Chapter 4: The Power Play

Irene hadn’t expected that kiss. So stunned was she that she couldn’t move — she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t respond.

Around them Kristoff’s men stood frozen, their eyes wide with amazement. They’d served the man for years, yet never once had they seen him act like this with any woman.

Kristoff always kept his distance from women. Any woman who drew near him in the past either ended up as fish food or was sent down to the mines to work under his command.

So they couldn’t fathom what kind of magic the woman before them possessed. How had she bent Kristoff’s will and broken every rule he’d lived by from the moment they met?

As everyone nearby gaped in confusion, Irene’s thoughts spun; she could not think clearly. Kristoff’s kiss shook her to the core — it felt like it was sucking the very breath from her. She gasped and reeled; trapped in his iron arms, she felt like a delicate flower clutched protectively in the eye of a storm. But when the initial shock faded, her anger erupted.

For years she had swallowed humiliation and fallen from heights that had plunged her into the darkest depths. Surrender had never been an option; she always prepared for revenge. Losing was not in her nature.

So without hesitation she wrapped her arms around Kristoff’s neck and returned his kiss with equal fervor.

After all, what harm could a kiss do her? The man pressing against her was not only unbearably handsome — he had status, power. She had nothing to lose.

She met his ardor tongue for tongue. She would not let him dominate her completely. Rather than retreating, she met him head-on and took control.

What began as a one-sided kiss quickly turned into a battle — an exchange of wills and a contest of strength wrapped in fierce desire.

Their kiss intensified, enclosing them both; each second grew hotter until they were breathless and chasing each other’s breath.

When their lips finally parted they were swollen, a little blood at the corners — proof of how savage that moment had been.

Kristoff released Irene and casually brushed the corner of his mouth where her teeth had marked him. His eyes stayed sharp and concentrated on her, as if he were studying her in depth.

Irene returned his stare steadily — no trace of fear or doubt. That courage earned her the respect of the onlookers. Now everyone could see why Kristoff had been instantly taken with her.

Irene possessed a fearless kind of strength that could not be ignored. She had the audacity to bite Kristoff’s lip; she showed no fear of whatever the price might be.

Kristoff continued to watch her, and something like satisfaction slowly bloomed inside him. The sting on his lip served as a vivid reminder of what had just happened. The woman before him, angelic as she seemed, was not a fragile blossom. She was a rose with thorns, and anyone who underestimated her would surely pay.

That danger wrapped around her beauty made her all the more irresistible to Kristoff.

“Did you enjoy that, Mr. Montecillo?” Irene asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes. Let’s go,” Kristoff replied with a smile. “Now we’ll sort out that little problem of yours.”

Thirty minutes later Kristoff took Irene to the most lavish hotel suite in the area.

“Boss.”

The men in black suits immediately took their positions as they entered, greeting Kristoff with a mix of respect and intimidation. Each was a skilled, veteran fighter, and all showed absolute deference to him.

Kristoff nodded, sank into the sofa, and gestured for Irene to sit beside him.

Despite the probing, curious, and indifferent stares around them, Irene sat calmly at his side. She thought to herself that she was already in a dangerous situation — there was no longer any reason to hesitate.

Kristoff smiled at her composure; a faint amusement flickered in his eyes.

“Roland, bring him here,” Kristoff ordered. His voice held authority, and his dignified presence made everyone else feel small.

A moment later a mild-looking man with glasses motioned, and someone hauled a large sack into the room.

When the ropes were untied and the sack opened, a bedraggled man appeared, tightly bound. His matted gray hair and filthy clothes bore the marks of a savage beating.

Irene’s eyes went wide with shock when she recognized him — it was Rigor, the notorious crime lord of their district.

For thirty years the Buenaflors had ruled the city, controlling bars and nightclubs and running an international arms trade. Even the powerful Montecillo family had kept a wary distance from them.

Irene assumed Kristoff would negotiate with Rigor. Given Kristoff’s influence, she thought Rigor would be forced to bow.

But she did not expect Kristoff to simply kidnap Rigor. The act made one thing clear — the Buenaflor family meant nothing to Kristoff.

Thrown to the floor, Rigor howled in fury.

“Who do you think you are to bring me here like this? Release me now or my men will find you and crush you one by one!”

After Rigor’s rage, Kristoff’s command came cold and flat: “Break him.”

In an instant the man with glasses produced a silenced gun and fired into Rigor’s hands and feet.

Four precise shots struck the tendons.

In the blink of an eye, Rigor’s ability to fight was gone; he was rendered helpless for good.