Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Dominic

I surveyed the writhing mass of bodies intermingling on the dance floor, each soul seeking something—pleasure, oblivion, connection—in the dim throes of my domain. My gaze, however, remained detached, as if I were a god musing over the fates of mortals, untouched by the chaos of their earthly indulgences.

The doors parted, and a figure emerged like a wisp of purity in a sea of decadence. A blonde threaded through the crowd. There was a hesitancy to her step, a tentative grace that betrayed her unfamiliarity with this world—a lamb among wolves. Her eyes, wide with a blend of wonder and trepidation, scanned the scene, taking in the undulating forms, the flashes of skin illuminated by intermittent bursts of color.

She was different from the eager hedonists that surrounded her, who moved with a practiced abandon that came from too many nights spent chasing the high of the next song, the next drink, the next touch. She walked with a beacon of innocence that had yet to be tarnished by the smog of vice.

From my shadow-draped perch, my eyes were magnetically drawn to the ethereal vision snaking her way through the pulsating crowd below. An enigma wrapped in light, her striking features commanded innocence and allure. The soft waves of her blond hair caught the intermittent lights like strands of spun gold, while her bright-blue eyes, wide with untainted curiosity, seemed to drink in the scene with a thirst for the unknown.

My gaze sharpened, the predatory intensity undiluted by the distance between us. I observed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the cautious placement of her feet among the writhing sea of bodies. She moved with a hesitance that spoke of a world not yet conquered, an unspoken defiance against the night's seductive pull.

Like a sculptor envisioning the potential within uncarved marble, I envisioned her transformation in this den of vice. Yet even as I imagined the possibilities, I couldn't help but be captivated by the stark vibrancy she possessed now—unblemished, raw, real.

Each step she took, every tilt of her head was followed by my unwavering scrutiny. It was as if the room had emptied and only she remained, her presence casting a spell over me, rendering the background noise into mere whispers of irrelevance. I leaned forward imperceptibly, my dark eyes tracing the curve of her jaw, the arch of her neck, and the tentative smile that played upon her lips.

She moved through the club as though she belonged to another realm, a creature of light adrift in the underworld. A rare stirring deep within came on, an emotion unrecognizable and unsettling. For a man who thought I had seen it all, she was a beautiful question mark in a world full of exclamation points.

My hand moved with calculated intent, the sleek mobile device cool against my skin as I plucked it from the mahogany surface of my desk.

"Yes, boss?"

"Willow, who is the new girl that just came into the club?"

"The blonde? Alexa Monroe, sir."

I didn't even reply; I just hung up and called the next person.

My thumb swiped across the screen with deftness. The phone emitted a soft click as the call connected, shattering the silence of the office.

"Ricardo." My voice was a low rumble, the dangerous timbre resonating with urgency. "I need details on someone—a woman."

"Understood, boss. What's the name?"

"Alexa Monroe. She's here now, in the club."

"Blond hair, blue eyes, red lips standing out like a bloody beacon?" Ricardo queried, his observation sharp and immediate.

"Exactly her. I want everything—background, connections. And I want it fast."

"Consider it done, Dominic. If she's got skeletons, I'll find 'em."

"Be discreet."

"Always am, boss. You'll have what you need before last call."

The line went dead, and I set my phone down, my gaze magnetically drawn back to the club floor below where Alexa continued to navigate her way through the crowd. An unfamiliar yearning settled deep in my stomach, a desire to know her secrets. It gnawed at me, this intensity. It was unlike anything I'd felt before, a pull so strong it bordered on obsession.

Time slipped by unnoticed, marked only by the ice melting in my forgotten glass of scotch. The shadows in my office grew longer, merging with the darkness settling in my chest. I could not tear my attention away from her, even as the minutes stretched into hours, even as the weight of anticipation pressed down on my broad shoulders.

The digital clock on my wall blinked indifferently, its red numbers marching forward. Each tick was a taunt, each tock a testament to the slow crawl of time that kept me bound to this waiting game.

But I was no stranger to patience, no stranger to the game. And as night deepened its hold over the city of sin, I remained ensnared in my high perch, watching, waiting, a predator poised on the edge of a decision that would change everything.

The silence shattered like glass as the sharp trill of a phone pierced the thick air of my office. My hand shot out, a viper striking, seizing the device before the first ring could fully decay into the charged atmosphere. The screen, lit with an unlisted number, confirmed the arrival of the information I had been craving.

"Speak," I commanded in a low growl, every muscle coiled tight as I listened.

"Alexa Monroe," the voice on the other end began, crisp and efficient against the backdrop of my silent intensity. "Twenty-four years old. Moved to Vegas from a speck of a town, looking for more than just main street dreams."

My thumb pressed into the armrest of my chair, leather creaking under the force. I imagined Alexa's face, her bright-blue eyes wide with hope, stepping into the neon jungle of Las Vegas. How out of place she must have felt, yet how determined to stake her claim in this unforgiving city.

"Her finances are a mess, tied up in student loans and credit card debts. She's teetering on the edge, barely keeping her head above water."

A flicker of satisfaction ignited in my chest. Her vulnerability, her fight—it was a combination that intrigued me, that fed the darkness in my soul with a strange kind of hunger.

"Lost her job," the voice cut through my thoughts. "Seems they downsized, and she was one of the casualties."

My gaze hardened, the shadows of my office seeming to cling to me, to echo the darkness that the news stirred. Alexa Monroe, a casualty of circumstance, a fighter without an arena. It was an angle I hadn't anticipated, yet it aligned perfectly with the predatory instincts that ruled my world.

"Anything else?" My question was terse, leaving no room for hesitation.

"Nothing significant. She keeps to herself mostly. No family here, few acquaintances. She's… clean," the associate concluded, a note of respect threading the final word.

"Understood." I ended the call with a click, the weight of Alexa's plight settling over me, a mantle of intrigue that cloaked my next move in shadowy promise.

There was much to be done, machinations to set in motion, but for now, I let the silence envelop me once more. In the stillness, my mind worked tirelessly, weaving Alexa's threads into the tapestry of my grand design, where light meets dark, innocence dances with power, and destinies intertwine in the most unexpected of ways.

Alexa Monroe—her name rolled through my mind like a whispered secret, igniting an unfamiliar curiosity. The phone call had painted her life in broad strokes of adversity and resilience, colors that didn't often stain the canvas of my world.

I rose from my chair, a towering silhouette against the panoramic view of neon and vice beyond the glass. A woman of her purity should have been swallowed whole by the city's ravenous jaws, yet here she was, a beacon of untarnished innocence amid the corruption. It was this enigma, this defiance of Las Vegas' cardinal rule to despoil all who dared enter, that ensnared me.

Clean . The word echoed in my head, a rarity in the smog of sin that filled my empire. She was unclaimed territory, a hidden gem among the rough, untouched by the grime of the underworld my family name commanded. How she maintained her moral compass in a land where virtue was currency spent quickly and forgotten even faster, I could not fathom.

The corners of my mouth twitched into a semblance of a smile, though there was no warmth to it. I recognized a challenge when I saw one, and Alexa Monroe, with her quiet strength and haunting blue eyes, was just that—a puzzle which begged to be solved, a game that awaited my masterful play.