007

ARI’s POV

The apartment was silent except for the occasional creak of wood or the faint hum of the fridge. After the day I had, all I wanted was peace. Yet, my mind was a storm. Cross. The mafia don. The man I’d kissed. The man I had trusted—even for a moment.

I couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands on me, his lips, his voice. Every word he said earlier now felt like a riddle. How could I be so blind? I’d been trained to recognize danger, yet here I was, entangled with the most dangerous man in the city.

I paced my small living room, biting my nails. My ID sat on the coffee table, mocking me. I needed sleep, but my thoughts wouldn’t let me rest. Eventually, exhaustion won, and I collapsed onto my bed.

****************************************************

The room was pitch-black when I woke up, but something felt off. The weight. It was suffocating. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and panic gripped me as I realized there were arms wrapped around me. Strong, unyielding arms.

I sucked in a sharp breath and tried to wiggle free, but the grip only tightened. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum.

“Don’t move,” a hoarse voice whispered against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

It was him. Cross.

“If you do, I’ll get upset, and you’ll regret it.”

His tone was low, calm, and yet it held a threat that made my blood freeze.

I tried to twist my body, hoping to slip away, but his hold was like steel.

“Let me go!” I hissed, my voice shaky.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Ah, cara, you’re still so bold. I like that about you.”

His hand moved slightly, brushing my waist, and I flinched.

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, trying to sound braver than I felt.

He shifted, and suddenly I was flat on my back, his weight pinning me to the mattress. My hands were above my head, both wrists caught in one of his hands. I tried to kick, but he trapped my legs with his.

“Stop fighting,” he growled, his face dangerously close to mine. His breath was warm against my skin, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You won’t win.”

I glared at him, refusing to show the fear bubbling inside me. “You can’t just do this! You don’t get to—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Do you remember what you said to me? You said you liked danger.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“How about I get more dangerous tonight?” His voice dropped, dripping with menace and something darker.

“You’re insane,” I spat, trying to pull my hands free.

He smirked, leaning closer until his nose almost brushed mine. “Maybe. But you liked that about me, didn’t you?”

I turned my head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “Get off me,” I demanded, though my voice lacked the strength I wanted it to have.

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head like he was genuinely curious. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” I lied.

He laughed softly. “Liar.”

His hand moved again, tracing a line down my cheek. My skin burned where he touched, and I hated myself for the way my body reacted.

“You said you liked danger,” he repeated, his voice a low purr. “I’d love to see how much you can handle.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “Let me go,” I said again, though my voice was barely a whisper.

“You’re not in control here, cara,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “And the sooner you accept that, the better.”

I thrashed against him, desperation fueling my movements, but he didn’t budge. It was like fighting against a brick wall.

“You can fight all you want,” he said, his eyes dark and intense. “But we both know how this ends.”

His words sent a chill down my spine, but I refused to let him see how much he was affecting me.

“You don’t scare me,” I lied, glaring up at him.

His lips curled into a wicked smile. “Good. Fear would ruin the fun.”

I turned my head away, biting my lip to keep from saying something that would only make things worse.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, his tone almost teasing. “Is it fear? Or is it something else?”

I hated him. I hated the way he made me feel—powerless, vulnerable, exposed.

“I hate you,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his gaze flickering over my face. “Hate is just another kind of passion, cara. And I think you feel more than hate.”

Before I could respond, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear.

“You intrigue me,” he whispered. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

His words sent a strange mix of emotions through me—fear, confusion, and something I refused to name.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Because I can,” he said simply. “And because you fascinate me.”

His grip on my wrists loosened slightly, but I didn’t dare move.

“I don’t know what to do with you yet,” he admitted, his tone thoughtful. “But I do know one thing.”

“What?” I asked, barely able to breathe.

“You’re mine now, cara,” he said, his voice a dangerous promise.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me with a finger against my lips.

“Shh,” he said, his gaze locking onto mine. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

As I lay there, trapped beneath him, I realized one thing: this was only the beginning.

And I wasn’t sure if I would survive what was to come.

I hated him. I hated the way he made me feel. But most of all, I hated the part of me that was drawn to him despite everything.