Page 20

The drive to my penthouse passes in comfortable silence. Lea gazes out the window, lost in thought, while I review security updates on my phone. Marco’s team has neutralized Moretti’s immediate threats, but the underlying tension remains. This is merely a lull in the conflict, not its resolution.

When we arrive at my building, the doorman greets us with deferential politeness, holding the private elevator open. I touch her lightly on the elbow guiding her inside as we enter. She leans into the touch, playing her role perfectly.

The penthouse doors slide open to reveal Marco waiting in the foyer, tablet in hand. His eyes flick briefly to Lea before settling on me, his expression professional but questioning.

“Everything’s secure,” he reports. “The incidents at the warehouse and shipping yard have been contained. Moretti’s men have retreated for now.”

I nod, removing my jacket and handing it to him. “And our other matter?”

Marco’s eyes shift toward Lea again. “Under observation as discussed.”

Lea pretends not to notice this cryptic exchange, moving further into the penthouse to admire the panoramic view of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. The morning light streams across the minimalist furnishings, highlighting the curated art collection and the strategic spareness of personal touches. This space, like everything I own, is designed to reveal nothing while impressing everything.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I tell her. “I need to speak with Marco privately.”

She nods, settling onto one of the sofas with ease. “Take your time.”

I lead Marco to my study, closing the door behind us. The room is soundproofed, one of many precautions built into this fortress disguised as a luxury residence.

“Report,” I say, moving to the desk where a stack of folders awaits my attention.

Marco hands me his tablet, displaying surveillance photos taken over the past twenty-four hours. “Professor Song was spotted in Washington DC yesterday afternoon, entering the Korean Consulate. She stayed for two hours before leaving in a diplomatic vehicle. This wasn’t a casual visit.”

I scroll through the images, noting the professor’s subtle signs of tension, the tight set of her shoulders, the wary glances toward surrounding buildings. “She knows she’s being watched.”

“Yes,” Marco agrees. “And there’s more. Our sources at the university say she’s requested an indefinite leave of absence, effective immediately. The conference mentioned in that email you planted? It’s been moved up by three weeks and moved to Seoul.”

This is unexpected, a rapid acceleration of whatever game Eunji Song is playing. “Moretti’s people?”

“Still monitoring her office and residence, but she hasn’t returned to either location since yesterday morning.”

I lean back in my chair, considering the implications. Eunji Song is making moves that suggest imminent danger or opportunity, perhaps both. And Lea, whether or not she knows it, has just become exponentially more valuable to both myself and Moretti.

“Increase surveillance on all Korean diplomatic channels,” I instruct. “And prepare the jet. If Professor Song is heading to Seoul, we may need to follow.”

Marco nods, making notes on his tablet. “And the journalist? She’s compromised your laptop. How much do you think she knows?”

I smile, remembering the crafted way Lea initiated our encounter last night. “Enough to think she’s gaining the upper hand. Not enough to realize she’s where I want her.”

Marco’s expression remains skeptical. “She’s smart. And motivated. Whatever game you’re playing with her?—”

“Is necessary,” I interrupt, voice hardening. “Her connection to Professor Song is our best leverage in understanding what’s happening with the Korean pipeline. If Moretti secures exclusive access to that supply chain, we can use the welfare of the professor’s daughter to have it go our way instead.”

I don’t need to finish the thought. Marco understands the stakes as well as I do. A single person’s life is no match against controlling the Korean fentanyl pipeline to the Midwest market. The economic implications are staggering, and the potential for massive bloodshed if negotiations fail even more so.

“Just be careful,” Marco says, his concern genuine beneath the professional demeanor. “Women like her, smart, driven, with something to prove, they’re dangerous in ways guns aren’t.”

I laugh, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “I’ve been handling dangerous women since before Ms. Song graduated high school. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Marco doesn’t look convinced, but he knows better than to press the issue. “Your international contacts confirmed for three o’clock at the Blackstone Club. Security protocols are in place.”

“Good,” I nod. “Keep Lea under surveillance while I’m gone. Discreetly.”

