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Chapter 16 - Bargain With The Devil
Last Updated:
2025-05-06 16:42:10
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The Tycoon’s Temptress - Red Flower’s Chase Chapter 17 - Velvet Chains
Inside the dimly lit vehicle, Maria lay unconscious, tended to by one of Raffaele’s medics.“I’m sorry,” I muttered, my eyes flicking between her pale face and Raffaele’s unreadable expression.“You should be glad Kareem and Nabil weren’t dead—or worse,” he replied coolly.My jaw clenched. The adrenaline was still thick in my blood, my nerves frayed to the edge. “You did all this to keep me alive. To control me.” My voice was tight, nearly trembling.He didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on mine—calm, intense, inescapable.“You’re damn right I did,” he said, unapologetic. “I did it because you’re valuable.”Valuable how? What exactly did he mean? He didn’t say—but I felt the unspoken words hanging heavy between us.“You can’t deny it anymore,” he added. “You’re part of this game—whether you like it or not.”His words dropped like stones.Later, as the car rolled into the parking lot of Ishtar hotel, he spoke again.Why are we going here and not to the beach house? I thought, feelin
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Tariq Al-Mansour POVThe Shatt al-Arab is my lifeline—a wide river born where the Tigris and Euphrates meet, cutting through Basra all the way to the Gulf. The city’s chaos works in my favor—oil, trade, ships coming and going at all hours. Perfect cover. I built my empire here for a reason. My vessels glide through the current, carrying artifacts, cash, and smuggled goods right under everyone’s noses. No one watches too closely when the whole city runs on dirty secrets.I pace the porch of my villa in Basra, a fortress of modern elegance, its black-and-white facade rising like a shadow against the Shatt al-Arab skyline. A perfectly trimmed garden lines the entrance below, hiding the biometric gates, while the faint scent of saffron incense wafts from hidden vents inside. My invisible security—disguised guards posing as staff, drones masquerading as birds—ensures my control, and a secret dock beneath the villa offers a swift escape to the Gulf if things happen to get unpleasant.
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Valentina’s POVThe air in the luxury villa was glacial. Not from the marble floors or the endless windows overlooking Baghdad’s skyline—but from the man seated across the mahogany desk. His eyes bore into mine, they were charged with electricity. He would be dazzling, dashing even if it wasn't for the fact he had bought me. Raffaele Ricchezza didn’t smile. He didn’t blink either. His suit, all black Armani, wrapped his lean form like armor. His presence sucked the warmth from the room. I met his stare without flinching. “You understand what I’m offering,” he said finally, with a low and precise voice. “I do,” I replied. “You’re asking me to marry you.” “A legal union,” he clarified. “No romance. No expectations beyond public appearances, occasional press photos, and eventual heirs.” I arched a brow. “You want children?” He leaned back. “My grandfather’s will is explicit. No heirs, no inheritance. And I don’t intend to lose ten billion dollars because of outdated s
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Valentina’s POV I stood before the ornate mirror in the guest suite, studying my reflection with critical eyes. The woman staring back wore a silk emerald green A-line dress with a cowl neckline and short puffy sleeves—feminine, elegant, disarming. Around my neck hung a delicate emerald necklace with matching earrings—Raffaele’s “gift.” “You’re decent enough,” came his voice from the doorway. I turned slowly, finding him leaning against the frame, immaculate in charcoal gray, his expression unreadable. Those dark eyes made my stomach surge. I couldn’t look away. “You exceed expectations,” I replied coolly, adjusting the necklace. “Another chain to bind me?” Something flashed in his eyes—amusement? Irritation? “Symbolic, perhaps. But necessary for appearances.” “Like everything else about this arrangement.” He checked his watch. “The lawyers are waiting. Shall we?” The conference room felt sterile—glass and polished wood. Two family attorneys sat opposite each o
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Valentina’s POV The Ishtar Hotel’s grand ballroom glittered under a canopy of crystal chandeliers, their light fracturing across the marble floor like stars scattered over a Sumerian night. The charity gala buzzed with Baghdad’s elite—diplomats in tailored tuxedos, heiresses dripping in diamonds, important guests and Raffaele Ricchezza, the man who held the room’s pulse. Everyone important was there. Tonight, though, I, Valentina, his fiancée, would steal the spotlight. My gown—a vintage champagne masterpiece from Monica Buccella’s private vintage collection, my late mother Graziella’s friend—clings to my curves, gem-studded and shimmering with every step. The high slit teases a glimpse of bronzed thigh, but my chest remains a mystery, a deliberate choice to keep them guessing. My curled hair cascades over my shoulders in perfect curls, crowned by a delicate tiara, a nod to Inanna, the goddess this hotel honors. My makeup is subtle, sharpening my cheekbones, enha
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Valentina’s POV Raffaele’s hand brushed against the end of my back, just where my spine arched beneath silk and diamonds. I should’ve stopped him—but his touch lingered like the tail end of a storm, electric and inevitable. “You parade through my empire like a goddess tonight,” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck, “and expect me to sleep alone?” I laughed, quiet and sharp. “Aren’t you the one who paid for the show, Ricchezza?” The corners of his mouth lifted, smugly. “You teased. Now throw me the bone.” My skin prickled. The tension between us had stretched all night like a taut string—every look, every touch, calculated and deliberate. This wasn’t romance. It was war, dressed in velvet and veiled in obscure candlelight. Still, being so close with my enemy felt dangerous and thrilling at the same time. So I turned my back to him, walking slowly toward our bedroom, hips swaying under the weight of my champagne gown. I paused at the door. Unzipped the
