The Man Is A Cacciatore

Episode 1

Cassandra 

A hazy smoke of cigars filled the dimly lit club, clinging to the air like a thick shroud. My pulse thrummed to the beat of the usual bass-heavy song I danced to, each note reverberating through my body like a promise. Whistles and catcalls rang out like sirens when I dipped back, my long onyx hair tumbling down like a black waterfall. I lived for this—the rush of adrenaline, the addictive high of cash floating down like snowflakes in late January.

My thighs gripped the cold metal of the pole as I spun, muscles straining, only to release and slide down slow, deliberate, and tantalizing. Every movement was calculated, every flick of my gaze, every roll of my hips. My routine was a bulletproof masterpiece, perfected over months of study and sweat, and the high rollers on the edge of their seats knew it. This was as close as they would ever get.

When I first applied, I laid down one rule: no private dances. I remembered the day I told Vinnie, the owner, exactly how it was going to work.

“Look, Vinnie,” I said, cool and composed, each word carrying the confidence of a seasoned negotiator. “I’m not like the blonde bunnies you’ve got prancing around out there.” I gestured to the two-way mirror, where the main floor stretched in view. “I’ll bring in double the earnings in one night. You’ll see for yourself that I’m worth the hire—on my terms.”

I’d stood then, my movements as purposeful as my words, and headed for the door. I counted to ten in my head. Pressure tactics worked on men like him.

“Wait…” His voice hitched, laced with an exaggerated sigh of defeat.

I’d smirked to myself before turning back, already knowing I had him hooked. I let my expression fall neutral, but my emerald eyes narrowed, the predator in me watching the man sweat. He ran a hand through his thinning dirty-blonde hair.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Prove yourself tonight, and we’ll talk.”

Now, as I prowled along the edge of the stage back arched and lips curved into a feline smirk, I gave each of my high-rollers their due attention. Whiskey and vodka on their breaths, wedding bands on their hands, and desperation in their eyes—it didn’t matter. As long as their money made its way into the thin straps of my G-string, I didn’t care who they were.

Leo

The leather beneath me sighed as I sat back in the VIP booth on the second floor, ankle resting lazily over my knee. I flicked open my lighter, the flame flaring bright before I brought it to my cigarette. For a brief second, the light sent shadows scattering, only for them to slink back into the corners. The snap of the lighter closing seemed louder than it should have.

I took a long drag, my gaze sweeping across the club floor. She was there—the black-haired dancer. Her presence stood out like a beacon amidst the faceless crowd below.

Vinnie fidgeted in the shadows near the booth entrance, practically begging to be addressed. I gestured with two fingers, wordlessly summoning him. Gio and Dimitri stepped aside, their forms as still and imposing as gargoyles guarding the door.

“Mr. Romano—”

I held up a hand, cutting him off. I didn’t need his fumbling words clouding the air. My focus was on her. The way the lights slid across her body, the strength in her movements. The leering crowd below only made my jaw tighten.

When I fixed them on Vinnie he visibly shuddered which made me smirk. I’ve been wearing the guy down all week coming here at the same time every night, he knows who I am and why I’m here but I want him to fucking submit, to beg me for my protection. 

“Now you may speak.” I muttered, my voice low and commanding. 

Vinnie shifted uncomfortably under my stare, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. “Mr. Romano, I–uh–I want you to know how much we have appreciated your presence here. Business has been booming. High rollers and—”

I shot him a glare that had him stumbling over his own tongue. He wiped his brow, flustered, and changed tactics. “Have you met Angel?” 

I steeled my expression, though the question surprised me. My reputation as the Italian Don of Chicago preceded me.I kept my tone cold, calculating. “And why the fuck would I care about some una presa in giro?”

Vinnie blinked. “A what, sir?”

“A tease,” Gio supplied from behind him.

Vinnie looked at him then whipped his head back to me. ‘Oh..apologies. I only mention her because she’s our best earner. Feisty, too. I think—well—I think she’s the only girl who hasn’t blinked twice since you started showing up here.”

Someone unfazed by me? I turned my gaze back to her, raising an eyebrow at the black haired bellezza collecting stacks of cash off the stage. The predatory curve of her lips as she met the eyes of those below was unmistakable. She was aware of the power she held. And when her sharp green eyes snapped up to meet mine—unapologetic, challenging—something unexpected flickered in my chest.

“Bring her to me,” I said simply.