“Always,” Marco assures me, heading for the door. He pauses, hand on the knob. “One more thing, Alessandro called. He wants updates on the Song situation. Says you’re getting too personally involved.”

A flicker of irritation courses through me at my uncle’s presumption. “Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow. After I’ve gathered more intelligence.”

Marco nods and exits, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Alessandro isn’t wrong to be concerned. However, emotional entanglement is a risk in our business. But what he fails to understand is that one can simulate intimacy without succumbing to it. I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting that skill.

When I rejoin Lea in the living room, she’s standing by the windows, silhouetted against the city skyline. The position is vulnerable, back turned, attention elsewhere, a silent signal that she trusts me. Another artful move in our ongoing game.

“Everything alright?” she asks, turning as I approach.

“Just business,” I reply, moving to stand beside her. The view from here encompasses much of what I control; properties, businesses, territories. “Moretti’s retreated for now, but it won’t last. Men like him only understand escalation.”

She nods, eyes tracking moving boats on the lake below. “What does he want? Territory? Money?”

“Power,” I answer. “Like everyone in this city.”

“Including you?” she asks, turning to face me.

I smile, trailing a finger along her jawline. “I already have power. What I want is command.”

Her pupils dilate at the touch, a physiological response she can’t fake. “And what’s the difference?”

“Power is the ability to influence outcomes,” I explain, voice dropping lower as I step closer. “Command is ensuring those outcomes unfold as you’ve designed them to. Power can be shared. Command is absolute.”

Her breath quickens, whether from my proximity or my words, I can’t be sure. The line between her performance and genuine response has blurred, making this interaction all the more intriguing.

“And which am I?” she asks boldly. “An outcome to influence or a design to control?”

Her eyes gleam with that infuriating cockiness, like she thinks she’s got me wrapped around her finger. After last night and this morning, she’s still playing her game, thinking she can outsmart me, The Diplomat, with her journalist’s tricks and that wicked smile. She’s about to learn what happens when you taunt a man who breaks men for breakfast.

I laugh, amused by her directness. “That, piccola, depends entirely on your next move.”

“You’re looking tense, Nico,” she purrs, leaning back against the floor-to-ceiling window. “What’s wrong? Not used to a woman who can keep up with you?” Her tone is all challenge, her lips curling like she’s won something.

My jaw clenches, anger and desire twisting into a dangerous knot. “You think you’re in control, piccola?” I say, my voice low, a warning she doesn’t heed. “You think you can prance around, tease me, and I’ll just roll over?”

She shrugs, her smile smug. “Maybe I just know what you want. And I’m good at giving it.” She runs a hand down her chest, popping a button on her blouse, exposing the black lace of her bra. “Admit it, Nico. You’re obsessed.”

The audacity of her words snaps my restraint. My hand runs up her neck, fisting in her hair, yanking her head back. She gasps, her bravado faltering, but her eyes still spark with defiance. “You’re gonna regret that mouth,” I growl, my lips brushing her ear. “I’m gonna fuck that cockiness right out of you, Lea. You’ll be begging by the time I’m done.”

She tries to laugh, but it’s shaky. “Big talk for a man who?—”

I cut her off, slamming my mouth against hers, the kiss brutal, all teeth and dominance. She fights back, her tongue battling mine, her hands clawing at my suit jacket, but I’m in charge. I spin her around, pinning her against the window, her cheek pressed to the cool glass. The city stretches out below, oblivious to the war we’re waging. My hands grip her hips, grinding my hard cock against her ass through her jeans, letting her feel what’s coming.

“You think you’re so clever,” I snarl, my voice rough. “Playing me like I’m some mark. Let’s see how cocky you are when I’m done with you.” I grab the waistband of her jeans, ripping the button open and yanking them down her thighs with a force that makes her yelp. The denim pools at her ankles, and I tear it off, leaving her in her blouse and black lace panties, her legs trembling.