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Valentina’s POV After I sent a message to Raffaele, I bolted upright, my chair scraping against the stone floor. My hand seized Maria’s wrist—fingers tight, face rigid with urgency. “Valentina, what’s wrong?” Maria’s voice trembled, her eyes searching mine. Fear flickered there, mirroring the dread I couldn’t hide. “No questions. Move.” I pulled her into the chaos of the crowd. We vanished into Baghdad’s dying Souk al-Safafeer—once a haven of craftsmanship and copper artistry. Now, it was a whisper of its former self, clinging to life in the shadow of the American invasion. The market had once throbbed with the heartbeat of Iraq—metal against metal, families bargaining, the scent of tradition hanging thick in the air. Now, it was only echoes. Saffron. Smoke. The sharp scent of heated copper. Somewhere, a hammer struck rhythmically against a dish. My pulse synced to that beat—frantic, erratic. Only the rich could still afford what this place offered. People like the R
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Valentina’s POV The tension hung thick, a deafening roar that drowned out everything but the frantic thudding of my heartbeat in my ears. Tullio stood frozen, his mercenaries slick with sweat under the weight of Raffaele’s glare and the scorching Baghdad sun. The copper market of Souk al-Safafeer—usually alive with clanging metal and bargaining voices—had fallen eerily silent. Not even a hammer dared to strike. All eyes were locked on the spectacle unfolding before us. The air crackled with unspoken threats. Raffaele stepped in front of me, his presence a shield as his men swiftly ushered Maria behind us to safety. He arched an eyebrow, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Tullio Cavaliere. I didn’t expect to find you here.” Tullio scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. “Nor I, Raffaele. Stay out of this. Maria is my woman.” Raffaele’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering within them. “Doesn’t look that way, Tullio. I don’t see Maria throwing herself
Last Updated : 2025-04-24
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Tariq Al-Mansour POVThe Shatt al-Arab is my lifeline—a wide river born where the Tigris and Euphrates meet, cutting through Basra all the way to the Gulf. The city’s chaos works in my favor—oil, trade, ships coming and going at all hours. Perfect cover. I built my empire here for a reason. My vessels glide through the current, carrying artifacts, cash, and smuggled goods right under everyone’s noses. No one watches too closely when the whole city runs on dirty secrets.I pace the porch of my villa in Basra, a fortress of modern elegance, its black-and-white facade rising like a shadow against the Shatt al-Arab skyline. A perfectly trimmed garden lines the entrance below, hiding the biometric gates, while the faint scent of saffron incense wafts from hidden vents inside. My invisible security—disguised guards posing as staff, drones masquerading as birds—ensures my control, and a secret dock beneath the villa offers a swift escape to the Gulf if things happen to get unpleasant.
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Inside the dimly lit vehicle, Maria lay unconscious, tended to by one of Raffaele’s medics.“I’m sorry,” I muttered, my eyes flicking between her pale face and Raffaele’s unreadable expression.“You should be glad Kareem and Nabil weren’t dead—or worse,” he replied coolly.My jaw clenched. The adrenaline was still thick in my blood, my nerves frayed to the edge. “You did all this to keep me alive. To control me.” My voice was tight, nearly trembling.He didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on mine—calm, intense, inescapable.“You’re damn right I did,” he said, unapologetic. “I did it because you’re valuable.”Valuable how? What exactly did he mean? He didn’t say—but I felt the unspoken words hanging heavy between us.“You can’t deny it anymore,” he added. “You’re part of this game—whether you like it or not.”His words dropped like stones.Later, as the car rolled into the parking lot of Ishtar hotel, he spoke again.Why are we going here and not to the beach house? I thought, feelin
The Tycoon’s Temptress - Red Flower’s Chase Chapter 16 - Bargain With The Devil
For a moment, no one breathed.The warehouse hung in frozen silence, broken only by the faint hum of engines idling outside. Six crimson dots hovered like death marks over the informant’s chest. He didn’t move. No one did.Then—A sharp pop.A single silenced shot cracked through the darkness.The informant let out a strange groining sound and dropped to one knee, clutching his left shoulder. Blood bloomed through his jacket like dark ink and panic erupted.“Down! Get down!” One of the workers shouted, but it was too late.The next wave came fast—ghosts in black, rappelling down from the rafters with thick ropes like shadows peeling off the walls. One of the gunmen near the crates raised his weapon, but a flash of red light seared across the room—stun ammunition. He dropped to the floor like a rag doll.I squinted through the chaos, my heart hammering in my ears. Somewhere in the confusion, I heard Maria whimper beside me. She had finally woken up! Thank God!“Valentina,” she croa
