Dangerous Attraction

“Boss,” Natasha called as she stepped closer, heels silent on the marble floor. I was just finishing buttoning my shirt.

I turned to her, my eyes cold at the thought of Dominic. “Did they find something?”

She shook her head. “Dominic’s all bark. Half the contacts he brags about don’t even exist.”

“Then why are we still talking about him?”

She hesitated. “It’s the girl.”

I paused. “What girl?”

“The one you picked up from the club. She saw too much. I don’t like her sitting alone in that room. And I really don’t like not knowing what she’ll do next.”

I glanced over my shoulder as I stepped out into the hallway. “I’ll handle it.”

Her lips pressed into a line. Not satisfied. Not reassured. I couldn’t blame her. Especially not if the rumors were true—that Sienna wasn’t just some pretty thing with a journalist job.

Natasha had found out about her record earlier this morning, and she is pretty impressive.

She is one of the dangerous ones. The kind that are criminals' worst nightmare, I heard she had helped the authorities get down some kind of local gangs disturbing the environment.

She is the kind who doesn’t scare easily and never backs down, I saw that even the first night I saw her, which, as wrong as it sounds for me, made me want her.

“She could cause problems, sir. These people—”

“I said I’ll handle it.” My voice cut like ice. I didn’t need a reminder. The boys probably sent her to warn me, to pressure me into making the “responsible” call—whatever the hell that means.

But I can’t. Not yet. Not when I can still taste her on my tongue.

She plays games to get out of this. And it’s cute. Almost clever. But what she doesn’t know is, I like games. I like risk.

I like the adrenaline rush of having a dangerous journalist in my bed, moaning my name, even while she’s plotting how to burn me down in her next headline.

It’s reckless. And that’s exactly why I can’t stop.

I shoved the thoughts aside as I stepped into the living area. The boys were already gathered, suited up, silent, waiting.

Loyalty dressed in black.

“It’s a good day,” I said,. “Dominic’s little empire? Gone. His men? Running or bleeding.”

Scattered applause. Nods. But my eyes scanned for one face in particular.

“Where’s Felipe?”

Heads turned, looking for someone who wasn’t there. A pause stretched too long.

“He’s with the Second Wing,” someone muttered. “Down at the underground, cleaning up Dominic’s boys.”

That didn’t sit right.

Second Wing. Felipe. Why the hell wasn’t he with us?

I stared each man down, my silence louder than any threat.

“He got drunk last night,” Natasha said finally.

“He’s been drunk before,” I snapped. “Doesn’t stop him from showing up. Why is he there?”

She looked nervous now. Good. She should be.

“I heard he had some unfinished business with Dominic,” she said carefully. “Before the betrayal. He didn’t want you doubting his loyalty, so he went to settle it quietly.”

“What business?”

“The downtown strip club.”

I exhaled. Nodded like I bought it.

I didn’t.

That’s how my father’s empire started to rot—he let things slide. Trusted too easy. Ignored the cracks until they became chasms.

“Stay sharp today,” I said. “We’ve got important cargo coming in. General Wing handles the drop. Natasha—you and five others stay back.”

I pointed to the ones I trusted least. “Protect the house. Eyes on my guest. Don’t touch her. She’s a handful, but she’s mine to handle.”

Natasha nodded. She understood the weight behind those words.

We rolled out, black bus humming down the city streets. Fourteen men deep, silence thick, all of us watching windows, corners, shadows. You never stop watching.

I was thinking about Sienna—Firecracker, as the boys called her—when Mug’s phone beeped. He passed it to me without a word.

An unknown number. A blurry photo of me and Sienna outside Leighton’s.

“Your boss’s movements are getting predictable.”

No context. Just threat.

I raised a brow. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Mug shrugged. “No idea, sir.”

I handed the phone back. “Have Tech trace it. Lock down the house. No one gets in or out. We’ve had threats before, my whole life—but this one feels different, maybe because it involved Sienna.”

I tried to shift my focus to the liquor production schedule. Tried.

But Mug’s phone lit up again—and this time his face went pale.

He handed it to me.

“Shot fired at the house. A bullet entered your room.”

Sienna was in there.

My jaw clenched. A second of silence. An emotion I couldn’t name wrapped its hand around my throat.

“Was she hit?” I asked slowly as i tried to keep calm

“I’m… not sure,” Mug said quietly.

I didn’t speak.

Not a word.

The phone screen was still lit in my hand, but I wasn’t looking at it anymore. I was staring through the glass—out at the city as it blurred past, same buildings, same streets. But something in my chest tightened, something unfamiliar, something I didn’t fucking like.

“Get eyes on the house now,” I said low.

Mug grabbed his second phone, fingers already moving. “Calling the house team.”

The others in the bus stayed quiet, but they were listening. Every single one of them could feel it. The shift. The storm behind my voice. They knew what it meant.

Natasha picked up on the second ring.

“What the fuck happened?” I growled.

“Sir… there was a shot. Sniper, maybe. No one saw it coming. Bullet came through the east window—your room.”

Silence stretched too long.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“I—I don’t know,” Natasha said, voice tight. “There’s blood, sir. A lot.”

My grip tightened on the phone until the plastic creaked.

“Is she alive?”

“We’re checking now. The window shattered, bullet hole through the far wall. The bed’s covered in—”

“I didn’t ask for the fucking layout, Natasha. I asked if she’s alive.”

There was a pause.

Then a whisper. “We don’t know. She’s not answering. We think she might’ve run after the shot.”

I didn’t respond. I ended the call.

Mug glanced at me. “Should we turn back?”