The Man Is A Cacciatore

Episode 3

Cassandra

The Chicago sun beat down on my bare shoulders as my footsteps hurried along the thirty-minute walk to my favorite pizza joint, Vita al Pomodoro. I brushed the back of my hand over my forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that kept forming like dew on a misty morning. My eyes darted around for what felt like the hundredth time, scanning my surroundings.

I knew they were following me. I could feel it—the hairs on the back of my neck prickling as though a ghost was breathing down my spine. The sensation sent a shiver through me, but I forced myself to keep walking. Then, the smell of freshly cooked dough and the tang of tomato sauce reached me, cutting through my nerves. Relief washed over me like the comfort of a hot shower. Soon, I’d be inside, stuffing my face in peace.

When I reached the door, I gripped the overheated metal handle and tugged it open. Bells clanged above my head, breaking the quiet tension that had been buzzing in my ears. I stepped inside and inhaled deeply. The familiar aroma of fresh garlic, oregano, and basil wrapped around me like an old friend. I couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at my lips as saliva pooled in my mouth.

Maria passed by, her presence as comforting as the smell of the pizza itself. She was an older, robust woman with brown hair pulled back in a simple bun, and she exuded warmth and charm like it was second nature. She made everyone who walked through the door feel at home, but with me, it felt even more personal—like family.

She paused, then turned back to me with a broad smile. “Cara, welcome back.”

“Hey, Maria,” I said, mirroring her smile. “It’s good to be back. You have a table open?”

She grabbed a menu from the counter and started guiding me. “I have your usual spot in the back open,” she said.

I smirked, loving how well she knew me. “Perfect.”

I slid into the booth as Maria disappeared for a moment, returning with a glass of water. She set it down in front of me and tilted her head, studying me with a knowing glint in her eye. “You want your usual, or are you feeling spontaneous today?” she asked, winking.

I chuckled. “No, I need my usual. I’m looking for comfort right now. My life has been… too spontaneous lately.”

Maria nodded, taking the menu I held out. “Coming right up.”

As she left, I leaned back against the booth and let out a long, tired breath. Between Declan’s men staking out my apartment complex, the constant feeling of being followed, and fucking Leo Romano being a relentless thorn in my side at the club, my nerves were shot. I needed this pizza. I needed the warm, familiar weight of comfort food to take the edge off and maybe drown some of the cortisol in my system.

 Leo

My hands had been steepled in front of me, resting on the cool, hard surface of my mahogany desk, as I listened to my consigliere and cousin, Ciro, and my caporegime, Nico, drone on over the conference call. Their voices grated in my ears like a rusted cheese grater scraping across metal. My jaw ticked, the tension building with every passing second. Fucking Cassandra. The slick, infuriating ways she kept slipping out of my grasp.

My gaze had narrowed on her name, scrawled in sharp, angry letters on the notepad in front of me. I needed to get the upper hand. She thought she could outsmart me, outmaneuver me. I wouldn’t allow it. Not anymore.

“Boss?” Nico’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I blinked, shaking my head and forcing myself to focus. “Fine,” I barked, my voice sharper than I intended. “Just keep them in line. If they step out of bounds, you warn them that I’ll personally find them and blow their fucking brains out.”

Ciro chuckled. Of course, he did. He was never fazed by my temper. He’d grown up with it, after all. His mother and father had been murdered in their sleep by the Russian mob when he was just five years old. The bastard had been lucky enough to be spending the night at my family’s house when it happened, but that night changed everything. From that day forward, he was my brother, not just my cousin.

“Ciro, make sure the shipment goes smoothly tomorrow night,” I ordered, though the tension in my tone remained.

His response came with a smirk I could practically hear through the line. “That black-haired beauty from the nightclub still leaving you with blue balls, Leo?”

Nico’s loud laughter followed, grating in its own right.

My fists clenched, the veins on the backs of my hands bulging. “Both of you, shut the fuck up and mind your business,” I snapped.

Ciro didn’t stop. He laughed this time, louder, cockier. “Yep, definitely blue balls.”