Vinnie practically sprinted to the stairs, eager to please. I leaned forward, stamping out my cigarette in the ashtray as I watched her move. The girl was trouble, I could already tell.

Cassandra

“Angel, baby..” Vinnie pleaded, practically sweating through his shirt.

“Don’t call me baby, Vinnie,” I snapped, crossing my arms. I glared up at the VIP booth, my eyes locking onto steel-grey eyes. A  wolf's smirk crossing his handsome features. 

“I told you,” I said coolly, “I don’t do private dances.” my gaze never leaving the man whose presence haunted this club, and had been all fucking week. 

“Angel—please.” He looked up at the man then back at me, wiping his brow. “Just this once, as a favor. Leonardo has been grinding me all week…” Vinnie’s voice wavered, his desperation inching closer to panic. “I just need him to be dazzled so he’ll cut me some slack before I make this deal.” 

I break my staring contest to look at Vinnie, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fine,” I said at last. “But I swear to fucking God Vinnie, if he so much as touches me, I’ll cut off your dick. Got it?”

I liked Vinnie just fine. He treated me well, better than any boss I’ve had over the years as a stripper. My go of life had been one that seemed passed down to me from a previous life, one filled with absolutely shit Karma. Especially with motherfuckers like the one standing on that balcony looking like the king of the God damn universe.  

A sigh of relief blew from Vinnie’s lips, nodding rapidly. “Your name suits you, you know that?” 

“Yeah, whatever, just lead the way already.” I said with mock annoyance. 

He grabbed my wrist and I gritted my teeth, yanking it back. “Just lead the way, you don’t have to pull me like a leashed dog.” I scowled. I glanced back up at the looming figure on the second floor. I braced myself. I could already tell this was going to be trouble.

Leo

This little vixen was definitely feisty the way she glared at me with self righteous content, her defiant features entertaining when she decided to do something she absolutely despised. My lip curved into a half smile and my heart began to race. I pulled out another cigarette and lit it, watching her yank her wrist from that weak man’s hand. “Fuck.” I whispered to myself. 

I turned away to lean against the balcony, preparing for her arrival.

The moment my men let them pass and she stepped into view my breath hitched. I took another drag of my cigarette to control my emotions as I studied her closer—her long black hair like silk, the sharpness of her emerald eyes, and the confidence in the way she held herself.

“You got a name?” I asked, my voice low, measured.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, shifting from sharp to deadly. “Angel,” she said, “but my real name is Cassandra. Cassandra Bennett.” I stepped closer, my body towering over her, but she didn’t flinch. 

“Cassandra..” I said testing the name on my lips, I smirked. My gaze shifted to Vinnie, “Consider this a favor, I own you now Vinnie. My men will collect tomorrow. Now leave us.” I didn’t care anymore about making Vinnie crawl before me, my sights were set on my new challenge, mia bella.

Vinnie didn’t need to be told twice. He scurried off, leaving me alone with her. 

“Tell me Cassandra,” my words a dangerous purr. “Will you dance for me?” 

She made no hesitation, brushing past me and making her way to the small stage in the corner of the booth. A faint breeze carried the scent of vanilla and roses as she passed.

“Dio mi salvi,” I murmured under my breath. 

Gio and Dimitri must have caught the comment because I noticed their shoulders shaking with silent laughter. I felt like a hound on a scent as I followed the sway of her hips and the way her shoulders rolled back. 

When she finally reached the steps she paused, “No touching. No talking. No whistling.” she warned, her eyes as cold as the Chicago winters.

“You didn’t seem to mind it down there.” I gestured with my chin as my eyes remained razor focused on hers. 

She ignored my comment, grabbing the remote, and turning on the music. She flipped through a few songs before landing on one that wasn’t what I expected, Death March by Chopin, with a metal flare. It felt like a theme song that a valkyrie would play going into battle, which by the look in her hard gaze told me she was. 

“I’ll have to warn you, I don’t care for the grinding the girls typically do.” I rotated the leather chair I was sitting in earlier to face the stage before settling in it slowly. 

She gripped the pole tightly, her knuckles white, “Good thing that isn’t what you’ll be getting.” Then with a forceful swing of her leg she swung her body lifting herself. She rotated around it so quickly she blurred with the upstage lighting, her movements fine tuned and sensual. She wasn’t just dancing, she was performing. A small smile played on my lips as I leaned back, falling into the trance of her graceful movements.

My mind raced with the need to know more about this woman. I signaled Gio over and he leaned in close, my eyes glued to her as I commanded “Find out everything you can on Cassandra Bennett, her address, family, everything.” My voice was deadly serious, not leaving room for any questions or debate.

