Chapter Ten

Vincent’s fist slammed into the mahogany desk, tipping the glass of whiskey, even as it reverberated through the room, sharp and violent as the snap of bone. Elena watched the amber liquid spill across the polished wood, its sharp scent mingling with the suffocating smoke of Vincent’s unfinished cigar. She turned away, resisting the urge to complain about the suffocating scent.

"You think this is a game, Elena?" Vincent snarled. She registered the barely restrained fury simmering beneath each word, but concentrated on his erratic pacing, footsteps heavy against the marble floor.

“I don’t play games,” Elena kept her voice steady, matching his energy but keeping her own composure. "And I certainly don’t make rash decisions."

Vincent stopped, his gaze snapping toward her. “You don’t make rash decisions?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, eyes blazing with anger. In an instant, he was in front of her, his hand shooting out to grip her chin, fingers digging into her skin. His whiskey-laden breath fanned across her face. "Then explain that little stunt you pulled with Lorenzo."

Elena stiffened. "That wasn't a stunt," she said coolly. "It was nothing. A moment… That’s it."

Vincent’s grip tightened, his lips curling into a sneer. "Nothing? You kissed him, Elena. In front of everyone. Do you have any idea what kind of position that puts me in?"

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t look away. “You’re overreacting. It was a kiss, Vincent. Nothing more."

"A kiss?" His voice was dangerously low. "You think I’m stupid?"

"I think you’re jealous and insecure," Elena shot back, her voice sharp.

Vincent’s sneer deepened, but his hand dropped from her chin and he stepped back. "Jealous? Of that smug bastard?” His voice wavered, just for a second. "He’s just a spoiled brat who’s had everything handed to him his whole life. He doesn’t deserve a place, not at the table where I feast.”

Elena shuddered as the mask came off. Jealousy, raw and visceral, radiated off him. Vincent’s competitive nature hinted at an unhealed trauma that she suspected culminated from having to live under one’s shadows for years.

No matter how much power he amassed, how many deals he made, it was never enough and she wondered why. He was like a man driven by his demons and until tonight, the demon had no face.

Lorenzo.

“You think Lorenzo cares about me or you?” Elena snapped. “He’s not playing this game the way you are, Vincent. He doesn’t see you and neither do you.”

Vincent’s eyes blazed with fury as he turned toward her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “He doesn’t see me you say?” His voice was a growl. “I’ll make him see me, Elena. I’ll burn his empire to the ground if I have to.”

To make Vincent’s transition to the mocking chuckle seamless, we could add a brief, tension-filled beat where Vincent’s anger shifts into dark amusement. By grounding his reaction in the bitter irony of Elena’s actions, it will feel less abrupt and more like a twisted moment of realization on his part. Here’s a suggestion for that transition:

Great point! Let’s use Vincent’s remark about her stabbing Lorenzo to jolt Elena, especially because he wasn’t there to witness it. This detail can deepen the tension between them, making his mocking knowledge unsettling. Here’s how it could flow:

Vincent’s eyes narrowed, his fury twisting into something colder, sharper. A low, bitter chuckle escaped him, the sound almost sinister as it filled the heavy silence between them.

“Funny, isn’t it?” His words dripped with mockery, a sinister edge replacing the outright anger. “After all that bravado, that public little kiss… you ended up stabbing him. How romantic... and convenient.”

Elena froze, her heart pounding at the implication. Her gaze searched his face, but his expression was unreadable, obscured behind a cloud of cigar smoke.

“That wasn’t public knowledge,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper.

Vincent offered her a mock salute, his smirk deepening. “You’d be surprised what I know, Chica. Don’t ever assume you can keep anything from me.”

The room fell silent as Vincent moved back toward the cabinet, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. His dark eyes never leaving hers. Elena remained still and watched him take a long draw of the cigar.

The rain outside pounded harder against the windows, a steady, relentless drumming that seemed to echo the turmoil in Elena’s mind. Her thoughts drifted to Lorenzo, to that infuriating smirk of his, and her stomach twisted in frustration. There was something about him.