“Boss, how have you not fucked this stripper yet?” Nico chimed in, his voice full of amusement.

My patience finally snapped. My fist slammed down onto the desk, sending pens and papers rattling. “I’m ending this call before I put a hit out on both of you,” I growled and hung up before either of them could get another word in.

Leaning back in my leather chair, I rubbed the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm the storm in my head. “Fucking Cassandra Bennet,” I muttered under my breath. That woman was a thorn in my side, digging deeper every goddamn day.

Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, my irritation temporarily forgotten. A text from Gio lit up the screen: She’s on our turf, and she’s alone.

A dangerous smile spread across my face. “Perfect.”

I moved fast, making my way to Vita al Pomodoro without a second thought. By the time I arrived, Gio and Dimitri were already waiting for me out front, their stances stiff with anticipation. I paused at the entrance to adjust my suit jacket, tugging the sleeves down and smoothing out the wrinkles before combing my fingers through my dark brown hair. I could feel the tension in my jaw, the sharp ache that came from clenching it too hard for too long.

Dimitri opened the door, and the bells overhead jingled as I stepped inside. For a brief second, the sound eased the tightness in my jaw, but the relief was fleeting. My eyes scanned the restaurant, noting how people averted their gazes the moment I met them. It was instinctive, almost primal, the way they looked away, as though the weight of my stare alone was too much to bear.

A robust woman greeted me, her voice warm, her presence radiating that unshakable familial energy I always associated with this place. “Mr. Romano,” she said, her tone laced with respect. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Can I get you a table?”

I softened my stare for a brief moment, just enough to keep things polite. “I’m looking for a woman who’s here,” I said, my tone low and sharp. “Long black hair, emerald green eyes, hard to fucking get.” The last part slipped out more agitated than I intended.

The woman chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Ah,” she said, gesturing to the back of the restaurant. “You’re looking for our sweet Cara, Cassandra.”

My eyes immediately found her, seated at a table near the back. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, and even from here, I could see the tension in her shoulders, like she was bracing for something. Perfect. I nodded my thanks to the woman and began striding toward her, each step deliberate, purposeful.

When I reached her table, I slid into the booth across from her without invitation. The vinyl seat hissed beneath my weight as I settled in.

At first, her eyes were soft, almost hopeful, as though she were expecting someone she cared about to sit across from her. For a split second, the sight of her like that made something stir in my chest, something foreign and unwelcome. But then she realized it was me, and her gaze sharpened into a glare so deadly it could start a war.

“Principessa,” I said, smirking as I leaned back in the booth. I hid the flicker of something—envy, maybe—that rose in me when I saw that softness in her eyes moments before. That angelic gaze wasn’t meant for me. And for some reason, I hated that.

Cassandra

I huffed as I set my half-eaten slice of pizza down on the grease-soaked paper plate. The thing was practically see-through, not unlike my patience at the moment. My appetite was officially gone, replaced by a burning anger that made my eyes feel like they could shoot laser beams. That’s how fucking pissed I was to see Leo Romano sitting across from me.

At first, I thought it was Marco, the restaurant owner, coming over to say hi like he always did. But no. Of course not. This wasn’t a friendly visit from someone I liked. Now, my little sanctuary—this place where I could escape the insanity outside—was tainted. Ruined. Just like that, my temporary reprieve had been shattered.

“I didn’t realize they just let anyone into this establishment,” I quipped, wiping my hands on a paper towel as I fixed him with a cold, steady glare. “I thought Maria and Marco had better standards than that.”

Leo smirked, that smug, infuriating glimmer of intrigue and challenge lighting up his grey eyes. “Oh, la mia bellezza,” he said smoothly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. The motion caused his sleeves to slide up, revealing an obnoxiously expensive Rolex and tanned, veiny hands. Hands that I knew were as capable of violence as they were of charm. “Speak to me again with such disrespect,” he continued, lowering his voice in that cold, deliberate way of his, “and I’ll make sure you’re never allowed to return here again.”

