By the time the club began to thin out, my nerves were stretched so tight they felt like they might snap at any sound. Music softened into a low thrum, the kind that vibrated beneath the skin rather than through the ears. Conversations grew quieter, more deliberate. This was the hour when careless people left and dangerous ones stayed.
Elias hadn’t said a word to me in nearly twenty minutes.
He stood near the bar, speaking quietly to a man whose smile never reached his eyes. I watched their hands more than their faces, remembering the first rule he had given me. The man’s fingers twitched when Elias leaned closer. Fear. Respect. Or both.
I shouldn’t have been watching so closely.
“You’re learning,” Elias said suddenly, appearing at my side as if summoned by my thoughts.
I jumped. He didn’t apologize.
“You were watching Matteo’s hands,” he continued. “Not his face.”
“I—” I stopped myself. No explanations. No excuses. Observation. Reaction. “Yes.”
His mouth curved slightly. Not a smile. Something sharper.
“Good.”
He gestured toward the exit with a subtle tilt of his head. I hesitated, then followed him through a side door I hadn’t noticed earlier. The hallway beyond was dim, lit only by narrow strips of amber light. My heels echoed too loudly on the floor. I felt exposed, every sense on high alert.
The door at the end of the hall led to an office that didn’t match the chaos of the club. Clean lines. Dark wood. Minimal furniture. Control distilled into a room.
Elias closed the door behind us.
The click of the lock echoed through my chest.
“This is where I decide whether people are assets or liabilities,” he said calmly. “Sit.”
I did.
He didn’t.
Instead, he leaned against the desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He wasn’t touching me. He didn’t need to. His presence pressed in from all sides, heavy and deliberate.
“You don’t belong in places like this,” he said.
“And yet you brought me here.”
“Yes.” A pause. “Because you don’t belong—and that makes you interesting.”
I swallowed. “Interesting enough to scare you?”
His lips twitched. “Nothing scares me.”
That should have reassured me. It didn’t.
He straightened, closing the distance between us until he stood directly in front of me. I could see the faint scar near his jaw now, pale against his skin. I wondered how it got there. I wondered how many people had tried—and failed—to leave marks much deeper.
“There’s an opening,” he said. “A position that needs filling.”
I laughed softly, unable to stop myself. “You’re offering me a job?”
“No.” His gaze sharpened. “I’m offering you a choice.”
I waited.
“You walk out that door,” he continued, “and you forget everything you saw tonight. You go back to your safe little routines. Your writing. Your silence. Your pretending.”
My heart pounded. He knew too much.
“Or,” he said quietly, “you accept the offer.”
“And the offer is…?”
“You become useful to me.”
The words settled over me like a weight. I stood slowly, forcing myself to meet his eyes.
“Doing what?”
“Observing. Listening. Remembering.” His voice lowered. “And sometimes… lying.”
I hesitated. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
“And if I refuse later?”
He stepped closer. Too close. His voice dropped to a near whisper.
“You won’t.”
Something twisted low in my stomach—not fear alone, but anticipation. Desire. I hated that part of myself for responding the way it did.
“Why me?” I asked.
His eyes searched my face, lingering in places that felt uncomfortably intimate.
“Because you see what others ignore,” he said. “And because you haven’t learned to look away yet.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and charged.
Finally, I nodded.
“I’ll do it.”
He studied me for a long moment, as if reassessing everything he thought he knew. Then he reached past me, unlocking the door.
“Good,” he said. “We start tonight.”
As I stepped back into the hallway, something settled deep in my chest—a certainty I couldn’t shake.
This wasn’t an opportunity.
It was a trap.
And I had walked into it willingly.
