🖤 Chapter Two: Mine — Even If You Deny It
I thought I was invisible. I thought no one would notice me.
I didn't know I'd caught the eye of a monster.
I arrived early.
Dressed in the tight black waitress uniform, I looked nothing like myself—nothing like the girl who sat quietly in the corner of the mafia's empire last week, pretending to be small, unnoticed. The fishnet stockings scratched my skin, and the heels they forced me into bit into the soles of my feet, but none of it mattered. Tonight wasn't about comfort. It was about baiting a monster.
He hadn't noticed me in person yet—not the way I needed him to. But he saw the footage.
I knew because his eyes, dark and glinting like storm-lit glass, found me in a crowd full of women dressed to tempt devils. He didn't blink. Didn't speak. He just watched me.
My stomach twisted. This was what I wanted, right?
I had used Pisham like a pawn, and now, the king had taken the board.
The club pulsed with low music and darker secrets. I moved between tables, holding a silver tray with empty glasses, pretending to be nervous—but I wasn't nervous. I was burning inside. I could feel him watching me from the VIP section upstairs. That private booth where no one else was allowed to look. But I felt him.
Every step I took, his gaze followed me like a leash tightening around my neck.
"Table twelve," the bartender grunted, nodding at a group of drunk men waving cash.
I approached with a forced smile, but my eyes flicked to the glass balcony above. He was still there—his silhouette barely visible through the smoked glass. Watching. Waiting.
The men were loud, obnoxious. One of them tried to slap my ass. I moved just enough for his hand to miss.
"You scared?" he laughed.
"No," I said, coldly.
They didn't matter. Nothing mattered—until I felt it.
That presence.
Turning, I caught a glimpse of him descending the stairs, flanked by two men. One of them was Pisham—his eyes swollen, his lip bruised. But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking away.
The mafia boss—my enemy—stopped at the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked to mine. And the entire room shifted.
Every conversation died. Even the music felt quieter.
He moved toward me like a shadow with weight, slow and deliberate. His eyes never left mine.
I didn't blink.
I couldn't.
"You."
His voice was silk stretched over a blade. Everyone heard it. But he was only speaking to me.
He came so close, I could smell his cologne—rich, musky, intoxicating like old money and secrets. I kept my breath steady, but my heart was going mad.
"You think I wouldn't notice?" he said softly, tilting his head. "The way you were with Pisham?"
The tray in my hands trembled.
"I don't know what you mean," I whispered.
He laughed once—low and humorless. Then leaned closer. "My employees don't touch what's mine."
My throat dried. "I didn't touch anyone."
"Liar."
He reached out, one finger under my chin, lifting my face.
"I watched you," he murmured. "You're either very brave or very stupid."
I stared back, letting my eyes glisten. "Maybe I'm just curious."
His jaw clenched. The tension snapped between us like lightning about to strike.
He turned to Pisham behind him.
"She's not your type, right?" he asked coldly.
Pisham's face was unreadable. "No."
Liar.
He stepped back.
"Come," he ordered me.
I followed.
Through private hallways, down to the hidden part of the club few knew existed. He unlocked a door with his fingerprint and pushed it open to reveal a private suite—dimly lit, luxurious, dangerous.
Once inside, he didn't speak. He just poured himself a drink and sat.
I stood there like an offering.
"Take off the apron."
I hesitated.
"Now."
I obeyed.
He watched, sipping his whiskey slowly, eyes trailing over me like he was measuring how much I could take before breaking.
"You intrigue me," he said finally. "I don't like that."
"Then let me go."
His smile was slow and terrifying.
"No."
He stood and walked toward me again, this time slower, like a lion circling prey.
"Tell me why you're here," he demanded. "And don't insult me with lies."
"I needed a job."
"You had one. You were working in my tower. Now you're here. Same face. Same scent."
He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear.
"You don't work here. You're playing a game."
I shivered.
"Maybe," I whispered. "But aren't you enjoying it?"
He slammed the glass down on the table. Shards flew. I didn't flinch.
"Don't play with me," he growled.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Then you're a fool."
He stepped closer, hand grabbing the back of my neck, forcing my gaze to his.
"I don't know what you want yet," he murmured. "But you're not walking away from this. You should've stayed invisible."
I stared back, lips trembling.
"Then punish me."
His breath hitched. A flicker of something darker passed through his eyes. Lust. Rage. Obsession.
Then—
A loud bang shattered the moment.
Gunshots.
Screams.
The sound of chaos erupting upstairs.
He grabbed my wrist, dragging me to the corner.
"Stay down!" he barked, pulling out his gun.
The door burst open and one of his men stumbled in—bleeding, barely alive.
"They're here!" the man cried. "Glushem gang—they breached the back!"
I froze.
Glushem.
They weren't supposed to move this fast.
I watched as the mafia boss turned into a different person. Cold. Efficient. Deadly.
"Kill every last one," he ordered.
He didn't look back at me. But as the gunfire started outside the door, he did something unexpected.
He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders.
"You're mine," he said quietly. "No one touches what's mine."
And in that moment—blood in the air, screams echoing through the club—I knew…
I wasn't invisible anymore.
I was trapped in his grip.
Exactly where I needed to be.