It wasn’t the words themselves that got me. It was the way he said them—controlled, quiet, and edged with menace. The kind of threat that made you sit up straighter without even realizing it. And I did. I straightened my spine, my body reacting instinctively to the silent authority in his voice.

His smirk deepened as his eyes flicked over me, catching the subtle shift in my posture. “There we go,” he said, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction. “You are a difficult woman to get alone.”

He leaned back then, clasping his hands in front of him on the table, as if we were about to negotiate some high-stakes deal. The calmness of his movements only made my anger spike higher.

“Apparently, I haven’t made it difficult enough,” I scoffed, trying to mask my frustration with a biting remark. “Mr. Romano, do you remember how I told you it was extremely inappropriate to contact me outside the nightclub?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his hands tightening around each other in response. “I do,” he said curtly, his tone clipped.

Good. I leaned forward this time, mirroring the cold edge in his voice. “This is your second warning.”

“And what will you do?” he asked, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “Call your little Irish boyfriend on me?” His laugh that followed wasn’t warm, wasn’t amused. It was harsh and sharp, the kind of laugh you’d hear right before someone got a bullet in their skull.

For a moment, I felt the blood run cold in my veins. But I refused to flinch. I would not let this man intimidate me, no matter how dangerous his reputation—or how dangerous he was. “I gave you an ultimatum, Mr. Romano,” I said firmly. “Either—”

He cut me off, his voice dropping lower, smoother, like a blade sliding from its sheath. “Cassandra Bennet,” he said, his expression unchanging. “What makes you think the authorities—most of whom I own, by the way—would ever side with you?”

I sighed and leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. I wasn’t going to win this power game, not here, not now. Time for a new strategy. “Leo,” I said carefully, my tone calmer, “if you know who my ex-boyfriend is, why the hell would you pursue a woman who could single-handedly start a gang war?”

He studied me for a long moment, his grey eyes unreadable, calculating. Then he smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was dangerous. “You’re indeed a dangerous prize to be won,” he said softly, a glint of challenge sparking in his gaze. “The Irish are nothing but a minor inconvenience for me. Like a gnat buzzing around my face.” His voice turned colder, his eyes sharper. “And with any pest, the best way to eliminate them is to crush them beneath my hand.”

Holy shit. My stomach churned at the weight of his words. How the fuck—actually, what the fuck—was I going to do about this?

Before I could even think of a response, his hand shot out like a viper, grabbing mine and uncrossing my arms. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm enough to keep me from pulling away immediately. His thumb began stroking over my knuckles in a way that felt too intimate, too deliberate. Our hands rested on the table, and the gesture—while soft on the surface—carried a possessive weight beneath it that sent a chill down my spine.

“Principessa,” he purred, his voice low and smooth, dripping with something I couldn’t quite name. “I am a very persistent and patient man. But my patience is wearing thin in this little game of ours.” He pulled my hand closer to his mouth, his lips ghosting over my skin in a way that made my pulse hammer in my ears. The motion was maddeningly romantic, but also terrifying.

I pulled my hand away quickly, cradling it in my lap like I’d just been burned. “Leo,” I said, my voice low but firm, “I wasn’t playing a game with you. This is one-sided. I don’t know what you think you’re trying to win, but I am not a prize to be won.”

His eyes flashed with something—frustration, maybe, or perhaps amusement—but I didn’t care. I stood abruptly, pushing the bench back with a screech that made a few heads turn. “Stop following me. Stop harassing me at work. And stop ruining my dinners,” I snapped, not waiting for his response.

I stormed out of the restaurant, catching Maria’s surprised gaze on my way out. I forced a tight, apologetic smile and pushed the door open, stepping into the muggy evening air.

As I stalked down the street toward my apartment complex, my stomach growled, reminding me that I’d left an entire pizza uneaten—and unpaid for—back at the restaurant. “Fuck!” I shouted into the empty street, to the universe, and to karma, the vindictive bitch that clearly loved screwing with me.

