MARKED BY THE DEVIL

The knock echoed like gunshot.

Ava locked eyes with Grace, then Sam. No one moved.

Another knock. Slower. Heavier.

Then the voice again—smooth, unhurried, and laced with danger:

“Open the door, or I’ll let myself in. You’ve got five seconds.”

Ava moved first. She reached into the drawer near the couch and grabbed the fake pistol. Useless. But it made her feel like she had control.

Grace’s heart pounded in her throat as Ava turned the deadbolt.

The door opened.

And there he was.

Cain Russo.

Tall. Impeccably dressed in a black tailored suit, dark eyes like smoke and sin. Not handsome in the traditional sense—something harder. Sharper. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed.

Behind him stood two enforcers—silent, imposing, their expressions unreadable. Grace barely spared them a glance. She couldn’t stop looking at *him*.

Cain stepped inside without asking.

The room shrank around him.

Ava tried to speak. “Look, we didn’t know—”

He held up a hand, silencing her instantly.

His eyes swept over the three of them. Lingering on Grace for just a second too long.

“You robbed one of my fronts last night,” he said, voice smooth like velvet over glass. “Stole money that didn’t belong to you. Money that was already promised.”

He took another step closer. No one dared to breathe.

“I don’t believe in coincidences. So now, I have a problem. And you?” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “You have a choice.”

Grace found her voice—barely. “We didn’t know it was yours. We thought—”

“I know what you thought,” he cut in, eyes narrowing. “And that’s your only saving grace right now.”

He turned slightly, pacing as if this were a business meeting.

“I should kill all three of you and be done with it.”

Sam choked on a gasp.

Cain looked at her, and for a moment, he almost looked amused.

“But there’s something better than killing pretty little thieves,” he said. “Debt. Obedience. Usefulness.”

He turned to Grace. Stepped in close. She could smell his cologne—spice, leather, something dark and masculine.

“You want to pay it back?” he asked softly.

She nodded, lips parting.

“Then starting tonight, you work for me.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway.

“Oh. And Grace?”

She looked up, startled.

Cain’s mouth curved into a half-smile. Dark. Dangerous.

“You’re mine now.”

And then he was gone.The door slammed shut behind him like the crack of a whip.

No one spoke for a long moment.

Then Ava let out a shaky breath. “Well… we’re not dead.”

Sam sank to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. “Not yet.”

Grace didn’t move. She still felt the heat of his stare on her skin. The way his voice had dropped when he said her name. *You’re mine now.* Not a threat. Not a warning.

A claim.

*Later that night.*

They met Cain’s driver at a dark, window-tinted SUV parked just outside an abandoned textile mill on the city’s edge. No words. Just a nod, and the silent command to follow.

Inside, it was surprisingly clean. Industrial. Concrete and glass, shadows and surveillance. A room meant for secrets.

Cain was waiting, leaning against a desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, muscles taut beneath inked skin. His jacket was gone. He looked less like a kingpin now—and more like a predator at rest.

“You’re here,” he said, as if they’d shown up voluntarily.

Ava straightened. “What do you want us to do?”

Cain smiled, slow and sharp. “Earn. Trust. Obey.”

He turned to a side table where three black velvet boxes sat waiting.

“Step one. Image.” He opened one, revealing a sleek black dress—short, tight, with a slit high enough to threaten modesty. “You’re going to a private club. You’ll serve drinks. You’ll smile. You’ll keep your mouths shut and your eyes open.”

Sam scoffed. “You want us to be—hostesses?”

Cain’s gaze cut to her. “Not hostesses. *Property.* Mine. Until the debt’s paid, you wear what I give you, go where I say, and do what’s required. If you don’t like it…” He reached into his jacket and set a photograph on the table.

It was Grace’s son. At school. Laughing. Unaware.

Grace’s blood went cold.

Cain looked at her. “We clear?”

She nodded, rage burning in her chest beneath the fear. The bastard wasn’t just ruthless—he was strategic.

He stepped closer to her then, too close. His hand reached out—not rough, not cruel—and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“You clean up well, Grace,” he murmured, voice just low enough for the others not to hear. “I bet you’re even prettier when you beg.”

Her breath caught. She hated the way her body reacted—heat curling in her belly, shame knotting in her throat.

She wanted to slap him.

She also wanted to know what he’d do if she did.

An hour later, they stood in front of a mirror in a hidden lounge beneath the club, dressed in barely-there designer black, heels high enough to cripple, lips painted red like sin.

Grace didn’t recognize herself.

But as the music pulsed from behind the velvet curtain and the door opened to a room full of dangerous men and powerful eyes, she stepped forward without hesitation.

She wasn’t a suburban wife tonight.

She was Cain Russo’s asset.

And her new life was just beginning.