Chapter 20 Chapter 20 – Late-Night Bargains

Chapter 20 Chapter 20 – Late-Night Bargains
Mya
I’m still shaking, but the fury has gone ice cold. Dante’s touch earlier wasn’t about pleasure. It was a vicious reminder that no matter how many shell companies I uncover, my body is the ultimate jurisdiction.
I stare at the data until the numbers start singing a hateful little song. He thinks he can use a cheap parlor trick to keep me contained. He thinks I’ll tire out and crawl to him for the sweet release of a good orgasm.
Not a chance in hell.
He has Nico deliver dinner to my desk. Chilean sea bass, roasted vegetables, and a note that reads, ‘Eat it all. You need your strength to fight me.’
The bastard even manages to be condescending when he’s feeding me.
I eat every bite, chewing with mechanical precision, trying to harness the burning desire into pure, focused energy. If he can use this constant state of ache as a weapon, I can use it as fuel. He wants me broken and begging? I’ll be the sharpest, most well-fed enemy he has.
He finally gets up from his desk just before midnight. He doesn’t come in. He just pauses at the door of my glass enclosure.
“I’m going to make a few calls from the conference room. Be ready to leave in an hour.” His voice is a low command from the outside, not a request.
As soon as his footsteps fade, I’m out of my chair. My body is still throbbing with the ghost of his touch, but my mind is clear. This is my window.
Nico is still outside and I casually inform him I’m taking a bathroom break. Of course he follows like the good little guard dog he is.
I open the notes app and start typing, working at a frenetic, almost desperate pace, etching chunks of data into the screen. I have to get it all out before I forget any important details. I focus on specific, verifiable names, dates, and locations that might lead to a real-world paper trail outside his network.
Borealis Shipping. Dubai. Contact: I. Zaid. Acquisition 4/18. Venice waterfront. Code D-18-ALPHA. Shell: Cerberus Holdings.
It’s messy and fragmented, but it’s enough to help me recall the facts and confirm his criminal enterprises to the outside world.
I’m concentrating so hard on the screen that I don’t hear the outer door of the bathroom open. My blood turns to ice when Dante’s voice, smooth and deadly, slices through the silence.
“Having trouble finding a signal in here, Mrs. Cardello?”
I freeze, my hands shaking so violently I almost drop the phone. How the hell did he know?
I quickly lock the screen and shove the phone into the inner pocket of my tailored blazer. I flush the toilet before pushing open the stall door, stepping out with forced calm, while my heart is trying to batter its way out of my chest.
Dante leans against the marble counter, his arms crossed over his chest, looking devastatingly handsome and utterly murderous in his custom suit. He’s not smiling. His eyes are glacial, twin shards of blue ice.
“Am I not even allowed to pee now?” I ask, trying for bored indifference. My voice comes out too high.
He walks toward me slowly. Each step is a hammer blow of intimidation.
“You should know by now, Mya, that lying to me is the fastest way to invite consequences you won’t enjoy.”
He stops inches away and his scent swamps my senses.
“Let me see the phone.” His hand is already outstretched, palm open.
I stand my ground. “It’s my private property.”
“Nothing you possess is private, Mya. That includes your thoughts, your body, and certainly your communications.” He doesn’t ask again. “Give it to me, now.”
I stare up at him, defiance warring with sheer, gut-wrenching terror. If he sees those notes, he’ll know my intent. He’ll know I’m gathering evidence. Will he hurt my father because of it?
“And if I don’t?” My voice barely holds steady.
He smiles, and it’s the most terrifying expression I’ve ever seen. No amusement. Just cold, clinical intent.
“Then I assume you’re doing something nefarious and dole out consequences.”
The blood drains from my face. He always goes right for the throat. He knows exactly where my breaking point is.
“You’re bluffing,” I whisper.
“Am I?” He tilts his head. “I’m a patient man, Mya. But my patience ends the moment my authority is questioned. Do you really want to gamble your father’s final two minutes on a locked smartphone?”
My hand trembles as I reach into my pocket. My fingers brush the hard corner of the phone. I hate myself for giving in, but my father’s face flashes in my mind. Sweating, sobbing, begging for his life.
I pull the phone out, but instead of placing it in his waiting palm, I heave it across the vast, tiled bathroom. It hits the wall with a hollow thwack and skitters under the last stall.
“If you want it, you can fetch it yourself,” I spit, my chest heaving with desperate, manufactured courage.
