Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

"Life is not always a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well."

― Jack London

Caia

Twenty-five thousand dollars.

Tonight, I had to steal twenty-five thousand dollars for my completely useless, overbearing father. A man who couldn't even manage his own chaos but still somehow made it my problem.

And that wasn't even the low point of the day. Aside from the delightful little side gig of nearly having Romaniev in my bed—which, by the way, almost happened, but I backed out because apparently, self-sabotage is my superpower— I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning like some kind of cat in heat. Chest tight, mind spinning, my hands between–.

Anyway.

Fast forward to this morning, and I'm already bracing myself when I get a call from dear old father.

Another absurd, soul-crushing favor to ask me. Because naturally, that's what every loving father asks his daughter first thing in the morning. He didn't even bother to soften the blow—just dropped the bomb like it was business as usual.

"Do this for me, or Drayi's gonna shove his gun down your throat and pull the trigger," he said, as if that were a perfectly normal sentence.

So here I am, back at Silas' casino. Again . At this point, I should probably have my own VIP spot. I'm dressed for the occasion, of course—a short, black dress with a deep V-neckline and billowing sleeves that probably belonged on a runway. My hair's sleek, makeup's on point, with a black smoky eye, and the only thing heavier than the eyeliner was the impending sense of doom hanging over me.

My mission? Steal twenty-five grand from as many unfortunate casino-goers as I could.

Why? Well, who the hell knows.

When I asked my father for some clarification, he gave me the old "Do what I say, and you'll understand later" routine before hanging up.

So, here I am, walking into this glitzy hellhole like it's just another Thursday.

Out front, parked in a sleek black SUV with tinted windows, is Drayi—looking like he's been carved out of stone and would prefer to shoot first and never ask questions. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk in, knowing that if I slip up, I won't be walking out.

No pressure .

I stepped into the casino, trying to look like I wasn't about to pull off the most underwhelming heist in history.

Twenty-five thousand dollars? Sure, sounds easy.

I headed straight for the bar with its over-the-top disco balls reflecting light in every direction. Behind the counter, three bartenders—a blonde, a redhead, and a brunette—were busy serving drinks, their eyes briefly flicking to me as I approached.

Fighting back a wave of revulsion, I knocked back four lemon shots in rapid succession. The burn was sharp, each one worse than the last. The girls watched me for a moment, eyebrows raised as if expecting a meltdown, but quickly returned to their work, unphased.

Alright, Caia. You got this.

Just… make it fast, get the hell out of here, and try not to get caught.

A night in jail doesn't exactly sound like a fun way to spend the evening.

I pressed my back to the bar and let my eyes scan the room, a parade of decadence and excess. Classy, over-the-top dressed men and women were mingling, each one a caricature of glamour. Silas's monsters, politicians, entertainers, models, and businessmen were scattered around, laughing and playing poker, blackjack, roulette, craps, and slots.

The air was thick with smoke, and here and there, people were discreetly doing lines off their expensive surfaces. All of it was accompanied by the low hum of light jazz that seemed to float above us.

I had to find a prime target—a man I could manipulate quickly and effectively to get what I needed.

As I scanned the room, a tingling sense of unease prickled at the back of my neck. I felt eyes on me and turned my head to the side, locking onto a tall figure making his way toward me. His blond hair was slicked back, and his dark eyes glinted with a hungry glint. The tuxedo he wore was impeccably tailored, clinging to his frame in all the right ways. He approached with a slow, deliberate stride, a deep, confident smile stretching across his face.

Bingo.

"How can such a beautiful lady like you be left alone at the bar?"

I couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. "She's obviously waiting for you."

His smile widened, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. "Francesco Ricci. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

Ah, Italian. Of course.

"Anastasia Bolkiev."

No chance I'm giving this guy my real name. Too risky.

He took my hand with a confident, practiced grace and pressed his lips to the back of it. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a flush creep up my neck. "A pleasure to meet you, Anastasia."

I met his gaze with a coy smile.

He handed me a glass of champagne, the bubbles tickling my fingers, and a plump strawberry floating seductively on the surface. "Well, you've found me, so please allow me the pleasure of introducing myself properly."

He extended his arm, and I slid mine around it, letting my fingers brush against his. His scent—rich, expensive, and dangerously mysterious—wafted around me.

We moved towards a poker table, his confidence practically a physical force that commanded attention. As we walked, I glanced around nervously, hoping not to attract too many curious eyes. I subtly adjusted my hair to partially shield my face.

He pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. I slid into the seat, and he made a show of helping me get comfortable, his hand lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

He settled into the chair beside me, close enough that our knees brushed. His voice dropped to a teasing whisper. "So, Anastatia, now that I've got you all to myself, tell me—what's your idea of a perfect night? I'm guessing it's not just playing nice with a stranger at a poker table."

I tilted my head, letting a playful smile slip onto my face. "Well, that depends on whether the stranger is charming enough to make the evening interesting."

And let me steal 25 grand from him.

Francesco's eyes sparkled with a sense of challenge as he leaned in. "Charming, you say? I must say, I'm quite skilled at keeping things interesting. Care to put that theory to the test?" He took a slow sip from his champagne glass, his gaze never leaving mine, daring me to take the bait.

Before I could say another word, the deep rumble of the bouncer's voice filled the air, announcing the start of the game.

My gaze snapped up, following the sound. And then—NO freaking way.

I froze, my blood running cold as my eyes locked onto the man sitting directly across from us.

Lucifer himself, leaning back casually, his hands resting on the poker table, those cold, blue, merciless eyes fixated on Mr. Italian Playboy beside me.

I blanched. Of all the gin joints, of all the poker tables in this hellhole of a casino, it had to be him —the one person I couldn't afford to cross paths with tonight.

Francesco's hand, completely unwanted, slid to my chin, his fingers caressing my cheek as if he hadn't just pulled us into a lion's den. "Something wrong?"

I stiffened under his touch, barely holding back the urge to slap his hand away. My eyes darted back to Lucifer, who looked like he was about five seconds away from ripping Francesco apart.

"Oh, nothing," I muttered, forcing a smile. "Let's play."

Francesco's lips curved into a satisfied smile, far too pleased with himself. "I'll bet 15 grand for the lady," he winked.

I felt my pulse spike, my chest tightening as the bouncer handed him his chips. I tried to keep my eyes focused on the table, but my fingers were fidgeting uncontrollably in my lap. The chips were piling up in front of me, taunting me, while the weight of Romaniev's dark chuckle across the table had my heart racing.

Damn him and his plan to ruin my life every chance he gets.

Why the hell is he even here?

Then it dawned on me—it was the Silas' casino after all. Of course, he'd show up.

I could feel the sweat starting to bead on my chest, my hair sticking slightly to the back of my neck.

This was going to be impossible. Stealing from Francesco had already been a nerve-wracking challenge. But with Romaniev right here? My brain was practically screaming at me to cut my losses and run.

This was going to be like threading a needle while being hunted by a wolf.

Fantastic.

"I'll bet 50."

The crowd that had gathered around the table reacted with a mix of gasps, claps, and clinking glasses, the noise blending into a cacophony of excitement and disbelief. My gaze, almost against my will, slid over to Romaniev.

He raised his glass, taking a swift gulp before slamming it back down on the table with a sharp clink. His eyes locked onto mine with a smoldering fury that was downright terrifying. The way he looked at me made it clear he wasn't just pissed—he was out for blood.

Francesco, sensing the thick tension in the air, tried to lighten the mood with a smirk. "Well, looks like we're really getting the party started, aren't we?" His voice was dripping with mockery, and the room erupted in laughter. It was a cheap shot, but it worked—everyone else laughed, clinking glasses and exchanging amused glances. Except me and Romaniev.

The room felt suddenly too small, too suffocating.

As the dealer shuffled the cards and dealt them out, my mind was racing faster than the dealer's hands. I glanced around, calculating how far I was from the exit. I was trying to stay cool, but with Romaniev lurking like a shadow over us, staying calm was easier said than done.

Francesco was flaunting his chips like he was king of the casino, but his eyes betrayed him—nervous, like a kid who's just realized he's forgotten his homework on test day. Every bet and raise felt like they were slowly tightening the screws on my sanity.

When the final hand was revealed, the room seemed to collectively hold its breath.

Francesco's earlier swagger had turned into a full-blown panic attack. The guy was now all tight lips and fidgeting fingers. Romaniev, on the other hand, had a face as cold and unfeeling as a glacier, with a glint in his eyes that said he was enjoying this way too much.

Romaniev pushed a massive stack of chips into the center of the table. Francesco hesitated, clearly struggling with the crushing weight of his own misplaced confidence.

With a resigned sigh, he shoved his own stack forward, meeting Lucifer's bet.

When the final cards were revealed, it felt like I was watching a slasher flick's goriest scene.

Lucifer had won, of course. He leaned back in his chair, looking like a sadistic chess master. Damn it, Romaniev! My stomach churned as I watched him bask in his victory. I was stuck here, caught in the crossfire of his sinful game, with my whole plan going up in flames.

