"Fuck."
I stared at my reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror, hands gripping the counter until my knuckles turned white. The woman staring back wasn't Valentina Ricci. Not anymore. Not with this black wig and these coal-rimmed eyes that made the blue of my irises look like ice.
Shade. The persona I'd built to destroy Dominic Castellano was taking over, bleeding into my real self. And that terrified me.
Because Shade wanted him.
My body still hummed from yesterday's encounter. The way his eyes had tracked my movements. The barely restrained power in his stance. The electricity when our fingers touched.
"Get your shit together," I hissed at my reflection. "He killed your father. He doesn't get to fuck you too."
I splashed cold water on my face, careful not to smudge my makeup. Tonight was crucial—my first private meeting in Dominic's office. I needed to be calculating, not wet between the legs over a monster in a tailored suit.
The dress I'd chosen for tonight was a calculated risk—black, fitted, with a slit that climbed dangerously high up my thigh. Professional enough for a business meeting, provocative enough to keep his attention exactly where I wanted it. The fabric whispered against my bare skin as I moved. No underwear. Another calculated risk.
I slipped a thin blade into a custom-designed sheath against my inner thigh. Not that I planned to use it tonight, but ten years of combat training had taught me never to be unprepared.
My phone buzzed with a text from Reza, my only contact in Chicago and the man who'd helped me create the Shade identity.
*You in position?*
I typed back: *Heading there now. I'm in.*
*Be careful. New intel suggests Castellano's paranoia level is high after Moretti family hit last week. He'll be extra suspicious of newcomers.*
Perfect. Just what I needed.
*I'll handle it,* I responded, then deleted the conversation.
The cab dropped me a block away from Purgatory. The night air was thick with summer heat, the sky a bruised purple overhead. I took my time walking, feeling the weight of eyes on me from security cameras tracking my approach.
Tonight, the club was in full swing. Bodies writhed on the dance floor, uninhibited by the hour or the criminals who owned the establishment. I ignored the stares as I cut through the crowd, head high, untouchable.
The same hostess from yesterday appeared at my side.
"Mr. Castellano is waiting for you."
The private elevator required a keycard, which she provided before stepping back with a knowing look that made my skin crawl. How many women had made this journey before me?
As the doors closed, I took a deep breath and shed the last remnants of Valentina. By the time the elevator opened, I was fully Shade—mysterious, confident, dangerous.
The elevator opened directly into an office unlike the one from yesterday. This space occupied the entire top floor of the building—floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Chicago's glittering skyline. One entire wall was glass, looking down into the club below, though I suspected it was one-way glass. He could see everything, but they could see nothing.
Dominic stood with his back to me, gazing out at the city like it was his personal kingdom. Which, in many ways, it was.
"Do you know what fascinates me about dancers?" he asked without turning.
His voice sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"Why don't you tell me?"
He turned then, and my breath caught. Tonight he wore all black—suit, shirt, everything—making his green eyes even more striking in contrast. He held a crystal tumbler of amber liquid that caught the low light as he moved toward me.
"Control," he said, taking a slow sip. "The absolute control over every muscle. Every movement deliberate. Nothing wasted."
He gestured for me to sit in one of two leather chairs positioned near a large desk, but I remained standing.
"That's what sets you apart from the others," he continued, circling me slowly. "Most dancers perform. You command."
I kept my expression neutral even as my pulse quickened. "You've seen me dance once."
"Once was enough." He stopped directly in front of me. "What's your real name?"
The question caught me off guard, but I didn't let it show. "Shade is the only name that matters in this context."
His lips quirked. "Eastern European accent. Trained in ballet first, then contemporary. Self-taught in the more... exotic styles. No visible tattoos. No social media presence. No history before three years ago."
My stomach tightened. He'd been investigating me.
"Should I be flattered by your interest, or concerned?" I asked, keeping my voice level.
"Both." He moved to his desk, setting down his drink. "I don't hire people I don't thoroughly vet. Especially when they insist on working directly with me."
He pressed a button on his desk, and the lighting in the room shifted. A section of floor in the center of the office began to rise, revealing a small stage with a single pole.
"Show me what you can do."
My eyebrows rose. "I auditioned yesterday."
"That was for Romano and his circus." Dominic's gaze was steady, challenging. "This is for me."
A test. Everything with him would be a test.
"Music preference?" I asked, slipping off my heels.
He smiled—a predator's smile. "Surprise me."
I connected my phone to his sound system and selected a track I'd prepared for exactly this scenario. Something darker, more intimate than what I'd used yesterday.
As the first haunting notes filled the room, I stepped onto the small stage. This wasn't the choreographed piece from yesterday. This was raw. Improvised. Real.
I moved like smoke, letting the music possess me. Every motion was both a surrender and a demand. My dress became part of the performance—the slit revealing flashes of bare thigh, the fabric clinging then flowing as I moved.
I never took my eyes off him.
Dominic watched with absolute focus, his gaze burning into my skin. He didn't move, didn't speak, barely seemed to breathe. But I could feel his response—the tension in his body, the darkening of his eyes.
When I finally wrapped myself around the pole, executing a series of complex moves that displayed both strength and sensuality, I saw his knuckles whiten around his glass.
The song built to its crescendo, and I ended on my knees, back arched, head thrown back—an echo of yesterday's finale, but infinitely more intimate in this private setting.
