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Giving me a look like he's trying to figure something out, Atlas waves toward his man. A moment later, the door shuts with a soft bang. I don't see it. My eyes are fixed on Atlas, and I watch him like he's a cobra and I'm a mongoose.
I am not helpless, but neither am I foolish enough to dismiss the danger my deceitfulex-lover represents.
Not anymore. I should have listened to my instincts about the danger I sensed lurking around him. How did I trust him enough to tie me up and blindfold me?
We didn't just do it once either. Atlas showed up one night with a pair of leather cuffs and I let him use them on me. More than once. I have to swallow back bile again at the memories.
He's mafia. A criminal.
He probably has more blood on his hands than Tino ever did. Because Atlas doesn't run nightclubs. Unless I'm badly mistaken…again…he runs the protection racket. Like my dad.
These men are his collections team. They're here to set upprotectionfor my club, for a price. Like my dad and his men did to so many businesses in Detroit, probably still do.
"Are you okay,ílios mou?"
"Don't call me that." My fingernails dig painfully into my palms with my hands fisted at my sides to stop them shaking. "I am not your sun."
Though I sure illuminated plenty for him. I see everything so clearly now and the need to vomit increases.
He's been using me to get information on the area, the businesses, and my club. And all the time I took his interest as proof of his affection and respect, when in fact, it is the opposite.
"Introduce me to your friend," I say.
With a frown Atlas, steps toward me, like he's going to come around the desk.
Panic screeches through me and I lift one hand in a stopping gesture. "Don't come near me."
Atlas has the effrontery to look wounded. If I had a knife right now, I'd really wound him. I'd cut out his black heart and let it die right next to mine.
The other man rubs his hand over his closely cropped black hair, a gold pinkie ring glinting under the light. "Maybe I should go out in the hall with Bobby and Michael."
But I shake my head vehemently. "No. You stay."
The man looks toward Atlas who gives a miniscule jerk of his head. Watching me like I'm a dangerous animal set to attack, the man takes a seat in the chair furthest from my desk.
"Introduce me." I jerk my head toward the other man in case Atlas is in any doubt who I'm referring to.
"This is Theo, Lucia, a fr—"
"I know what he is," I interrupt. "I just didn't knowwhohe is."
The fizzy bubbles of happiness have all popped, leaving my insides hollow and my heart aching.
He does not smile, and I wonder if any of his smiles were ever real. His gaze is unemotional, and I know the warmth I thought I saw there was fake.
There's no point in dragging this out. "How much?" I ask.
His glacial blue eyes flare with surprise, like he's shocked I realize why he's here. He doesn't have to give me the spiel. I've heard it all before from the other side.
"What's the name of your outfit?" I ask, pain and fury a dangerous cocktail inside of me.
I want to hit him.
But you don't strike out at made men unless you're prepared for them to strike back, twice as hard.
When he looks at me with confusion, I say, "Syndicate. Mafia. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. I've never heard of the Rokos Mafia."
I would have remembered if I had, and it would have saved me a lot of pain. And even more disappointment. If only he had told me what he wanted from the start. Why did he have to use me like he did?
