"The trick to seducing a monster is to make him believe he's the one doing the hunting."
Blood pounded in my ears as I stood before Purgatory, Chicago's most exclusive nightclub—and the lair of Dominic Castellano, the man who'd put a bullet through my father's skull. The neon sign cast crimson across my skin like a premonition of the bloodshed to come.
Ten fucking years I'd waited for this. Ten years of rage burning so hot in my chest I sometimes woke gasping, sheets soaked with sweat, his name a curse on my lips.
I checked my reflection one last time. The sleek black wig transformed me—severe cut framing sharper cheekbones than my natural face. Dark makeup hardened my features. The dress I'd chosen hugged every curve but revealed nothing—a promise without delivery. A weapon, like everything else about me.
"Fuck," I whispered, steadying myself. "You've got this."
The bouncer—six-foot-five of pure muscle—didn't even blink when I approached. "Name?"
"Shade." My voice carried the careful hint of an Eastern European accent I'd perfected over years. "Mr. Romano is expecting me."
I'd studied Anthony Romano for months. Dominic's cousin. His talent manager. His weakness. The man thought with his dick more than his brain, which made him the perfect entry point to Castellano's empire.
The bouncer checked his list, nodding once before stepping aside. "Wait by the bar. Someone will get you."
Stepping inside was like entering another world. Even at this early hour, Purgatory pulsed with Chicago's elite. Politicians rubbing shoulders with criminals, everyone pretending not to see each other while making the same corrupt deals.
I cataloged everything systematically. Security cameras. Exit points. Staff rotations. The bartender who mixed drinks with one hand and likely carried a gun beneath the counter with the other. Knowledge was survival, and I intended to survive long enough to watch Dominic Castellano bleed out at my feet.
A hostess appeared at my side—tall, blonde, with eyes that had seen too much. "This way."
As we approached the private elevator, I transformed. Shoulders back. Chin lowered. Eyes hooded. I let Valentina slip away and became Shade—the mysterious dancer with a reputation that preceded her. Cold. Calculated. Untouchable.
The elevator doors opened directly into a plush office where Anthony Romano lounged on a leather couch, tumbler of whiskey in his manicured hand. His eyes raked over me like I was already naked and spread beneath him.
"Shade." His voice oozed with unearned confidence. "I've heard... fascinating things."
"I'm sure you have." I let my gaze drift deliberately down to the bulge in his expensive pants, then back to his eyes with an expression of mild disappointment. "Your reputation precedes you as well."
His smile faltered. "Drink?"
"I don't drink before I perform."
"Of course." He recovered quickly, setting down his glass. "The stage is through here."
He led me into an adjoining room—a private audition space with polished floors, a sleek pole, and what I immediately recognized as a two-way mirror spanning one wall. My skin prickled. I wasn't performing for just Romano.
"Music preference?" he asked, gesturing to a sound system.
I connected my phone. "I bring my own."
The first heavy bass notes filled the room, vibrating through the floor and up my spine as I stepped onto the platform. This wasn't about sex—it was about power. About making them believe they could possess something they never would.
I began to move, my body liquid fire. The dance I'd choreographed for this moment told a story of desire and death intertwined. I never stripped—that wasn't the point. What I offered was the suggestion, the promise, the fantasy. Any woman could take off her clothes. What I did was art. Dangerous, seductive art.
Three minutes in, the air in the room changed. Romano's breathing had deepened, but what caught my attention was the energy from behind that mirror. Whoever watched was completely still. Completely focused. I could feel their gaze like a physical touch against my skin.
I turned my performance toward the glass, locking eyes with my invisible observer. My movements became more deliberate. More challenging. A dare disguised as submission.
As the music built to its climax, I executed a series of moves that demonstrated both flexibility and strength, ending in a position that was both vulnerable and powerful—on my knees, back arched, head thrown back, throat exposed.
Silence fell as the music ended.
Romano cleared his throat. "Impressive."
I rose to my feet without acknowledging the compliment. "I understand Mr. Castellano makes the final decisions about new talent."
Something flickered across Romano's face—irritation, maybe jealousy. "My cousin trusts my judgment."