I shot up from my chair, my heart pounding as if I'd been caught in a trap.

I weaved through the crowd, snatching a last glass of champagne and chugging it like it was either my ticket out of this mess or a delicious poison that'd finally set me free. The sharp, fizzy sting of the alcohol did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside me.

As I descended the stairs, my high heels clacked loudly, each step amplifying my growing panic. I tilted my head back, trying to pull my thoughts together, when suddenly, a rough hand gripped my arm and yanked me off balance. My skin crawled as I was dragged down a dark hallway, each shadow feeling like it was out to get me.

I barely had a second to register the barely lit room I was shoved into before the door slammed shut behind me.

He flicked on the light, but I kept my back turned because, let's be real, even the brightest lights couldn't burn Lucifer out of existence.

The muffled sounds of the party faded into nothingness, swallowed by the heavy, oppressive silence of the room, punctuated only by his deep, steady breathing. I could practically feel the heat radiating from him, making the space feel unbearably tight.

The room, however, was anything but tight. It was enormous, dominated by a huge round table surrounded by at least twenty chairs. This had to be where the Silas plotted their brilliant schemes—scamming the clueless and crushing the hopeful.

"Are you really this dumb, or do you just get off on making me lose my shit?"

I stayed silent, arms crossed, my heels clicking against the floor. He closed the distance, step by step, until his breath was warm against my neck.

"One night you're begging me to kiss you, and the next, I find you in my own damn casino with some random bastard's hands all over you." His lips brushed against my ear, the sensation sending a surge of heat deep between my legs. The warmth of his breath was a stark contrast to the icy venom in his words.

His fingers slid possessively around my hips, pulling me closer until I could feel the searing heat of his body through the thin fabric of my dress. My eyes fluttered shut. His lips brushed along my neck, and all I wanted was to turn around and feel the devil's lips on mine again.

"I knew you were a tease, baby," he murmured, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin behind my ear. "But I didn't know you were also a whore."

I shot my eyes open and shoved myself away from him, slamming a good distance between us before turning around to face him. My chest was heaving, breaths coming in short, angry gasps.

"You freaking bastard," I spat, my hands clenched into fists. "Are you seriously this twisted?"

He took a step closer.

I took a step back.

His eyes darkened. "Am I wrong, Caia?"

Anger surged up my throat, almost choking me. "I hate you."

His mouth twitched.

He took another step closer, and I instinctively moved back again.

"What the hell are you doing in my casino, in the middle of the night, with some Italian bastard all over you?" He took a step closer, and I backed up until I hit the wall. "Is he the husband you're trying to bag, or just another loser you're whoring yourself out to?"

I let out a dark, almost malicious laugh. "Thought you had me all figured out? Guess you don't get Francesco's appeal, but if I were actually going to whore myself out, I'd pick someone like him over you any day. I wouldn't touch you again even with a stick, considering how repulsive you are."

His hands slammed against the wall on either side of my head, his eyes so dark they seemed like voids swallowing up any hint of blue. This was the monster in his true form—the killer he really was.

I reached up, letting my finger trace along his tight, chiseled jawline. It felt like running my finger against a razor.

I rose on my tiptoes, my lips brushing his ear.

"You wanna know why I ran from your place last night?" I whispered, my hands sliding down to his chest, nails digging into his suit like claws, desperate for support or maybe just to hurt him back. "It's because you're so fucking disgusting, I couldn't stand being near you for another second. I had to get out and never look back."

I wasn't the type to curse before—not like this. But Lucifer had stirred something in me, something dark and twisted that I hadn't realized was buried deep inside. It was terrifying, sure. But in a way, it was freeing too, like releasing a demon I didn't know I had. And once it was out, there was no turning back.

A rough, guttural sound tore from his chest as he pushed himself off the wall, his cheeks burning red, that thick vein in his neck pulsing like it was about to burst. His whole body was trembling with barely contained rage, his eyes narrowing on me like he was ready to snap any second.

"Watch it, Caia," he said, his voice low, almost too controlled—dangerously controlled. "You don't wanna push me right now."

I should've listened.

I should've walked out that door, faced my father's wrath for not getting the precious money he needed, and just gone on with my night.

But the fire inside me had already been lit, and there was no stopping it now.

"Push? Romaniev, I'm not just pushing—I'm shoving the truth right in your face," I whispered, stepping forward. "Because anything you could do? It wouldn't come close to the agony of standing here, breathing the same air as you."