'That insufferable, smug faced, son of a gun.' She stiffened as the thoughts escaped her lips.

Vincent smirked and raised his glass at her.

“You’re right Chica. He’s nothing, but an insufferable son of a gun."

Elena watched him take a sip of the amber liquid and chase it down with a long draw of his cigar. She looked away and ground her jaw in exasperation.

"Don't let your feelings get in the way Chica. I don't care how deep you are with Salvatore. If it comes down to it, I expect that you will eventually kill him, but for now, I need you for something else." He clamped his mouth and released the smoke from his nostrils.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. There’s no way I’m getting in the middle of all this. I already have my own agenda, and you said it yourself, I stabbed him. I doubt he’d be very pleased to see me.” Elena’s tone was scathing, cutting through the smoke-filled air between them.

“Oh, but you will,” Vincent rounded the table in swift movements, drawing himself to his full height. “You’re going to seduce him, and then feed me information from the inside. You’ll help me destroy him. And in return, you get to live.”

Elena took a step forward, ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes, counting off on her fingers as she spoke. “First off, we have an unspoken agreement Vincent and this mucks all of that up.” She poked him in the chest and felt a tiny trail of relief as he stepped back, surprise etching his face.

“Again, the only loophole in your grand scheme of letting me live, is the fact that I’m not weak. I can very well take care of myself and protect my neck.” She flicked her wrist and her knife materialized, flashing the moment light hit its stainless blade.

Elena’s voice was low, dangerously calm. “I won’t be your spy, Vincent.” She turned away from him.

Vincent’s hand shot out again, this time gripping her wrist so tightly she could feel her pulse pounding against his fingers. "You don’t have a choice, Elena. You’ll do what I say, or I’ll make sure you regret it. I bet Lorenzo would be thrilled to know who the thief was that infiltrated his house and stabbed him."

Elena yanked her wrist free. “You’re pathetic. Lorenzo is an underworld prince, but so are you and yet you resort to cheap tactics to fight a war that is clearly happening in your head only."

Vincent’s eyes flashed with rage, but there was something else there too, something raw, vulnerable. He was losing control, and he knew it.

"You aren’t that smart Chica." Vincent sneered, his voice venomous. "You can just walk out of here, but you won't last alone in the jungle, Elena. Not without me. There’s so much you don’t know Chica."

Elena kept her expression cold. “You don’t own me, Vincent. I’m not yours to control.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the heavy beat of the rain against the windows. Vincent was petty and vicious, and there’d been rumors about the people he’d killed over the slightest infractions. Elena had seen firsthand the way he treated those who crossed him.

But she wasn’t afraid. Not of him.

Vincent’s eyes flickered, a twisted admiration mingling with the malice. “You’re one hell of a piece of work, Chica.”

“I don’t care what you think of me and one more thing, do not ever address me with the word Chica.”

Elena turned on her heel and walked out, the sound of a glass shattering against a wall heralding her exit. Without stopping, she snagged her coat from the silent butler as she passed him.

Outside, she inhaled the musty smell of earth mixed with rain and savored the feel of the cold night air as it hit her skin. Moments later, she slipped into her coat and took a step.

The cold droplets splattered against her face as she stepped into the rain, but she barely noticed.

The light of her Aston Martin gleamed, and then the headlights flashed twice, signaling her. Elena ran through the rain, responding to the waiting valet's silent cue. He handed her the key, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he nodded and disappeared into the night.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she let the door slam shut behind her, cutting off the sound of the rain. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles whitening under the strain.

Slowly, methodically, she exhaled, forcing her pulse to steady. Control, she reminded herself. With a frustrated sigh, she slammed her hand against the dashboard.

“Damn it,” she muttered. She was used to dealing with dangerous men, but none grated on her nerves like Vincent.

Turning the ignition, she relaxed as the engine purred, warming her a bit. She maneuvered the gear and guided the car out of the driveway, pushing Vincent’s threats to the back of her mind.

The road stretched out before her, slick and treacherous.

By the time she reached the Salvatore estate, her hands were steady, and her expression unreadable.

She was ready.