DANTE POV
The man asking for his life was starting to bore me.
"Please, Mr. Morelli. I can get you the money. Just give me two more weeks. I swear—"
"You swore last month too," I said, not looking up from the purchase report on my desk. "And the month before that. Your promises are worthless, Marcus."
Marcus Chen—no relation to my enforcer Ghost, thank God—had borrowed three million to expand his gambling business. He'd promised a return within six months. That was fourteen months ago.
I hated broken promises.
"I have a daughter," Marcus whimpered. "She's only seven. If you kill me—"
"Then you should have thought about her before you stole from me." I finally looked up, letting him see the nothingness in my eyes. The place where normal people kept kindness. "Ghost, handle this. Quietly."
My enforcer stepped forward from the darkness. Marcus's screams faded as Ghost dragged him toward the service lift. I'd learned a long time ago not to conduct business where the blood might stain the rugs.
The apartment fell silent again. Peaceful.
I returned to my papers, but the numbers blurred together. Everything blurred together lately. Acquisitions, eliminations, expansions—it was all the same. Build the kingdom. Prove my worth. Show the world that the kid who grew up in a roach-infested room could own the whole damn city.
But God, I was bored.
"Dante."
I looked up to find Victor Kane standing in the doorway, silver hair perfectly styled as always, holding another stack of folders. My consigliere. My best friend. The man who'd helped me build this kingdom from nothing. "The Armitage acquisition is complete," Victor said, settling into the chair across from me. "All patents transferred, study data secured, existing contracts dissolved. The company's being gutted as we speak."
I nodded, vaguely remembering signing something about drugs last month. Or was it two months ago? Victor handled these details. I just approved them.
"Any problems?"
"None. The owner killed himself before he could cause trouble. Daughter's in jail for theft. The wife and stepdaughter cooperated fully in exchange for settlement money." Victor smiled. "Clean process. Profitable."
Something about that felt wrong. A man killing himself. A kid in jail. But I pushed the feeling away. Business was business. The weak got crushed. That's how the world worked.
"Good. What's next?"
Victor slid another folder across the desk. "Three shipping companies in Brooklyn. One tech company in Manhattan. And a restaurant company that's been laundering money for the Russians. I'd recommend—"
"No." I closed the folder without looking at it. "I don't care. You decide."
Victor's eyebrows rose. "You feeling alright, boss?"
"I'm fine." But I wasn't. I was thirty-five years old, king of New York's underworld, richer than God, and absolutely empty inside. "Just tired of the same pattern. Buy company. Destroy competition. Count money. Repeat."
"That's the business."
"That's the problem."
Before Victor could reply, Ghost returned, wiping his hands on a cloth. He moved like his nickname suggested—silent, deadly, almost unnoticeable until he wanted to be seen. Half-Chinese, half-something else he never talked about, with white-blond hair that made him look like death's personal helper.
"It's done," Ghost said simply.
"Good." I stood, suddenly restless. Trapped in my own success. "What else is happening tonight?"
Ghost and Victor exchanged looks.
"There's an auction at the Crimson Rose," Ghost said slowly. "We weren't going to attend. It's not really your thing anymore."
The Crimson Rose. Underground auction house where New York's elite bought things that couldn't be purchased officially. Art, weapons, facts. People.
I'd been a regular three years ago. Back when collecting beautiful things helped fill the hole. But lately, even that had lost its attraction. I'd buy someone, keep them for a few weeks, get bored, and let them go. Nothing held my interest anymore.
"What's on the block tonight?"
"Usual stuff," Victor said with a shrug. "Some bankrupt assets. High-quality goods, according to my sources. But Dante, you haven't kept anyone longer than a month in years. Why waste your time?"
He was right. I went through things like other people went through tissue paper. Use once, trash, forget.
But the option was sitting in this penthouse, reviewing papers, watching the city I'd conquered and feeling nothing.
"I'm going," I decided. "Maybe I'll find something interesting."
Ghost sighed. "I'll bring the car around."
The Crimson Rose ran out of a converted warehouse in Brooklyn. From outside, it looked abandoned. Inside, it was a cathedral of sin where the rich and powerful gathered to indulge their darkest desires.
I walked through the door with Ghost at my side. Heads turned. Conversations paused. This was my world—where my name carried more weight than God's.
"Mr. Morelli," the host greeted me, nearly bowing. "We're honored by your attendance. Would you like a private viewing room?"
"No. I'll stay on the main floor."
I wanted to see the despair up close tonight. Wanted to feel something, even if it was just the sick satisfaction of watching people sell their souls for life.
The sale started with art. A stolen Monet went for two million. Then weapons—military-grade gear that would end up in a war zone somewhere. I barely paid attention.
Then the host's voice changed, taking on a tone that made the room lean forward with attention.
"Gentlemen, our closing item tonight is particularly special. Twenty-five years old, highly schooled, former pharmaceutical executive. Starting bid: one million dollars."
A woman walked onto the stage.
And everything in my chest stopped.
She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made men start wars. Platinum blonde hair falling past her shoulders. Ice-blue eyes that should have looked scared but instead looked... calculating. She wore a simple red dress and stood with her chin up, bold even in chains.
But it wasn't her looks that caught me.
It was the way she looked straight at me.
Not through me, not past me—at me. Like she was searching for something special. Like she knew exactly who I was.
Our eyes locked across the busy room, and I felt something I hadn't felt in years.
Interest.
"Two million," someone called out.
"Three million," another voice replied.
The bidding war exploded around me, but I couldn't look away from her. She was still looking at me, and there was something in those ice-blue eyes. Something sharp. Dangerous.
She wasn't a victim.
She was a threat.
"Five million," I heard myself say.
The room went quiet. Five million was crazy for a debt slave. Everyone knew I'd get bored in a month. This was ridiculous.
But I couldn't stop looking at her, and she couldn't stop staring at me, and I suddenly wanted to know what secrets lived behind those cold, beautiful eyes.
"Five million going once," the host called. "Going twice—"
"Six million!" A rival boss from Queens stood up, staring at me. "She's mine, Morelli."
Wrong answer.
I stood, letting my presence fill the room. Letting everyone remember exactly who owned this place.
"Ten million."
Gasps spread through the crowd. The rival boss sat down, pale and angry but smart enough not to challenge me further.
"Ten million going once... twice... sold to Mr. Morelli!"
The room erupted in applause and whispered discussion. I'd just paid ten million for a woman I'd probably ditch in a month. They thought I was crazy.
Maybe I was.
But as they led her off the stage, she looked back at me one last time. And she smiled.
It wasn't a grateful smile. It wasn't a seductive smile.
It was the smile of a hunter who'd just caught exactly what she was hunting.
Ghost leaned close to my ear. "Boss, there's something you should know about her. That's—"
"I don't care who she was," I interrupted, unable to look away from where she'd disappeared backstage. "She's mine now."
But Ghost's next words made my blood run cold.
"That's Celeste Armitage. Daughter of the pharmaceutical company boss. The one Victor said killed himself. " The one I'd ruined.
And I'd just bought her for ten million dollars.
I turned to find Victor standing at the back of the room, watching me with a look I couldn't read.
He smiled and raised his glass in a quiet toast.
And for the first time in years, I felt something close to fear.
What had I just done?