“Yes Sir.” Gio confirmed before whipping out his phone, fingers flying over the keys to our tech guy up town. I knew I would have answers before this absolutely enthralling dance ended.

Cassandra

The song drifted to an ending, and I sprawled on the stage floor panting softly. I hadn’t danced for his attention—I didn’t give a damn about impressing him—but I had made my point: I was no one to fuck with.

I looked up and found him hovering near the edge of the stage.Unreadable. Silent. His steel-grey eyes held something dangerous—a dark, simmering interest—and it made my skin prickle. He looked unmistakably Italian: olive skin warmed by the low lights, dark hair neat but tousled just enough to seem careless, a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. But it was the scar grazing his cheekbone that caught me. The pale, thin mark looked like a whisper of violence. I wondered, briefly, if it was still tender to the touch.

Focus.

I rose slowly to my feet, the silence amplifying the click of my stilettos as I stepped down from the stage. My fishnet dress lay where I’d tossed it mid-dance. I scooped it up, pulling it over my head in one fluid motion before turning toward the exit.

“Favor complete,” I said flippantly, tossing the words over my shoulder.

I made it two steps before a firm grip closed around my arm. He pulled me back, not roughly but with enough force to spin me around. My breath hitched, and I yanked my arm just enough to show I wouldn’t be handled like that.

“What?” I snapped, narrowing my eyes at him.

It wasn’t until I looked up—really looked—that I realized just how tall he was. He loomed over me, broad shoulders blocking out the dim light, his presence commanding the space between us. For half a second, I almost felt the flicker of intimidation crawling up my spine. Almost.

His eyes hardened but his voice was filled with something else I couldn’t quite name, “I’d like to see you again. Not here, not as a favor to Vinnie. Just you and me.”

Sizing him up, I tilted my head, letting my tone drip with defiance. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, I’m not really getting a good vibe from you.”

The slow, dangerous smile that spread across his face made my blood heat—and not in a way I appreciated. “Most women either kill to be alone with me or stutter in fear.” He leaned closer, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. The nerve. “But here you are, looking at me like I’m nothing to balk at.”

His voice dropped to a velvet murmur. “It’s…refreshing.”

How fucking infuriating. 

I slapped his hand away and glared up at him, my jaw set as I mustered the most withering look I could. “Maybe it’s because I have a brain and standards, Mr.…?”

His eyes flickered, that dangerous amusement tinged with something darker. “Romano.” The name left his lips like a warning. Then, after a beat, softer:  “Leonardo Romano. But those I deem worthy call me Leo.” 

Leo. The audacity.

Before I could respond, he lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles like some outdated knight from a storybook. The warmth of his lips burned against my skin like a brand, and I yanked my hand away so fast it might as well have been on fire.

“Have a good rest of your evening, Mr. Romano.” I said icily, spinning on my stilettos and storming out of the booth without looking back.

As I stalked down the dim hallway, I muttered under my breath, mimicking his ridiculous introduction. “Romano. Leonardo Romano.” My voice dripped with sarcasm as I added a cheesy James Bond accent for good measure.

I spat on the floor to seal my mental curse against him. What a pompous dick.

Guys like Leo were all the same. I knew their type—I’d dated their type—possessive, controlling assholes who thought the whole world owed them something. I rubbed my temples as I forced him out of my head. I swore after my last ex that I’d never let another man like that within ten feet of me. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to let Leo Romano change that.

By the time I made it outside into the sticky, early-morning air of Chicago, my skin felt too tight, my clothes suffocating. Tugging at the strap of my bra, I groaned in frustration. Everything about tonight crawled under my skin like a bad rash, and Leo Romano was the fucking culprit.

The stagnant heat felt like swallowing oil. I coughed, resentful of Chicago summers, even though I knew winter was worse. “You win some, you lose some,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head.

The concrete under my sneakers crunched as I scanned the parking lot in search of my car. Finding it I unlocked it and flopped into the driver's seat. 

 Before I could even shut the door a sleek black sedan parked in front of me, strategically blocking me in. My stomach sank. The window lowered, and there he was—Leo, smug as ever, his face shadowed behind the tinted glass. 

“That outfit isn’t nearly as impressive as your fishnets.” he drawled in a thick Italian accent.