“Spread your legs,” I order, kicking her feet apart until she’s spread-eagle against the window, her hands braced on the glass. She’s exposed and vulnerable, the Chicago skyline framing her like a fucking masterpiece. I step back, admiring the view: her ass round and perfect, her pussy barely covered by the lace, already wet for me. But she’s not getting pleasure yet. Not until she’s paid for her arrogance.

I reach into the desk drawer, pulling out a pair of scissors, the metal glinting in the light. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t move. “What are you—” she starts, but I silence her with a look.

“Shut up,” I say, my voice cold. “You don’t get to talk unless I say so.” I kneel behind her, sliding the scissors under the edge of her panties. The cold metal brushes her skin, and she shivers, her breath hitching. With one swift cut, I slice through the lace, then the other side, letting the ruined fabric fall to the floor. She’s bare now, her pussy glistening, her asshole winking at me, and fuck, I’m so hard it hurts.

“Such a pretty little liar,” I murmur, standing and running a hand over her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. “But you’re gonna learn your place.” I unbuckle my belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a slow, deliberate hiss. Her eyes follow the movement, and I see the mix of fear and anticipation in her gaze. Good.

I fold the belt in half, gripping it tightly. “Three lashes,” I say, my voice a dark promise. “Take them without a word, and I’ll reward you. Scream, beg, or cry, and you get nothing but my handprint on your ass. Understand?”

She nods, her jaw tight, her eyes blazing with that stubborn defiance. “I can take it,” she says, her voice steady despite the tremor in her legs.

“We’ll see,” I growl, stepping back. I raise the belt and bring it down, the leather cracking against her ass with a sharp snap. Redness blooms instantly, and she bites her lip, her body tensing, but she doesn’t make a sound. Fuck, she’s tougher than I thought. “One,” I say, my voice rough with approval.

The second lash lands harder, the sound echoing in the room, and her fingers curl against the glass, her knuckles white. Her ass is red now, the red stark against her skin, but she stays silent, her breathing ragged. “Two,” I count, my cock throbbing at her resilience.

The third is the hardest, aimed at the sensitive spot where her ass meets her thighs, and she jolts, a muffled whimper escaping before she clamps her lips shut. I pause, watching her tremble, but she doesn’t break. “Three,” I say, tossing the belt aside. “Good girl. You earned your reward.”

I’m on her in an instant, my hands gripping her hips, my cock freed from my trousers and pressing against her dripping pussy. “You’re so fucking wet,” I growl, teasing her entrance with the tip. “You loved that, didn’t you? Getting punished like the slut you are.”

“Fuck you,” she gasps, her voice hoarse, but there’s no real venom in it, only need.

I laugh, dark and cruel, as I thrust into her hard, filling her in one brutal stroke. Lea screams, her walls clenching so tight, it’s almost painful. The window rattles as I pin her against it, her breasts pressed to the glass, her legs spread wide. “That’s it,” I snarl, pulling out before slamming back in, as I set a punishing rhythm. “Take my cock, Lea. Take it like the little whore who thought she could outsmart me.”

Her moans are loud, desperate, her hands scrabbling against the glass for purchase. The city sprawls below, oblivious, while I fuck her senseless, each thrust driving her higher. “Look at Chicago,” I growl. “All those people, no idea their precious journalist is getting fucked like a slut five hundred feet above them.”

She tries to talk back, her voice shaky. “You’re not as smart as you think, Nico—fuck!” Her words cut off as I thrust harder, angling to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars.

“Keep talking,” I say, my hand cracking against her already-red ass. “It just makes me want to fuck you harder.” I grip her hips, bruising, and pound into her, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Her pussy is soaked, dripping down her thighs, and I can feel her building, her walls fluttering around me.

“You’re mine,” I growl, my lips against her ear. “This pussy, this ass, this fucking city…it’s all mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” she moans, her voice breaking as she surrenders, her body trembling. “I’m yours, Nico.”

“Damn right,” I say, my hand sliding between her legs to circle her clit, fast and rough. “Come for me, piccola. Come all over my cock while Chicago watches.”

