The Cost of a Lie

My hands were covered in blood that would not go away.

I stood in front of the sink, watching the crimson swirl down the drain, disappearing as if it had never existed. However, I could still feel the gun's weight and the warmth of the man's blood as it spattered my knuckles.

The trigger had been pulled by me. I had gone too far.

Even though the water was extremely hot, I did not refuse it. I allowed it to burn. Allow it to burn into my flesh as though it would undo what I had done.

The bathroom door clicked open behind me.

I did not look around. did not need to. I recognized the person.

Valenci, Dante.

At first, he watched me while leaning against the doorframe without saying anything. His cologne—smoke, whiskey, something darkly masculine—mixed with the smell of steam and blood to fill the room with his presence.

"You paused," he said at last.

I held onto the sink's edge. "But I did it nonetheless."

Dante took a slow, methodical step forward. Indeed. You did.

With a sharp exhale, I turned off the water and turned to face him. He was near. Too near.

Sharp shadows were cast across his face by the dim bathroom light, emphasizing the restrained laughter on his face.

He was not upset.

He wanted to know.

Dante looked at me, his dark eyes darting over my face and down to my hands, which were still pink from the blood that would not go away.

Then he reached for my wrist slowly.

Curling around it, his fingers were firm and unavoidable. Testing. Assessing.

I ought to have retreated. I didn't.

Over the slight scar from the test he had given me on my first night, his thumb moved across my palm. Just a friendly reminder. A statement.

"Did not you sense it?" He spoke in a low, nearly whispery voice. A knife to my throat.

I took a swallow. "What did you feel?"

Dante grinned more broadly. "The instant it became simpler."

My heart leaped.

I detested him. He could see right through me, and I detested that.

For a brief moment, he tightened his hold before releasing it. "Luca, welcome to my world."

Then, suddenly, he turned and walked away.

I stood there trembling as I tried to recall what aspects of myself were still genuine.

The Shift the Following Morning

I did not get any sleep.

I was already in the penthouse's main living area by sunrise, drinking black coffee and gazing at the skyline.

I had been given a room in Dante's house. Not in the club, not in one of the safehouses. Right here. Near him.

It was an act of power. A caution. I had not yet figured out the test.

Before I saw him, I could hear him—the gentle patter of bare feet on marble floors.

Dante came in shirtless, with a glass of whiskey hanging from his fingers despite the early hour, and I turned just in time to see him.

I had seen blood all over him. witnessed him unflinchingly drive a bullet through a man's skull.

However, this? This was not like the others.

Though diminished, the razor-sharp power remained. Lean muscle, inked skin, and dark tattoos that stretched across his back and curled down his ribs covered his entire body. He was permanently marked with a map of sins.

When he saw me staring, he grinned. "As you observe?"

I leaned against the counter and scoffed. "You drink this early every time?"

Dante sipped the glass slowly and then put it down. "You stare this much all the time?"

Fuck.

Once more, he was playing with me. I was allowing him to do so.

With my pulse still erratic, I rolled my eyes and turned back to the window. "What is planned for today?"

Dante moved to stand next to me so that his body's warmth touched mine.

He stated, "I have a meeting at noon." "You will be present."

I finally looked at him and scowled. "With whom?"

Dante whispered, "Someone who does not trust outsiders." "So you will need to persuade him otherwise."

I grinned. "This is just another test?"

Dante's gaze strayed to my mouth. Short. Nearly undetectable.

However, I did see it.

I sensed it.

Then, equally swiftly, his face reverted to an unreadable expression. "Luca, everything is a test."

Then he left without saying another word.

The Meeting: When Discrepancies Occur

The clinking of pricey glassware and soft conversational murmurs filled the dimly lit restaurant. Dante and I were seated across from Carlos Montoya, a prominent South American trafficker who dominated much of the global pipeline.

Montoya was not easily trusted. Furthermore, he had no faith in me.

He sipped his wine and said, "You are new." "I also dislike new things."

I kept my face slack as I reclined in my chair. "That is reasonable."

Montoya's forehead raised. "So why should I trust anything you say?"

Dante was letting me prove myself, so he had not said much during the meeting.

I let out a slow breath. Now it is my turn.

I just said, "Because Dante does."

Montoya observed me. Then his eyes strayed to Dante. "Do you, too? Have faith in him?

At last, Dante slowly and deliberately leaned forward. "He would already be dead if I didn't."

I forced myself to ignore the effect those words had on me and grinned.

With a dry laugh, Montoya laughed. "All right, Valenci. I will think about the offer. He paused after reaching for his wine. "An additional item."

Dante's forehead raised.

Montoya's eyes flicked back and forth between us, with a look of amusement. "How much time have you two been having sex?"

The atmosphere changed.

Between us, tension suddenly and electrifyingly snapped tight.

I did not respond. Dante, however, remained motionless next to me.

Then—

He chuckled.

A deep, low laugh. One that made my spine tingle uncontrollably.

Montoya smiled. "Am I mistaken?"

Dante smirked as he raised his glass and let out a breath. "You should focus more on how I intend to destroy your competition and less on my personal life."

With surrendered hands, Montoya raised them. "I just wanted to make a comment."

The discussion continued, but my heart rate remained constant.

Because Dante's knee had briefly—just a fleeting moment—pressed against mine under the table.

It had not been moved by him.

I had not either.