“Mr. Romano.” I said flatly, remaining seated. “It is extremely inappropriate to contact me outside the nightclub. I’ll give you two more warnings before I call the police.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound making goosebumps rise to my skin. My gut twisted, though I kept my expression blank. He stepped out of the vehicle, taking his time, and I realized just how deliberate his movements were—slow, predatory, controlled.

He rounded my door in a few long strides, gripping the frame and leaning in so close I could smell his cologne—bourbon, smoke, and something warm that I hated to admit smelled good.

“The police?” he scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. “Principessa, I own half the cops in this city. But sure, let’s play your little game.”

His voice dripped with amusement, but there was a threat buried underneath that made my toes curl. My neck heated, but I kept my face unreadable.

“I’m exhausted, Mr. Romano,” I said, forcing a yawn into my voice, “and I’d like to go home.”

He studied my expression for a long moment, his eyes seeming to flip between frustration and something else—something that made my heart thrum in warning.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice low and intimate, “most people don’t tell me ‘no’ twice and live to tell about it.” 

I arched a brow, my defiance flaring back to the surface. “Well I’m sorry I’m the first.”

I reached for the door, but he held it firmly open, leaning in more so our faces were mere inches apart. My pulse spiked at the closeness, but I refused to let him see it. 

“You know I could make your life very…complicated.” His muscles in his jaw flexed. “Especially if you keep being difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, Mr. Romano.” I stated clearly. “I just want to go home.” 

The silence stretched, his gaze burning into mine as if daring me to flinch. I didn’t.

Finally, he released the door and straightened up, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. “Fine. For now.”

He stepped back, his smirk gone, and walked back to his car, sliding into the back seat with a grace that only pissed me off more. The sedan pulled out of the lot, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Asshole,” I muttered as I cranked the engine and sped out of there.

Leo

My fingers drummed on my knee, my growing impatience eating at me. “Did you get the information I asked for?” 

Gio, seated in the passenger seat, handed me a thin manila file. “Everything you need is in there,” he said, his tone measured but carrying a weight of caution. “But, boss?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, my jaw already tight. “What?”

“You’re not gonna like what you see.”

The air in the car grew heavy as I yanked the file from his hands and flipped it open. My gaze scanned the neatly typed contents, each line sharper than the last. Apartment address. No family. Medical history—nothing notable. Then I reached the section I hadn’t been prepared for, and the muscle in my jaw twitched.

Her dating history.

The names were a who’s who of low-life criminals—two in for grand theft, another serving life for murder. But it was the last name on the list that made my blood pressure spike.

Declan fucking McCalister.

The file crumpled slightly under my grip, the paper folding in on itself as my hand tightened. “McCalister,” I growled, the name leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.

“I told you, boss,” Gio said quietly, shaking his head. “She’s either very brave… or very fucking stupid.”

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Shut the fuck up, Gio.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but I didn’t miss the smirk he tried to suppress. I wasn’t in the mood for his commentary.

Of all the men she could have been tangled up with, it had to be him. Declan McCalister—the Irish mob prince himself. I clenched my jaw hard enough to make the ache settle into my temples.

I flipped back through the file, skimming over her details again, zeroing in on her address. Neutral turf. That explained the quiet confidence in her eyes, the way she’d stared me down tonight like I wasn’t worth a second thought.

That little vixen had known exactly who I was. She’d known my name, my reputation, and she still had the audacity to look at me like I was nothing more than dirt beneath her heels.

A slow smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth, my pulse steadying. Oh, Cassandra.

She might think this was over—that walking out tonight had put distance between us. But she’d underestimated me.

What a fun little game we’re playing.

And I never lost.

Cassandra

I parked my car a block away from my apartment. Same issue as always—no damn spots closer to the building. I sighed, gripping the steering wheel for a second longer before forcing myself to move. The quiet street hummed with the distant sound of sirens and the occasional buzz of a car speeding past, but I’d learned long ago to tune out Chicago’s chaos.

I grabbed my bag, locked the car, and started walking. Three flights of stairs. That was all I had to climb before I could finally exhale, scrub this entire night from my brain, and go to sleep.

But as I reached my door and twisted the lock, something felt off.

The soft murmur of a voice—his voice—met my ears the moment I stepped inside. I froze in the threshold, my breath catching in my throat as I scanned the dim living room.

Declan.

There he was, lounging on my worn-out couch like he owned the place, one leg kicked up on the coffee table, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The lamp next to him threw his sharp features into shadows, highlighting the jagged scars and the cold glint in his ice-blue eyes.