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Kareem turned first, reaching for his weapon, but a steel pipe came down hard against his back. He cried out, collapsing under a second blow to the knee. Nabil tried to draw his gun too, but two men tackled him from behind, slamming him against the wall and knocking the wind out of him. Maria screamed as a gloved hand struck her hard across the temple—she crumpled beside me, and I barely caught her arm before she hit the concrete.My pulse was racing. The air around us seemed to thicken with danger, the world narrowing making my vision blur.I stood frozen, just for a second, and that was enough.The informant had a twisted smirk plastered on his face, took a slow step back as if savoring the moment.I looked down at Maria then back at Nabil and Kareem. They were all down, groaning in pain. The attackers were still closing in on us.”Tsk tsk tsk Valentina” the man said with a low voice mocking me. Then my watch buzzed against my wrist—ever so subtle against my skin, but it yanked m
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I woke up as the first rays of sun kissed my face, just beyond the windows where the Al-Faw Peninsula met the shimmering waters of the Persian Gulf. II looked beside me. The sheets were tangled—cold, and empty. I cursed under my breath. Damn it, why did I have to miss his presence? It felt so good to have someone to cuddle while I slept. It made me feel safe. I cursed my own body for not understanding the difference—sleeping with the enemy, not lusting after him. As the saying goes, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Then I saw it. I couldn’t help but smile. What were we, high school sweethearts? Like little kids? But I took it anyway—a letter on the bed with a pop-up heart. “I have a business meeting. See you soon. I know you’ll miss me when you see this, but I promise it won’t take long. Yours, Raffaele.” I put the letter back and scoffed. He thinks simple 101 love tricks will work on me? Think again. I splashed my face with cold water, t
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Valentina’s POVDawn crept through the gauzy curtains of the Ricchezza beach house, painting the room in hues of amber and rose. I lay still, the weight of Raffaele’s arm anchoring me to the bed, his steady breath warm against my neck. The sheets smelled of him—sandalwood, saltwater. My body ached to stay, to sink into the heat of him, but my mind screamed to run. I had to move, to breathe and reclaim some form of control.I eased toward the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the predator beside me. My bare feet brushed the cool marble floor, and I was almost free when his hand shot out, snatching my waist with a grip that was both possessive and firm. He pulled me back, my body colliding with his chest, the air between us sparking with tension.“Thought a lot about what you said yesterday,” Raffaele murmured, his lips grazing my collarbone. A shiver of electricity raced down my spine, traitorously warm.I froze, my breath catching. “What do you mean?” I feigned innocence, but
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Valentina’s POV After the dinner and hula hoop performance, I retreat to the library of the Ricchezza beach house late at night. I am exhausted and intrigued. Finally, I have time to examine the clay tablet. But on my way through the hallway, I notice a letter from Ricchezza oil labs. The orichalcum report! My breath hitches as I take the letter and slip it into my evening clutch. I look left and right—nobody is around. The library in Raffaele's beach house feels cool, its cedar shelves and whitewashed walls closing in on me. The clay tablet resting on the mahogany desk. My fingers trace the ancient script, heart hammering as I piece together the Sumerian poem etched into the stone. Beyond the open windows, the Persian Gulf murmurs, salt and sea tangling in the air. The firelight from the corner lamp casts long shadows across the bookshelves, gilding the titles in bronze. My diamond necklace—his gift—catches the light and throws a shimmer across the room. I'm still weari
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The phone buzzed on the carved cedar nightstand just as the midday sun crept through the gauzy curtains. Monica Buccella’s voice came through, velvety and mischievous. “Valentina, darling, guess what? Guiliana and Domenico Ricchezza invited me to dinner tonight at their beach house—with you, of course. Sunset, waves, and champagne. Interested?” I sat up, instantly intrigued. “Shouldn’t we make it… unforgettable?” My mind was already turning. “You still have those special hula hoops?” A low laugh curled through the line. “Your mother Graziella thought they were too dangerous for you, but I know better. You can handle them.” I smirked. “Game on.” It was nearly lunchtime, and I stood alone in my room, adjusting the straps of my brown swimsuit. The fabric clung to my body like a second skin, paired with a wrap skirt patterned with delicate white conch shells and geometric shapes that danced along my hips. My dark hair was twisted into a loose top knot, a few strands fal
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The Ricchezza beach house was a Mediterranean dream, all whitewashed walls and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the turquoise sea. Potted palms swayed on the terrace, kissed by the salty breeze. Inside, the cozy library smelled of old books and sea air, the sound of waves a soft counterpoint to the storm of secrets brewing in my heart. I felt trapped, like a bird who’d lost its inner compass, my nightmares still raw from the tomb’s looting. Morning light spilled through the windows. I hadn’t expected Raffaele to be up, let alone sneaking up behind me, his arms circling my waist. “Did you sleep well, cara mia?” His whisper was warm against my ear, followed by a gentle kiss on my collarbone. “I said I wanted space,” I retorted, but my body betrayed me, leaning into his warmth. His masculine scent—sandalwood and sea salt—was the only thing that kept me calm. “I made you coffee. How do you like it?” he asked, stepping back to pour a cup. How thoughtful. Or was it just another act,