"I'm sure he does." I gathered my things unhurriedly. "But I don't work for middle management."
Romano's face hardened. "You think you're too good—"
The door behind the mirror opened.
And there he was.
Dominic fucking Castellano.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through bone. The monster from my nightmares, in flesh and blood.
Photos hadn't captured him accurately. At thirty-eight, he radiated lethal authority that no camera could convey. Six-foot-two of controlled power in a perfectly tailored black suit. Dark hair with just a touch of silver at the temples. Eyes so intensely green they seemed to cut through pretense.
The eyes I'd seen in my nightmares, the last thing my father had seen before dying.
"Leave us, Anthony," he said, not bothering to look at his cousin.
His voice was rougher than I'd expected. Deeper. It sent an unwanted shiver straight to my core, my body betraying me with a rush of heat.
Romano hesitated. "Dom—"
"Now."
One word, and Romano scurried out like a dog with its tail between its legs.
We were alone.
Dominic Castellano studied me with predatory focus. I forced myself to breathe normally, to maintain Shade's confident demeanor despite the rage and hatred burning just beneath my skin.
"You have an unusual approach to job interviews," he finally said, moving closer. His accent held just a hint of his Italian heritage, rough edges polished by wealth and power.
I held my ground. "I have unusual skills."
"So I see." He circled me slowly. Not in the leering way Romano had, but like a collector appraising a rare acquisition. "Where did you train?"
"Does it matter?"
A slight curve touched his lips. Not quite a smile. "You're right. It doesn't."
He stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"What matters," he continued, "is why a dancer of your caliber wants to work in my club."
I'd prepared for this question. "I go where the power is. Chicago is changing hands. I want to be on the winning side."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "And you think that's me?"
"I know it is." I let my gaze drift deliberately to his mouth, then back to his eyes, letting Shade's hunger show. A calculated risk.
The tension between us thickened until it was hard to breathe. This close, I could see the tiny scar above his right eyebrow. Could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. Could see the dangerous intelligence behind them.
My body responded to his proximity with a traitorous heat that pooled low in my belly. I hated him with every fiber of my being, yet my body reacted to the danger he represented like a moth to flame.
"You start tomorrow," he said abruptly. "Ten PM. Anthony will handle the paperwork."
I allowed myself a slight smile. "I work directly for you or not at all."
His eyebrows rose fractionally—the only indication of surprise. "That's not how this works."
"It is for me." I held his gaze, unflinching. "I'm not interested in being pawed by your cousin or treated like the other girls. I'm an investment, Mr. Castellano. One that requires... proper handling."
Something dark and hungry flickered in his eyes. "Demanding for someone who hasn't even been hired."
"You decided to hire me the moment I started dancing." I stepped even closer, our bodies nearly touching. My nipples hardened beneath the thin fabric of my dress, and I saw his gaze drop for a fraction of a second to notice. "The question isn't if you'll hire me. It's how much control you're willing to give up to have me."
His jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought I'd pushed too far. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a card, holding it between two fingers.
"Tomorrow. Eight PM. My private office." His voice dropped to a dangerous timbre that made my clit pulse with unwanted desire. "I handle my investments personally, Shade. Are you sure that's what you want?"
I took the card, deliberately letting my fingers brush against his. A jolt of electricity passed between us, and I saw the momentary flash of surprise in his eyes that he felt it too.
"I look forward to it, Mr. Castellano."
As I walked past him toward the door, his voice stopped me.
"What makes you think I won't eat you alive?"
I looked back over my shoulder, letting Shade's confident smile play on my lips while Valentina's hatred burned in my heart.
"Maybe that's exactly what I'm counting on."
The door closed behind me, and I sagged against the wall, pulse racing. My panties were embarrassingly wet, my body flushed with an arousal that disgusted me. I pressed my thighs together, willing the sensation away.
Ten years of planning. Ten years of dreaming of his death. And my treacherous body was already imagining his hands on me, wondering if the monster fucked as intensely as he killed.
"God damn it," I whispered, steadying myself.
Phase one complete. I was in.
The monster thought he was the hunter. He had no idea he'd just invited the blade to his throat.
Or that part of me was already imagining what his throat would taste like under my tongue.