Leo

I remained seated, my eyes locked on the door long after she stormed out. My chest burned with an unfamiliar fire, one that clawed at my insides, tight and unrelenting. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, pounding a fist on the table. The sound echoed across the quiet restaurant, drawing a few more stares I didn’t bother acknowledging. “Either she’s incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”

I forced myself to stand, throwing a wad of cash on the table to cover the untouched food and a little extra for Maria. My movements were sharp, my temper frayed. I didn’t care about the hushed whispers or the lingering eyes that followed me as I crossed the room. I gave Maria a curt nod as I passed, her warm demeanor meeting the ice in my own.

As I stepped outside, Gio and Dimitri were at my sides immediately, falling into step like the obedient foot soldiers they were. I didn’t pause, my strides long and purposeful. “Call Vinnie and tell him I want to speak with him about Cassandra,” I ordered, my voice tight, coiled like a spring.

“Yes, boss,” Gio replied without hesitation, already pulling out his phone as we approached the waiting black sedan.

Before I reached for the car door, Gio glanced up from his phone. “He said he’ll be at the club in five minutes, boss.”

I gave him a single nod, more of a dismissal than an acknowledgment, before ducking into the back seat. The door slammed behind me with enough force to rattle the entire vehicle, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “Drive,” I snapped.

The driver didn’t hesitate, pulling the car smoothly into the flow of Chicago traffic.

“Take me to the club,” I said flatly, my tone cold and final.

“Yes, sir,” the driver replied quickly, his eyes focused on the road.

Silence filled the car, but it wasn’t a calm silence. It was thick, oppressive, like the electric air before a storm. My knee bounced restlessly, my hands steepled in my lap as I stared out the window, seeing nothing but my own thoughts reflected back at me.

Cassandra. Her name lingered in my mind, each syllable like a match striking against the kindling of my anger. She had rejected me for a third fucking time. And she had the audacity to threaten me with law enforcement again, as if I didn’t own half the badges in this city.

My teeth ground together, the sharp pain radiating through my jaw a small, grounding comfort. If it weren’t for this… need to win, this infuriating stripper would have been dead by now. She had crossed me more than once, pushed me in ways no one else dared to, and yet…

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, forcing myself to steady my breathing. The slow exhale didn’t calm me as much as I hoped, but it reset something in me. Cassandra Bennet was like a splinter in my mind, an irritation I couldn’t ignore, no matter how much I wanted to. She was dangerous, but not in the way I was used to.

This woman had challenged me, defied me, and it pushed me to a place I hated going—a place of confusion, of vulnerability. I should hate her. I should want her gone, out of my life, erased from my problems entirely. But instead, I wanted to be near her. I wanted to hear her sharp, cutting remarks, to see the fire in her eyes when she glared at me. I wanted to touch her.

My gaze drifted down to my hands, the same hand that had touched hers only moments ago. Her skin had felt impossibly soft, delicate, almost fragile beneath my own. And yet she was anything but fragile. The memory of her warmth stirred that strange, clawing feeling in my chest again, something I didn’t recognize and couldn’t name.

I hadn’t been able to resist brushing my lips over her knuckles, testing what it would feel like to bring that softness closer to me, to take it for myself. But even that brief contact hadn’t been enough.

I straightened in my seat, adjusting my suit jacket with deliberate precision. My mind was made up. Cassandra would submit to me. She would beg for me. Because if she didn’t…

My fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into my palm. If I couldn’t have her—if I couldn’t taste her defiance and break her down, piece by piece—then no one else ever would. I’d see to that personally.

And God help anyone who thought they could take what I had already decided was mine.

Cassandra

I turned the key in my car door, locking it with a soft click. The humid evening air clung to my skin as I shifted my bag on my shoulder. Then I heard the sharp whirr of a car window rolling down and a familiar voice, low and edged with frustration. “Get in. Now.”

I whipped around, startled, my heart already skipping a beat. Declan’s face stared back at me from the backseat of a sleek black car, his expression rigid and agitated. Fuck. Yesterday it was Leo, and now Declan. Why couldn’t the men in my life leave me the hell alone?

I swallowed hard, knowing full well I didn’t have a choice. I walked toward the car, my stomach tightening with apprehension.