With a low, vicious curse slipping from his lips, Romaniev closed the gap between us in a heartbeat. His hands gripped me roughly, spinning me around before pressing me hard against the wall. The air was knocked out of my lungs as his body pressed into mine, his heat suffocating, his hand clutching the back of my neck.

His other hand slid down, grabbing the hem of my dress and yanking it up, his fingers grazing my skin in a way that sent unwanted sparks of heat through me. But I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. Not now.

I twisted, trying to get myself out of his grip. "Get off me," I spat, my breath ragged.

His mouth was at my ear in a flash. "Take it back," he growled. "Right now ."

His tone was a command, a force of nature that would make anyone else crumble. But not me. My pulse raced, but it wasn't fear; it was a surge of pure, defiant loathing.

I braced myself against the wall, taking a deep breath, and angled my head just enough to meet his gaze.

"Why?" I sneered, letting a dark, sarcastic smile curve my lips. "I'm just reminding you what a disgusting bastard you are."

His grip tightened around my neck, and before I could react, a searing slap landed on my bare ass. The impact was so fierce it made me cry out, the sting radiating through my body. His hand lingered there, not just resting but deliberately caressing the wounded skin, his fingers brushing the edge of my thong with a cruel, taunting touch.

"Take it back, Caia."

"In your dreams," I shot back, feeling the words burn as they left my lips.

He let out a dark and rough chuckle before slamming his hand against my ass, twice—harder than before. The sharp sting of the impact left a fiery imprint on my skin, and I could feel the heat radiating from where he'd slapped me.

The pain was so intense I bit my lip, hard, feeling the sharp bite of my own teeth and the metallic taste of blood.

But then something shamefully humiliating and unmistakably wet dripped down the side of my legs. I couldn't lie to myself—I was undeniably turned on.

As Romaniev pressed his body harder against me, his thick, throbbing erection pressing into the curve of my back, it was painfully obvious he was turned on too.

His fingers moved even slower, teasingly deliberate, as if savoring every second of my humiliation. They slid lower, grazing the inside of my thighs until they reached that shameful wetness between my legs. He paused, pressing his finger against me, just enough to make sure I knew he felt it—knew exactly how much my body was betraying me.

"Still not taking it back?" he sneered as he shoved a finger deep inside me, no warning.

I shook my head, stubborn even now, and squeezed my eyes shut. My hands dug into the wall, bracing myself, waiting for whatever punishment he had in store. I refused to give him the satisfaction of my surrender, even though every part of me knew it was coming, knew it was going to hurt—just like I wanted it to.

He bit into the side of my neck, sharp enough to sting before ripping his finger out of me. My breath caught, but it was barely a second before he slapped my ass—hard, fast, three times, each one rougher than the last.

My legs shook, and then two fingers shoved back inside me, deeper this time, stretching me in a way that made my body tremble. A moan slipped free before I could stop it.

He thrust his fingers into me, deep and rough. "You're such a fucking mess, Caia."

He pounded his fingers into me, fast and hard, while his other hand shoved deep into my throat, making me choke on the pressure. Everything felt like too much—too hot, too cramped, too damn overwhelming. My body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming as I came harder than I ever thought possible, a desperate cry slipping from my lips.

I barely had a second to breathe before Lucifer shoved me around and slammed my back against the wall, closing the gap between us. His eyes were ice-cold, but there was a flicker in them—something sharp and cutting that felt a lot like loathing.

He grabbed my chin with a grip that was almost painfully tight, his mouth hovering just above mine. The air between us crackled with a different kind of heat now.

He brought his finger—still slick and glistening—right to my lips.

"Lick it."

I was still buzzing from my orgasm, feeling overwhelmed by his body pressing me into the wall. The way he loomed over me, his height making me feel utterly small, mixed with his heady scent, had me dizzy. I couldn't escape it; I was totally at his mercy.

Don't give in, Caia!

But my body had other ideas. I opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue, and slowly dragged it across his finger. The taste of myself was sharp, intimate, and oh so sinful. I kept my eyes locked on his, trying to read that unreadable look.

He watched me with a dark, hungry look as I sucked his fingers.

A desperate moan slipped out, and my cheeks flushed hot.

Gosh, I want more. I need more.

He let out a scoff. "Pathetic and desperate."

What?

His words sliced through the air, each one sharp and cruel. He pulled his hand away and turned his back, but not before throwing me a final, cold glance.

"If I see another man's hands on you tonight," he said, his voice a chilling whisper, "I'll make sure to find him, rip his fucking hands off, and shove them down your throat. Don't ever test me again."

As his threat settled into the room, I felt my whole body freeze.

I watched him walk out; the door slamming shut behind him.

Oh, Cai. What have you done?