The fire in Adrian's study crackled; its warmth doesn't reach me. The glow danced across the facial contours of Adrian, carving him into something sharp and merciless. The picture of my brother lay on the desk between us-an anchor for the dread tightening in my chest.
Not having spoken a word since accepting to "play his game." The phrase now tasted particularly poisonous in my mouth.
Adrian reclined in his chair as he watched me like those predators who have already known that their prey was cornered. "You're silent," he said, swirling the whiskey about in his tumbler. "Thinking of a lie worth telling?"
I forced my voice to stay steady. "Thinking about how much I hate you."
"Hatred is useful," he said smirking slightly but genuinely, "it means at least you care enough to feel something.
"You want me to feel something for you?" I scoffed. "You have my brother tied up in some warehouse like-".
His glass hit the desk with a resounding thud. Like collateral? Because that's exactly what he is."
The bluntness made my stomach twist. "If you hurt him-" "You'll what? Adrian's tone didn't rise, but the quiet threat in it pressed down like a hand on my throat. "You have no leverage, Elena. And yet… here you are, still breathing. Ask yourself why."
As a matter of fact, he was the answer to the question I hated asking myself.
He stood up and strolled over to me from over the study desk, moving with leisurely grace. The air shifted-thicker, heavier-when he stopped next to me, crouching down so that he was looking directly into my eyes.
"I could have had you killed the night you stepped into my territory," he said, voice low. "But I didn't. Do you know why?"
I kept my chin held high, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of fear. "Because you enjoy it?"
"Because," he murmured while looking at me, "you walked into the middle of a war I'm fighting… carrying information you shouldn't have."
My pulse spiked. "I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about."
His fingers grazed my chin, tilting my face toward the light." You're carrying someone's message. I can see it in your eyes every time I mention the docks."
My breath stopped. The letter.
He saw it- my hesitance, my flicker of panic. "There it is," he said more softly, almost to himself. "The truth."
I tried to stand, but his hand pressed to my shoulder, keeping me in place-not rough, but unyielding. "Who gave it to you?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," he said. "Because that message didn't come from just anyone. It came from someone who knows the Devil's Oath."
The way he said it, like it was both a curse and a crown, sent a shiver through me.
"What is it?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He smiled, slow and dangerous. "An agreement. A blood vow that built this city's underworld. My family's legacy." His eyes darkened. "And the reason people like me don't stay alive without spilling a lot of blood."
"And you think my brother-"
"I think," he interrupted, "your brother stumbled into something he couldn't understand. And now you are here, with that same dangerous little spark in your eyes, pretending you're not already part of it."
I swallowed hard. "So what now? You kill us both?"
His hand fell from my shoulder, and he straightened, towering above me. "No, Elena. I don't want you dead. Not yet."
The yet hung in the air like a blade.
"But I do want something," he added.
"Of course you do," I mumbled.
He ignored it. "You're going to stay here. You're going to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. And when I tell you to move, you'll move."
"And if I don't?"
His smirk returned, but much colder this time. "Then I start sending you pieces of your brother until you understand."
My stomach rolled. He said that like it wasn't a threat-just a fact.
I stood, my voice shaking with both rage and defiance. "You think you can control me because you have him? That you can make me into one of your pieces on your stupid chessboard?"
Adrian was almost close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. "No, Elena. I think I can make you into a player."
The words threw me. "Why?"
"Because you already are," he said, almost like it was an inevitability. "You just don't realize it yet."
For a long moment, we just stared at each other, casting us both in flickering gold and shadow. Something in his gaze shifted-still sharp, still dangerous, but… different. Like he was seeing me not just as leverage, but as a weapon he might actually want at his side.
Then he took a step back. "Get some sleep. You're going to need it."
"For what?" I asked.
He glanced over his shoulder on his way out. "For tomorrow. The game changes."
I didn't sleep.
Every creak in the penthouse kept me alert, every shadow across the wall made me wonder if this was the night he decided I wasn't worth the trouble. But deeper than that was a question I didn't want to admit: if Adrian was the devil in this game… why did part of me want to understand him?
When dawn finally broke through, the rain had stopped. The city, under it, was held gleaming by a pale cold light. The guards outside my door made no move to stop my exit into the hall, following the scent of coffee and something darker-gun oil, maybe.
Adrian stood in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up while he loaded bullets into a magazine-his occupation early in the morning.
"Coffees on the counter," Adrian said, hardly tearing his eyes from what he was doing.
I poured myself a cup, watching him. "So what's happening today?"
He clicked the magazine into place and finally caught my gaze. "Today, little dove, you're going to see exactly why they call me the devil."
Something told me I wasn't ready.