Chapter 1: Come Home With Me

Camille

Here I stood, outside the door of Noir Seduction's most lavish suite, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. My hand hovered over the handle, unsure how to present myself.

Inside was Gabriel, son of my boss, Harrison Bennett, and heir to the city's most powerful Mafia family.

It had been six years since I'd last seen him.

I knew he'd gladly see me dead, yet here I was, on assignment to bring him home.

I'd rehearsed this moment countless times in my head, but as my hand closed around the cool metal of the handle, I hesitated, took a deep breath, and finally knocked.

The door swung inward, revealing a dimly lit room thick with smoke, the mingled scents of tobacco and expensive liquor. The music pulsed, loud enough to drown out the shouts and laughter, the clinking glasses, the occasional moan of pleasure that drifted from the shadows.

My eyes found Gabriel in an instant.

Reclining against the plush leather couch, head tilted back, eyes shut, he looked utterly at ease. His long legs sprawled open, relaxed, as two women draped themselves over him like silk sheets.

They wore little, their makeup bold and seductive.

One clung to his neck, fingers teasing at the open buttons of his shirt, her crimson lips grazing the sensitive skin of his throat. The other knelt between his legs, her hands trailing up his thighs, inching dangerously close to where any other man would have already lost control.

Yet Gabriel remained utterly indifferent. His expression didn't flicker, his breath didn't hitch, and there was no sign of arousal in his trousers—utterly still, not even a slight bulge.

Amusement curled in my chest. Not even a reaction? Could it be that he’s... impotent? Or just... tired of women?

A wave of relief washed over me, easing the tension in my chest. I had to fight the urge to let the corners of my lips lift in a slight smile.

On the other side of the suite, two couples were entangled in various stages of undress. One man had pinned a woman down on the sofa, yanking off her low-cut top and sinking his teeth into her breast.

Another, embracing a woman from behind, had slipped his hand beneath her short skirt. The women's moans of pleasure rose and fell, barely audible beneath the pounding music.

The men at the nearby card table, each draped with a beautiful woman, seemed unfazed by the live sex show unfolding before them. At my arrival, the card players abandoned their game, pushing the women off their laps and turned to greet me with respectful nods.

"Ms. Dawson."

They knew me. After all, I'd been running this city's most exclusive nightclub for six months. Noir Seduction had become even more profitable, with earnings up by nearly fifty percent.

I had plenty of reasons to hold my head high in this room—everyone except Gabriel.

I navigated my way past the card table and stopped before him.

"Gabe, come home with me."

Gabriel’s lashes lifted a fraction, revealing sharp, hooded eyes that regarded me with lazy amusement. Then, just as quickly, he turned away, a derisive scoff escaping his nose.

The two women beside him paused, their gazes flicking to mine with blatant challenge. With Gabriel's silence, they felt emboldened, as if they had the right to defy me, the General Manager of this nightclub.

One pouted theatrically. "Gabe, is she your girlfriend?"

She knew who I was—everyone here did. But now, she must have realized something else: I had no control over this man.

Expression unreadable, I met Gabriel's gaze again. "Gabriel, come home."

This time, his eyes opened a little wider, amusement deepening. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Someone asked who you are. Why aren't you answering?"

“How could Harrison hire such a moron to manage Noir?”

The laughter around us swelled, emboldened by his mockery.

I said nothing, my heartbeat quickening with anger, but my face remained calm.

He studied me for a beat, then his lips curled, as if he had uncovered a delightful secret.

"What? Ashamed?"

My stomach clenched.

Gabriel's smirk disappeared, his gaze turning cold and sharp.

"Allow me to introduce her," he announced. "My dearrr stepmotherrr!"

His voice was loud and deliberate. A knife to the heart would have been kinder.

I stiffened, every muscle locking into place. The room fell into stunned silence, the only sound the heavy thrum of the music, its bass syncing with the erratic beat of my pulse.

Gabriel’s stepmother—or rather, his father's lover, the well-known Harrison Bennett's mistress.

The women beside him gaped, glancing at each other before turning to him, disbelief in their eyes.

"Gabe, you're joking, right?"

His lips twisted. "Why don't you ask Miss Dawson yourself? Ask her how it feels to be fucked by my father."

All eyes in the room turned to me. My face burned with embarrassment, but thankfully the lights were dim, so no one could probably tell. Still, I needed to end this. Quickly.

"Gabriel," I said, voice steady. "Your father wants you home."

He exhaled a lazy breath. "So, Noir Seduction wasn't enough for you? Now you want a piece of me too, Mummy?"

The next second, he flicked his wrist.

A wine glass soared through the air, missing my face by inches before shattering against the wall behind me.

I only felt a slight sting on my temple, but I didn’t move—not even a blink.

There was a faint warmth trickling down my temple—some of it metallic, some of it the bitter taste of wine.

"Gabriel, she... she's bleeding," someone whispered.

A hesitant hand offered a tissue, but the man holding it quickly withdrew, afraid to intervene.

Gabriel didn't spare him a glance. Instead, he leaned forward, studying the crimson streak trailing down my temple, fascination flickering in his dark eyes.

I reached up, feeling the tiny shard of glass embedded in my skin. With a flick of my fingers, I plucked it free, watching as blood mixed with the remnants of wine, staining my white blouse. The deep red liquid seeped into the fabric, clinging to the outline of my black lace bra underneath.

I dropped the shard at my feet. "Are you done? Can we go now? Your father expects you in an hour."

Gabriel fell back against the couch, face devoid of emotion.

"Get out."

I held his gaze, my fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Gabriel, let's go. Now."

I pulled.

For a brief second, his arm lifted, but his body remained a solid weight against the cushions, unmoved. His eyes darkened, a frigid storm brewing within.

The onlookers, sensing the shift, scrambled for the exit. Within moments, the room emptied, leaving only the two of us.

Gabriel’s gaze flicked to where my fingers gripped his arm. Disdain twisted his lips as he jerked free, as though my touch had defiled him.

Before I could react, there was a sharp sound—a snap.

His belt slid free from his waistband in one swift motion, and before I could step back, it coiled around my throat.

A violent yank, and I was wrenched to my knees, my face crashing against his thigh.

"Gabriel! Let go!" I spat, shoving against his chest, trying to force space between us.

His fingers tightened, his voice a whisper of ice.

"Did my father send you here without considering you might not make it back alive?"