Silence fell as the music ended.
For several heartbeats, neither of us moved.
Then Dominic set his glass down with deliberate care and approached the small stage. He extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, I took it, allowing him to help me to my feet.
He didn't release my hand.
"You dance like someone with secrets," he said, his voice low, rougher than before.
I forced a smile. "Everyone has secrets."
"True." His thumb traced small circles against my palm, sending electricity up my arm. "But most people's secrets don't make them look over their shoulder."
My heart stuttered. Had he noticed something in my behavior? Some tell I wasn't aware of?
"Perhaps I'm just cautious by nature," I replied.
"Perhaps." He finally released my hand but remained close. Too close. "Or perhaps you're running from something. Or someone."
I met his gaze steadily. "Aren't we all?"
Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe. Understanding.
"What do you want, Shade?" he asked, the question weighted with multiple meanings.
"A job," I answered simply. "Security. Independence."
"Liar." He said it without heat, almost affectionately. "But that's alright. We all lie."
He moved to his desk and retrieved a folder, handing it to me.
"Your contract. Exclusive to Purgatory. Private performances only—for select clients and special events I personally approve. No public shows. Salary is triple the industry standard, plus accommodations in the building if you want them."
I blinked in genuine surprise. "That's generous."
"I reward exceptional talent." His gaze was intense. "And I protect what's mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should have repulsed me. Instead, it sent a rush of heat between my legs.
"I'm not yours," I said, the words coming out huskier than intended.
His smile was slow, confident. "You signed the contract yet?"
I flipped through the pages, scanning the terms. Everything was as he said, with one additional clause that made my breath catch: "Performer agrees to complete confidentiality regarding all club activities, personnel, and clientele, with direct reporting to D. Castellano only."
He was isolating me from everyone else in the organization. Keeping me to himself.
Perfect for my mission. Dangerous for every other reason.
I signed with the pen he offered.
"When do I start?" I asked, handing back the folder.
"Tonight." He moved to a cabinet and retrieved another tumbler, pouring a measure of whiskey. "Drink?"
This time I accepted, taking the glass but not drinking immediately.
"A toast," he suggested, raising his glass. "To new partnerships."
I raised mine in response. "To secrets kept and secrets revealed."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes as we drank, the whiskey burning a path down my throat.
"I have a private event tomorrow night," he said, moving to stand by the window overlooking the club. "Five guests, very exclusive. They've requested entertainment of a... particular nature."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning they want to feel special. Important. Like they're seeing something no one else gets to see." He turned to face me. "Can you give them that?"
"Depends on what you're asking."
He smiled, and it transformed his face into something almost boyish. Almost innocent. It was jarring on a man I knew had ordered dozens of deaths.
"Nothing you haven't done before, I imagine." He stepped closer. "A private show. Seductive, but tasteful. You maintain control at all times."
I nodded slowly. "I can do that."
"Good." He finished his drink. "There's one more thing."
Without warning, he reached out and trailed his fingertips down my bare arm. My skin erupted in goosebumps, and I fought not to visibly shiver.
"Chemistry is important in this business," he murmured. "Do you feel it?"
His touch lingered at my wrist, his thumb pressing lightly against my pulse point. He'd feel my racing heart, the physical betrayal I couldn't control.
"Feel what?" I asked, my voice steady despite my body's reaction.
"This." His fingers slid up to my throat, not threatening, just...possessive. Claiming. "The electricity. The anticipation."
I should have stepped back. Should have maintained professional distance. But something in me—something reckless and hungry—made me lean into his touch.
"Yes," I admitted. "I feel it."
His pupils dilated, green eyes nearly black with desire. For one breathless moment, I thought he might kiss me.
Instead, he stepped back, breaking the spell.
"Tomorrow night. Nine o'clock." His voice was controlled again, all business. "Wear red."
The dismissal was clear. I gathered my things, slipping back into my heels.
As I walked to the elevator, I felt his eyes tracking every step. At the doors, I turned back to find him watching me with that same predatory focus.
"Mr. Castellano?"
"Dominic," he corrected.
"Dominic," I repeated, tasting his name. The name I'd cursed for ten years. "Do your guests have any particular... preferences I should know about?"
His smile was slow and knowing. "They'll want to touch you. They won't be allowed to."
"And you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"What about me?"
"Will you want to touch me too?"
The tension between us pulled taut like a wire about to snap.
"I already do," he said, his voice a rough caress. "But unlike them, I'm patient. I can wait."
"For what?"
"For you to stop pretending you don't want my hands on you."
My breath caught. "Confident, aren't you?"
"I can feel your pulse racing from here." His eyes dropped to my throat, then lower, lingering on the swell of my breasts. "I can see your nipples hardening under that dress. Your pupils dilating. Your breath quickening."
Heat flooded my cheeks. He was reading me like an open book.
"That's just the body responding to stimulus," I said, forcing coolness into my tone. "It doesn't mean anything."
"Lie to yourself if you want," he replied. "But don't lie to me. I'll always know."
The elevator doors opened behind me.
"Goodnight, Shade," he said, my false name a caress on his lips. "Dream of me."
As the doors closed, I let out a shaky breath, pressing my thighs together against the insistent throb between them.
I was supposed to be hunting him. Somehow, it felt like I was the one being hunted.
And God help me, some traitorous part of me was enjoying it.