimate timbre despite the crowded room.

"You, Ms.

Robertson, crave challenge.

You just haven’t fully surrendered to it yet."

His words struck with unsettling precision.

He read me like an open book, and the certainty in his voice unsettled me—even as it pulled me in.

"What do you want?" I demanded, defiance sharpening my tone.

His gaze held mine, the air between us crackling.

"You already know," he said finally, so assured it stole my breath.

My heart stuttered as the realization hit: he’d crossed the line long ago—the line between professional and personal.

But what unsettled me most wasn’t that he’d said it.

It was that I’d let him. Some part of me had known from the start.

I studied his face—calm, as if his declaration were the most natural thing in the world.

And perhaps for a man like him, it was.

But for me?

"Well, Mr.

Russo," I began, my voice laced with deliberate provocation, "you may have missed it—though your eyes lingered rather extensively on the photo—but I am in a relationship.

So tell me, where exactly is this going? You and me?" I searched his face for answers.

He leaned back, the motion exuding victory—and the worst part was, he’d probably already won.

"That’s entirely up to you," he said, his smile devoid of triumph or arrogance.

Just certainty.

"I don’t push.

I simply recognize inevitability."

I forced a saccharine smile.

"Ah, I see.

So I should call my boyfriend right now and break up, then? Free myself for you? After all, we’ve known each other a whole meeting." Sarcasm dripped from every word, but I held his gaze.

"We’re supposedly working on a fifty-million-dollar deal, but hey, why not fuck by afternoon?" I leaned forward.

"Is that roughly how you see this playing out, Mr. Russo?"

His amused smile deepened.

"Afternoon fucking has its appeal," he rumbled, his voice rough and dark with promise.

A statement as provocative as his entire demeanor.

He let the words hang in the air, almost relishing it, as if he knew they sent tremors through me.

For a moment, he breached the boundary between professional and personal, letting me feel what simmered beneath the surface.

But before I could respond, his posture shifted—like someone deciding to escalate the game.

"But," he added with a deceptively soft smile, "I'm not that superficial." He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, making me briefly believe he might close the distance between us.

"What fascinates me is how you challenge me," he said, but this time less demanding, more like an invitation to dive deeper into this game.

"Your strength.

Your intelligence.

The way you analyze everything yet refuse to make mistakes.

But believe me," his gaze locked onto mine, "this isn't a negotiation you can simply win."

His words resonated through me, speaking to something deeper than the deal we were discussing.

This wasn’t just business anymore.

It was about how far I was willing to let him in.

The danger was real.

And it was intoxicating.

"What exactly do you think I could win?" I asked quietly, almost a whisper, as if afraid to hear the answer.

He paused, weighing my question before responding.

"The chance to exist in a world as ruthless and unrestrained as your own hidden desires.

A relationship defined not by conventions, but by the intensity of your own nature."

His words ignited a fire in me, spreading like wildfire through my veins.

My gaze sharpened, and I seized the moment to test him.

"Interesting that a man of your caliber seems to be searching for a partner, Mr.

Russo.

Though I wonder how I could possibly assist you with that." My tone was lightly mocking as I continued.

"Perhaps you should try a dating service.

I’m sure you’d find plenty willing to play your... game." I watched his reaction closely, ready to decipher every flicker in his expression.

It was a bold move, challenging him so directly, but I wanted to see how he’d respond.

A flash of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by amused amusement.

Russo leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

"Ms.

Robertson, you underestimate me.

I’m not looking for a partner in the conventional sense. What I seek isn’t found in... ordinary registers." His voice lowered, softer now, but beneath the smooth surface was steel. "And as for you," he continued, his gaze intensifying, "perhaps it’s the forbidden that makes this so compelling."

His words were a clear invitation to step beyond familiar ground and into dangerous territory.

Despite my initial resistance, a part of me was drawn to the idea of exploring the unknown with him.

But I wouldn’t make it easy for him.

"I believe, Mr.

Russo," I finally said, drawing a steady breath without breaking eye contact, "you're far too certain of how this game will end."

His smile deepened as he reclined with effortless ease, as if he already knew I was on the verge of accepting his challenge—even if I wasn't ready to admit it yet.

"And I believe, Ms.

Robertson," he replied smoothly, "you have no idea just how well I intend to play it."

With every word, his presence grew more suffocating, leaving no space between us, as if he deliberately refused to give me room to breathe.

I felt trapped—cornered by the intensity of his gaze and the weight of his words.

"I still have work to attend to today, Mr.

Russo," I said, my voice firm as I fought to escape the confines of his attention.

He noticed my attempt to retreat, amusement flickering at the corners of his lips.

"Of course, Ms.

Robertson.

Business calls." A brief pause, his gaze sharp and probing.

"But do remember what we discussed here. We'll see each other again soon."

I gave a curt, professional nod, signaling for the check.

As the waitress brought the bill, I gathered my things, ready to leave.

Outside, I inhaled the crisp air deeply, trying to shake off the lingering tension.

Russo stepped beside me.

"Until next time, Ms.

Robertson."

When our hands brushed, an electric current shot through me.

His piercing stare held me captive, weakening my knees with its force.

I hated how easily he unsettled me, how effortlessly he dismantled my composure.

I watched as he walked away, my pulse still racing.

What kind of lawyer had a chauffeur waiting to open his door?

For a moment, I stood frozen, struggling to rein in my thoughts.

What had just happened? A coffee, yes—but nothing about this meeting had been harmless.

Deep down, I could feel Russo chipping away at the carefully constructed walls I’d spent years maintaining.

He had seen through me in mere hours.

That was what terrified me. And, against my will, what fascinated me. I exhaled sharply, turning away as the cool air soothed my flushed skin. This was the beginning of something—I just didn’t know what yet.