As soon as I slid into the back seat, Declan reached across me and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary. “Drive,” he barked at the driver. The car lurched forward, speeding into the flow of traffic.

He turned to face me, his usually sharp features caught somewhere between anger and relief. His jaw was tight, but his eyes…they betrayed something softer, something more desperate. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry,” he said, his voice taut with emotion. His hand shot out, grabbing mine with a grip that was almost too tight.

My eyes scanned his face, searching for something—answers, maybe, or some reassurance that this wasn’t about to spiral into chaos. But his expression was a storm, one I couldn’t quite read. A mixture of fear, fury, and…something else. Something that made my heart ache and twist. “Why were you worried?” I asked hesitantly, my voice softer than I meant. A part of me needed to hear his answer, to feel like he still cared about me. But another part of me screamed to run, to get out of this car while I still could.

His eyes flashed dangerously, the kind of cold fire that always made me feel both safe and suffocated at the same time. “Because, Cass,” he said, his accent thickening with his frustration, “I heard a certain wop made an appearance at that pizza place you like so much.”

I stiffened as his grip tightened on my hand, the force of it pressing my knuckles together painfully. The contrast hit me like a jolt—yesterday, Leo’s touch had been possessive but controlled. Declan’s was raw, unfiltered, and driven by something far more volatile.

“Dec, I didn’t want him to show up,” I said quickly, my voice pleading for him to calm down. “But he’s been following me.” My eyes locked on his, trying to reach the part of him that wasn’t consumed by rage. “I’m sorry you were worried.”

I brushed my free hand over his, attempting to soothe the storm I could see brewing in his eyes. For a moment, it worked. His grip loosened, and regret flickered across his face, like he’d just realized what he was doing.

“I’m sorry, Cass,” he said quietly, running a hand through his hair. His jaw clenched as he looked away, clearly grappling with his emotions. “I didn’t mean…” His voice trailed off, as if saying the words would make them too real. Then his gaze snapped back to mine, sharper now. “Tell me everything. What did that bastard want?” His voice dripped with venom at the mere mention of Leo Romano. “Did he hurt you?”

I held onto his hand, still running my fingers over his knuckles as if trying to anchor him—and maybe myself. My heart ached for this man I used to love so freely, the man I missed despite everything. “No, he didn’t hurt me,” I said, my voice steady, though the weight of the situation made my chest feel tight. “But he’s playing some weird possession game.” I let out a frustrated sigh, the absurdity of the whole situation bubbling to the surface. “I keep turning him down, I promise.”

The desperation in my voice was undeniable, as though I needed him to believe me, to see that my loyalty to him hadn’t wavered, even after everything.

Declan’s eyes narrowed, the predatory gleam in them sharp enough to make me hold my breath. His body tensed, every muscle coiled. “He’s trying to get with you? That fucking Italian piece of shit.” His hand tore away from mine, and before I could react, he punched the roof of the car with a force that made me flinch.

The sound reverberated through the car as I shrank back slightly, trying to keep my breathing steady. His rage was palpable, almost suffocating. “He thinks he can just waltz in and—” Declan cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath as he visibly worked to regain control. “And what did you tell him?” he asked, his voice lower now, but more dangerous. “What exactly did you say to make him think he has a chance?”

“I haven’t said anything to make him think that,” I said quickly, my voice firm but tinged with exasperation. “He probably considers my refusals some twisted sign that I’m playing hard to get.” I looked away then, the sting of unshed tears pricking my eyes. Pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window, I watched the city lights blur past. My voice softened to a whisper, as though I were confessing to the glass. “Dec, I still love you.”

I heard his breath hitch at my words. He reached for me, gently turning me back to face him. His ice-blue eyes had softened, the anger melting into something that made my heart squeeze painfully. “You do?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand tilted my chin up, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip in a gesture so tender, so familiar, it broke something inside me. “Cass, after everything…you still love me?”