She shatters, her scream echoing as her pussy clamps down, milking me. The intensity pushes me over the edge, and I come with a roar, spilling deep inside her, marking her as mine. We stay locked together, panting, the window cool against her skin, her body trembling in my arms.

When I pull out, she’s unsteady, her legs shaking, and I catch her before she collapses. Her ass is red, welted from the belt, her pussy glistening with our combined release. She’s a mess, and it’s fucking beautiful. But I’m not done with her yet, not until I’ve shown her every facet of my control, even the gentle side she doesn’t expect.

“Come on,” I murmur, lifting her into my arms. She’s too spent to protest, her head resting against my chest as I carry her to the penthouse’s luxurious bathroom. The room is a sanctuary of marble and gold, the bathtub big enough for two. I set her on the counter, her wince as her sore ass meets the cold surface making me smirk.

I fill the tub, adding oils that fill the air with lavender and eucalyptus. She watches me, her eyes wary but soft, like she’s trying to reconcile the man who just whipped her with the one preparing a bath. I strip off my suit, letting her see the scars, the muscles, the cock that’s still half-hard for her. Then I lift her again, settling us both in the warm water, her back against my chest.

“Relax,” I say, my voice softer now, but still commanding. I take a soft cloth, dipping it in the water and gently cleaning her, starting with her arms, her neck, then moving to her breasts. She sighs, leaning into me, and I feel her tension melt. “You took your punishment like a fucking queen,” I murmur, my lips brushing her temple. “But you’re still mine, Lea. Don’t forget it.”

I move the cloth between her legs, careful with her sensitive pussy, and she moans, her head falling back against my shoulder. My other hand massages her ass, soothing the welts, and she hisses, then relaxes, the pain blending with pleasure. “You’re sore,” I say, not an apology, just a fact. “But you loved it.”

She doesn’t deny it, her silence an admission. I wash her hair, my fingers working through the strands, and she’s pliant, trusting in a way that makes my chest tighten. This is the real danger, not her lies, but the way she makes me feel something beyond control.

When she’s clean, I lift her out, wrapping her in a heated towel and carrying her back to the bedroom. I lay her on the bed, applying a soothing cream to her welts, my touch gentle but firm. She watches me, her eyes searching, and I know she’s still playing her game, still plotting. But for now, she’s mine, marked and claimed, and I’ll be damned if I let her forget it.

“Sleep,” I say, pulling her against me. “Take a nap. We’ll go to dinner later.”

As she drifts off, her breathing evening out, I stare at the city beyond the window. Lea’s dangerous, a wildcard in my controlled world. But I’m The Diplomat, and I don’t lose. Not to her, not to anyone. She’ll learn her place, even if I have to fuck it into her, one punishment at a time.

* * *

Next day, I work from my home office while Lea explores the penthouse, gathering impressions for her article but undoubtedly searching for insights into my operation. I allow it, having already ensured that anything sensitive remains locked away.

When I emerge to prepare for my meeting, she’s curled on the sofa with her laptop, typing rapidly. She glances up as I adjust my cufflinks, a new suit for the afternoon’s business, this one midnight blue with a subtle sheen.

“You look dangerous,” she observes, setting her computer aside.

“That’s the point,” I reply, checking my reflection in the hallway mirror. “These particular associates respect power above all else. Appearance matters.”

She approaches, stopping just behind me. Our eyes meet in the mirror’s reflection. “When will you be back?”

“Late,” I answer, turning to face her. “Don’t wait up.”

Something flickers in her expression, disappointment, perhaps, that she won’t be accompanying me to gather more intelligence. “I’ll be here.”

I lean in, brushing my lips against hers in a kiss that’s gentle, at odds with the intensity of our earlier encounters. “Good.”

The elevator arrives with a soft chime. Before stepping inside, I glance back at her, standing in the foyer with an expression I can’t quite decipher. For a moment, brief but disconcerting, I’m genuinely curious about what she’s thinking behind that constructed exterior.

I dismiss the thought as the doors close between us. Curiosity about her motivations is useful only where it serves my purposes. Anything beyond that is a distraction I cannot afford.

* * *