The night was quiet, but the air in Adrian's private lounge was thick with tension. The dim glow of the city skyline framed the large glass windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. A decanter of whiskey sat between him and Nikolai, untouched.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, exhaling a slow stream of smoke from his cigar. His gaze was distant, unfocused—still trapped in the ghost of Valeria's touch, the taste of her lips.
"You need to stay away from her."
Nikolai's voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unyielding.
Adrian's fingers paused around the glass he had just picked up. Slowly, he turned his head, his sharp blue eyes locking onto Nikolai's with quiet amusement.
"Come again?"
Nikolai leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. "I don't trust her, Adrian. Something about her doesn't sit right."
Adrian smirked, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "You've never trusted a beautiful woman in your life."
"This isn't about her being beautiful," Nikolai shot back, his jaw tight. "It's about the way she moves, the way she looks at you—like she's trying to learn you, not love you."
Adrian took a slow sip, savoring the burn. "And what exactly do you think she's after?"
Nikolai's expression darkened. "I don't know yet. But I will find out."
Adrian exhaled, placing his glass down with a soft clink. His smirk was lazy, almost bored, but his fingers had curled slightly against the rim—an unspoken tension that Nikolai caught immediately.
"You're being paranoid."
"I'm being careful," Nikolai corrected. "And you should be too."
Adrian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze turning sharp. "Tell me, Niko—when was the last time I let someone get close enough to betray me?"
Nikolai's silence was telling.
Exactly.
Adrian's smirk deepened. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm not letting her get close. I'm keeping her exactly where I want her."
Nikolai studied him for a long moment, then shook his head. "No," he muttered. "You think you are."
Adrian didn't reply. He just took another slow sip of whiskey, letting the silence stretch between them like a challenge.
★★★
Valeria moved like a shadow through the halls of Adrian's private estate.
The security was tighter than expected—cameras positioned at the perfect angles, silent guards stationed near the key entry points. But she had studied the blueprints. She knew the blind spots, the pathways hidden in the architecture of the old mansion.
She had done this before.
Yet, tonight felt different.
Adrian had touched her. Had kissed her like a man losing his grip on restraint. Had left her standing there, aching, wanting.
And that was dangerous.
She needed to remind herself that this was a mission. That she wasn't here to be kissed and worshiped in dark corners. She was here to destroy him.
The door to his office was locked, but the mechanism was old—too easy. Within seconds, the quiet click of the latch echoed, and she slipped inside.
The scent of him hit her immediately—smoky, dark, laced with something uniquely Adrian. It was maddening.
She pushed forward, her sharp eyes scanning the space.
The room was a masterpiece of order—bookshelves lined with volumes, a sleek black desk standing like a monolith of power in the center. A glass of whiskey sat untouched, a lingering sign of his presence.
She moved to the desk, her fingers brushing over the surface before reaching for the files stacked neatly beside his laptop.
Names. Dates. Deals.
A wealth of information sat in front of her, waiting to be unraveled.
She pulled out her phone, snapping quick photos, making sure to avoid leaving fingerprints.
Then, her gaze flickered to a smaller folder, set apart from the rest.
Intrigued, she flipped it open.
And froze.
It wasn't business reports or financial records.
It was her.
Photos of her at events. Clips from surveillance footage. Notes scribbled in Adrian's precise handwriting.
She exhaled slowly, pulse hammering.
He had been watching her. Studying her.
A dangerous thrill curled in her stomach.
He suspects me.
But not enough to stop.
Not enough to push her away.
She needed to leave. Now.
She turned sharply—only to find herself staring at a black suit jacket hanging near the door.
His scent clung to it. Musky, deep, intoxicating.
Valeria hesitated. Her fingers itched to touch it.
No. Focus.
Shaking off the impulse, she slipped back out, closing the door behind her as silently as she came.
She would have to be careful.
Because Adrian DeLuca wasn't just playing the game.
He was playing her.