I nodded, letting my eyes speak of the longing I felt for him. He pulled me into his lap, his arms wrapping around my waist as he buried his face into the curve of my neck. His breath was hot against my skin, his voice muffled but raw. “You know, I’ve missed you every fucking day. Every day you’ve been gone has felt like an eternity in Hell.”

My arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tightly as tears slid silently down my cheeks. I had dreamt of this moment for three long months—missed the feel of his arms, the sound of his voice, the way his words could be so gentle despite the chaos that surrounded him. “You and your family mean the world to me,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to cup his face in my hands. I needed to see his eyes, those glacier-blue eyes that had always captivated me.

“Fuck, Cass,” he whispered, his grip on me tightening as our foreheads rested together. Our lips hovered inches apart, and then he kissed me—softly, hesitantly, his lips trembling as though he was holding himself back.

When we broke the kiss, my breath hitched. “We can’t…” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I can’t risk it again. Not after…not after last time.”

The memory hit me like a punch to the gut—the way his temper had boiled over, the snap of his fist against my cheek, the searing pain of his grip in my hair. I shuddered at the thought, even as I stayed in his arms. He was everything I wanted and everything I knew I couldn’t have.

Pain flashed in his eyes, his voice breaking as he whispered, “You think I don’t know that? That I don’t hate myself every day for what I’ve done?” His jaw tightened, his frustration palpable. “I’m trying, Cass. I’m trying so fucking hard to control my temper.” His gaze darkened, a dangerous edge returning. “But the thought of you with another man…any man…” He trailed off, his voice like ice. “And then there’s Leonardo Romano…”

“Dec,” I said softly, brushing my thumbs over his cheekbones. “I’ll keep rejecting him. If I feel the slightest danger, I swear I’ll call you.” My voice was gentle, though the weight of everything we had been through hung heavily between us.

He covered my hands with his, his anger giving way to vulnerability—the kind that always shattered my defenses. “You promise?” he asked, his Irish accent softening. “Promise me you’ll come to me if anything happens.” He kissed my palm tenderly, his voice tight with determination.

But then his walls slammed back up. “Forget it,” he muttered, pulling away. He turned to look out the window, his expression closed off once more. “Let’s get you home.”

I exhaled slowly, the connection between us severed. Moving back to my seat, I kept my gaze out the window as the car rolled on.

“Take us to Cassandra’s apartment complex,” Declan commanded the driver.

Silence filled the space, but our fingers remained intertwined. It was the only evidence that what we’d just shared had been real—raw, fragile, and something neither of us was ready to fully let go of yet.

Leo

Smoke, musk, and the cloying stench of cheap perfume filled the air as I carved my way through the crowd toward Vinnie’s office. The music from the club pulsed through the walls, reverberating beneath my feet and amplifying the tension already coiling in my chest. Gio had informed me that Vinnie should be here by now, and I didn’t like waiting. Not when I had seen my little Topo earlier and been reminded—once again—of how stubborn she could be.

I reached the dull silver door handle, its cheap, scratched surface cold beneath my fingers, and thrust it open without hesitation.

Vinnie jumped to his feet immediately, his thin, dirty blonde hair already plastered to his head with sweat. The pathetic sight made my lip curl in disgust. “Mr. Romano, sir, you needed to see me?” His voice wavered as he hastily wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his wrinkled, knockoff suit.

A moment later, Gio and Dimitri entered the room, flanking me like shadows. Their presence only added weight to mine, a subtle reminder to Vinnie of exactly who he was dealing with. I crossed my arms over my chest, the motion tightening the fabric of my suit sleeves and making them ride up just slightly. My voice came out cold and sharp, giving him no room to question my intent. “Yes. I need to discuss matters regarding Cassandra.”

His shoulders stiffened at my tone, his nervous energy rippling off him like heat from pavement. “Of course,” he said quickly, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

I glanced at the chair and sneered. The sight was insulting—a peeling, beat-up dining chair that looked like it had been dragged from a garage sale. My lack of movement must have made my displeasure clear because Vinnie scrambled around the desk, awkwardly gesturing toward his own oversized pleather chair instead. “Here, sir,” he said, offering it like a peace treaty.