He doesn’t even blink. He simply turns and glances at the stall.
“Nico,” he says, his voice quiet.
Nico steps in instantlyand walks over to the stall, bends his massive frame, and retrieves the phone with two fingers. He hands it to Dante without a word.
Dante examines the phone. His thumb moves once, expertly unlocking the screen before he starts scrolling through the apps, his gaze cold and focused.
My heart stops when he touches the Notes app. I can feel the moment he sees the list of names and codes.
He looks up from the screen, his blue eyes holding a dangerous, electric quality. He tucks the phone into his own pocket, his action both dismissive and utterly final.
“Clever girl,” he murmurs. “You used the notes function as a micro-file. Analog theft on a digital device. I appreciate the creativity, Mya, truly. And I’m very impressed by how quickly you tracked down a shell company.”
He takes a step closer, crowding my space until I have nowhere to go but back.
“The next time you decide to play spy, remember this,” he says, his voice low, his breath warm against my ear. “Every part of your life is monitored, including the length of time you spend in a secured washroom and what you use your phone for.”
His hand slides around my waist, pulling my body flush against his. I feel the painful, rigid heat of his cock through his tailored trousers.
“You want to find an angle in my organization?” he asks, his voice thick with unspent desire. “Fine. But you’ll pay for the privilege with your obedience. And that obedience begins now.”
He pulls my head back, exposing my throat, and his mouth crashes down on mine. It’s brutal, possessive, and all-consuming. His tongue plunges into my mouth, taking, staking his claim.
I fight him for a heartbeat, hands pushing uselessly against his broad chest, but the sudden, desperate hunger that flares through me is a betrayal I can’t hide.
I melt against him, my hands abandoning the fight to claw into the thick, dark hair at the back of his neck. I kiss him back with a furious, venomous passion that mirrors his own. Hate, fear, and a terrifying, white-hot need twist into one single, devastating sensation.
He breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with the same brutal, consuming desire that’s currently tearing me apart. He doesn’t wait for me to recover. He grabs my hand, the one with the bandage, and drags me from the bathroom.
“My patience is at an end, Mya,” he says, his voice raw with command. “You want me to take you? You want the relief? You want to end the ache that’s making you sabotage yourself? Then give me the words I want to hear.”
We stride through the empty corridor, past the silent elevators. Every footstep echoes the pounding of my heart. I’m gasping for breath, my mind reeling.
He pulls me back into my office. The door is shut with a violent slam that rattles the glass.
He shoves me against the desk, his body pinning mine. The cold, polished wood presses against my spine, grounding me for a second. His mouth finds mine again and every thought turns to vapor.
His hand snakes under my blazer. The buttons on my custom shirt are a hindrance. He doesn't bother with them. He grabs the fabric and rips the front open in one savage tear, sending two pearl buttons skittering across the floor. He shoves the damaged material aside, exposing my lace bra and the straining cleavage beneath.
He pulls his hips forward, grinding the thick, throbbing evidence of his arousal against my belly. The friction is devastating and I cry out in a raw, humiliated pleasure I can't silence. My hands shoot up, clinging to his shoulders, pulling him closer, begging without words for the weight and heat of him.
I need this to end. It would be so simple to just say, “Dante, take me.”
His breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut as he uses one hand to yank the zipper of his trousers down with a harsh, rasping sound. His cock springs free, massive and straining. He presses the head of it against my abdomen, hot and slick with pre-cum.
“Capitulate, Mya,” he growls, his voice thick with the effort of control. He leans down, his mouth near my ear. “Say the word. Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’re ready to obey.”
The question hangs there, thick with sweat and dominance. The air is so charged I feel like I might combust. Every cell in my body is screaming yes.
But the little voice in my head, the last, stubborn remnant of Mya Evans, screams louder.
I manage to find a sliver of air, a moment of hateful defiance that cuts through the sexual haze. I look him dead in his dark, desperate eyes.
“In your dreams.”
The blood drains from his face. His muscles go rigid, pulling back from the brink of absolute surrender. He stares at me, his eyes now cold, clinical, and utterly murderous. He pulls his zipper up slowly, the sound mocking the frantic beat of my heart.
He straightens his jacket, ignoring the damage to my shirt. “We’re going home. Get your things.”
I stare at him, shivering, my chest heaving, my mind reeling from the self-inflicted discipline. I hate him. I hate myself more.