Chapter Seven

Frederico Grey Di Grazia

Her jaw tightened, and her hands curled into fists, but she didn’t respond.

I chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “What, no answer? Cat got your tongue? Or is it just that you can’t bring yourself to admit it?”

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

I stood, the space between us shrinking as I closed the distance. She flinched slightly but held her ground, her breathing shallow. “What do I want?” I echoed, tilting my head. “I want you to dance. Like you used to.”

Her eyes widened slightly, the anger in them flickering to life again. “Please… don’t—”

“Don’t what?” I interrupted, my voice soft but laced with menace. “Don’t remind you of what you were? Of how you used to beg for my attention?”

Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue, to lash out, but she said nothing. She couldn’t. Instead, she dropped her gaze, her shoulders stiff as she struggled to keep her composure.

“Dance, Rose,” I said, stepping back and gesturing to the space in front of me. “Or would you rather I remind you what happens when you don’t listen?”

She hesitated, her breath hitching, but finally, she began to move. Her steps were stiff, her body rigid with tension, but she danced.

I walked closer to her, forcing her to stop. The red light in the room bathed her in an eerie glow, making her skin look warm and flushed. Her eyes—those fiery, defiant eyes—held a flicker of anger and fear. She hated me, and it made her even more beautiful.

“Dance better,” I said coldly, my voice sharp. “You look like a lifeless doll.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and I could see the tears threatening to fall. Her lip quivered, but she stayed silent, her chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to control herself.

“Is that tears?” I stepped even closer, tilting my head mockingly. “Crying?”

She shook her head quickly, sniffing, but her anger was written all over her face.

“Dance,” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. “And if I’m not impressed…” I let the threat hang in the air.

Then, she moved. Slowly. Her hand lifted, and she pressed it against my chest, her touch soft, almost feather-light. It caught me off guard, but I didn’t show it.

Her hips started to sway, subtle at first, then more deliberately. Her body turned away from me, but not before brushing against mine, the heat of her skin setting something dangerous alive in me.

She spun around me, her fingers grazing my shoulder as she moved. Her steps were slow, smooth, and deliberate, and each one brought her closer, her body teasingly brushing against mine. She wasn’t just dancing—she was trying to control the room.

My jaw tightened. I leaned back slightly, my eyes locked on her as she moved with more confidence now, her hips swaying, her curves teasing me in a way that made my blood boil.

“Is this what you think I want?” I said, my voice rough, laced with frustration.

She stopped, meeting my eyes, her breathing quick. “You told me to dance,” she said softly, her tone almost daring.

Her words hung in the air, and I let my gaze drop to her lips, then back to her eyes. She was playing a dangerous game, but she didn’t stop.

Turning her back to me, she bent slightly, her hips rolling in a way that made my fists clench. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and sinful. She knew what she was doing, and she did it well.

When she spun back around, she placed her hands on my shoulders, slowly guiding me back into my chair. Her lips parted as she swayed closer, her body brushing against my knees as she danced over me, her eyes holding mine.

My breathing deepened, and I hated it. Hated the way my body betrayed me, the way she was able to light a fire I couldn’t ignore.

“Keep going,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

Her movements didn’t falter. She leaned in, her hands trailing down my chest as she rocked her hips closer, teasingly brushing against me before pulling away again.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “That’s enough,” I said, my voice sharp, but there was an edge of something else—something I didn’t want to admit.

She stopped, her breathing heavy, her face inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating off her, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating.

“Get out!!!”

“What?”

“Get out!!!” I yelled and she dashed out of the room. I exhaled deeply, taking the whiskey and drinking.

Why on earth was I hot? The room was so hot even with the AC.

God damnit. Those lips flashbacked to me. I wanted them, but not in a pleasing way, in a more controlling way.

Emilia came in afterwards and she bowed her head.

“Should I get you a girl?” She questioned, but I didn't respond.

“Did you cross check John's phone? What information did you get?”

Emilia's eyes flickered with a hint of hesitation, but she quickly regained her composure. She stepped forward, handing me a flash drive.

"I got everything," she said in a low voice. "John's been talking to someone from the inside. Someone close to us."

I narrowed my eyes. "Who?" I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.

Emilia hesitated for just a moment before replying, "It’s Viktor Black. He’s been feeding him information about our movements, our plans... even about you."

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair with a smirk. "Oh... You can handle him, can't you?" I asked, my voice full of challenge.

Emilia didn't hesitate. Her eyes met mine, steady and sure. "Yes," she answered, her voice calm but strong.

"Good," I said, nodding. "Go."

Without another word, she turned and left the room, her steps echoing in the silence.

I stretched out on the couch, feeling the tension ease from my body. Emilia could handle Viktor Black. She always did what was needed.

I picked up my glass of whiskey and took a slow drink, letting the warmth spread through me. The burn was good, just like the smoke from the cigarette I lit next.