I sat in the worn-out chair, the legs creaking under my weight. The dust-covered desk in front of me only added to the insult, but I decided to indulge the moment. Let him sweat. Vinnie lowered himself into the pathetic dining chair across from me, shifting uncomfortably as it groaned beneath him.

“I would like Cassandra to be my personal waitress and entertainer every time I come in,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. I steepled my hands on his filthy desk, my eyes locking on his like a predator watching its prey.

Vinnie swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Angel won’t like this,” he said hesitantly, his knee bouncing beneath the desk like he was already preparing for the fallout. “She and I made a deal when she first arrived three months ago—she doesn’t do private dances for anyone.” He tried to hold my gaze, but the coward couldn’t keep eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Leaning forward, I narrowed my eyes, my jaw ticking with irritation. “I don’t give a fuck.” The words came out like a low growl, cutting through the thick, stale air. I was done being denied—by Cassandra, by anyone. “She will be my private waitress and entertainer.”

I turned to Gio, giving him a small nod. The sound of a pistol cocking filled the room, sharp and deliberate, as Gio leveled the gun at the back of Vinnie’s head.

Vinnie froze, his face draining of all color. He looked like a ghost, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the desk.

“You will tell her what I want,” I said, my voice colder now, more calculated. “And if she denies you…” I leaned back, my movements slow and deliberate, letting my words sink in. “You will inform her that if she doesn’t comply, I’ll have Gio blow whatever fucking brains you have left out of your skull.”

Vinnie nodded frantically, his sweat now trickling down the sides of his face and soaking the neckline of his cheap blue dress shirt. “Abso…Absolutely, Mr….Ro…Romano,” he stammered, his voice shaking so badly it barely formed words.

“Good,” I said firmly, rising to my feet in one smooth motion. My broad shoulders filled the room, making the space feel even smaller. I crossed the room in a few long strides, reaching for the door. “I’ll be in tomorrow night. Make sure ‘Angel’ understands our arrangement.”

I pushed the door open and stepped out, Gio and Dimitri falling into step behind me as we exited the club. The sticky night air hit me, but it did nothing to temper the fire simmering in my chest.

Pulling a cigarette from my jacket, I lit it with a steady hand and took a long drag. The bitter smoke filled my lungs as I exhaled slowly, watching the plume swirl into the dimly lit street. “Arrange for Vinnie to pay Cassandra double on the nights I come in,” I said, my gaze fixed on the faint glow of a streetlamp ahead. “I’ll make sure the funds are deposited to accommodate the stipend.”

“Yes, Boss,” Gio and Dimitri said in unison.

I nodded, dismissing them with a wave. They turned back toward the club to handle the rest of the night’s business, leaving me alone for the first time in hours.

Leaning against the rough brick wall of the building, I allowed myself a rare moment of satisfaction. Control. I finally had the upper hand. My little principessa thought she could defy me, that she could push me away, but she was wrong.

I smiled wickedly, taking another slow drag of my cigarette. “What will you do next, Cassandra?” I muttered to myself, exhaling the smoke into the night. “What will you do now that I’ve backed you into a corner? Will you keep fighting? Or will you surrender?”

A part of me—maybe the part that had been clawing at my sanity lately—hoped she’d keep fighting. I loved the fire in her eyes, the way her defiance made her burn brighter than anyone else. Fuck, she was driving me mad, pushing me to lengths I wouldn’t have considered for anyone else.

As much as I wanted to break her, I wanted to keep that fire alive, too. I needed it. She had become more than a game to me. She was an obsession, and I hated how much control she had over me even when she wasn’t trying.

Dimitri and Gio returned, breaking my train of thought. I flicked my cigarette onto the asphalt, crushing it under my heel as I pushed off the wall. “Let’s go,” I said, leading the way back to the sedan.

Sliding into the back seat, I leaned against the leather, the feeling of victory settling over me like a second skin. But as the car pulled away, something in my chest stirred—a faint, nagging sensation that I might not have as much power as I thought I did.

The thought sent a shiver through me.