“You’re ignoring my calls, Cass,” he said, his voice thick with his Irish drawl. He crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray I kept because of him—a habit I hadn’t been able to break yet, not even when I’d broken off everything else.

“I thought I’d stop by to see why you’re icing me out,” he added, that cocky, knowing smirk curling across his lips.

I sighed heavily, tossing my bag onto the table and sliding off my shoes. I kept my tone calm, even, bored. “For starters, I was working, Dec and second, I don’t owe you anything—not anymore.”

Declan’s smile faltered, and the way he stared at me sent a familiar tension crawling under my skin. He didn’t move right away; instead, he studied me the way he always did—like I was his, even when I wasn’t. Finally, he rose to his feet, slow and deliberate, the predatory movement so ingrained in him it almost looked natural.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. The smirk came back, darker this time, twisting at the edges. “Or maybe you’re avoiding me because of someone else?”

He took a step closer, and I felt my pulse pick up. I crossed my arms over my chest, hiding the sweat on my palms as I met his gaze. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He stopped just shy of me, his tall frame dominating the small apartment. “Romano.” He practically spat the name, the disdain rolling off him like poison. “Heard you were dancing for the Italian bastard tonight.”

Shit. How the hell does he know that already?

I kept my expression blank, my voice steady. “It wasn’t like that. Vinnie needed a favor, so I helped him out.”

Declan’s eyes narrowed, his gaze boring into me like he could see right through the lie. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe, Dec.”

He moved closer, his voice a low snarl. “Romano’s got a reputation, Cass. You know that. You working there—on his turf—makes you his property. Whether you like it or not.”

His words slammed into me like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t let it show. My arms tightened across my chest as I tilted my chin up at him. “Then where the hell should I work, huh?

A vein became apparent on his forehead. My heart started racing as a familiar panic crept in. “You’re working for the enemy, Cass! Fuck, couldn’t you have just stayed at O’malley’s? You were better off there than crawling around for Italian money.”

I groaned, running a hand through my hair as frustration bubbled up. “O’Malley was a goddamn pervert, and you know it. And let’s not pretend you didn’t make things worse. You were in there every other night, starting fights because someone looked at me too long.”

Decaln started to pace in front of me, a telling sign his temper was getting out of control. “This is about turf Cassandra.” his voice rising slightly. “Your working there now makes you his property.” He looks at me, his eyes flashing with cold calculating light.

His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, I thought he might snap. Instead, he turned sharply, pacing the small space between us, again like a caged animal. “This isn’t just about the damn club, Cassandra. It’s about turf. You’re working on his side now. And that means you’re in the middle of all this bullshit whether you want to be or not.”

I shook my head, exasperated. “Jesus, Dec, it’s not my fault you and Romano are at each other’s throats. I don’t care about your turf wars, and I’m not his anything.”

His pacing stopped. Declan turned, his gaze colder than I’d seen in months, and the vein in his forehead pulsed dangerously. “Come work for me,” he said suddenly. “I’ve got that restaurant. It’s Safe.”

Safe. The word hung between us like a weight, and for the briefest moment, I could see the old Declan—the man I’d once loved. He stepped closer, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle, so out of place on a man like him.

“Declan…” I sighed, shaking my head. “No. I like where I work. Vinnie treats me fine, and the money’s too good to pass up.”

“Cass…”

I grabbed his hand where it rested against my cheek, holding it there for just a second. “Your wars are between you and the Italians. Not me.”

His hand tensed under mine, his knuckles going white. For a second, I thought he might say something—something that mattered. Instead, the dangerous glint returned to his eyes. “Maybe not. But you know what happens to girls caught in the middle of turf wars.”

His thumb brushed against my cheekbone, gentle and familiar despite the fire simmering behind his words. And damn it, his touch still got to me.

“I know,” I murmured, letting his hand drop. “And I’ll be careful.”

Declan lingered for a moment longer before finally pulling away. His expression softened, just slightly, as he looked at me. “Alright,” he said. “But if Romano gives you trouble, you call me. Understand?”

I nodded, biting back the ache in my chest. “I’ll be fine.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead—soft, lingering—and when he pulled back, I could see the sadness tucked into the edges of his smile. “You always did have a soft spot for me, Cass.”

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The second he was gone, my knees buckled, and I sank onto the chair next to the kitchen table, burying my face in my hands. I exhaled a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“It’s been three months,” I muttered to myself. “It’ll get easier.”

But later, as I curled into bed and stared at the ceiling, I knew it was a lie.