I want to scream. I want to flip this table and demand he stop speaking in riddles. I want to grab his perfectly pressed collar and shake him until real words fall out.
Instead, I lean forward. "I met you once before the club.Once.At the Moretti gala. You kissed my hand and I ran away. That's it. That's our entire history before you cornered me at Nexus."
"Yes."
"So what the hell happened in that thirty seconds that made you decide I was worth this much effort?"
Dmitri is quiet for a long moment. The candle between us flickers, casting shadows across his scarred eyebrow.
"You looked at me," he says finally. "And then you ran. I've had women throw themselves at my name," Dmitri continues. "At my power. At what I represent. You ran from all of it. And I couldn't stop thinking about why."
"So this is... what? A challenge? You want me because I said no?"
"I want you because you're the first woman who made mewantto be wanted."
Oh, I'm fucked.
I'm so completely, catastrophically fucked.
Because that answer?
It's exactly what I needed to hear.
Dmitri
Vittoria eats in silence.
She cuts her filet into precise, tiny pieces. Takes small bites. Chews slowly. Her eyes stay fixed on her plate.
I scared her.
Good. She should be scared. I meant every word.
But watching her retreat into herself makes me have this unfamiliar sensation. I’m feeling uncomfortable. I don't like it.
I take a sip of wine. Wait.
This is how I operate. I don't chase. I don't explain myself. I state facts and let them settle. If she can't handle the truth of what I am, better she learns now than after we're bound together.
But the silence stretches. Her fork scrapes. She doesn't look up.
"You're not eating," she finally says. Her voice is flat. Controlled.
"I'm not hungry."
Another bite. Another scrape. Her jaw works as she chews.
"How are you doing it?"
I set down my glass. "Doing what?"
Now she looks up.
"Stalking me." She sets her fork down. "I checked our systems. Every camera, every feed, every access point. Nothing. No breaches, no suspicious pings, no digital footprint." Herfingers tap against the white tablecloth. "I thought maybe you'd found a way in I couldn't trace. Some zero-day exploit, some backdoor I missed. But there's nothing."
Pride flickers through me. She's good. Better than good. She's brilliant.
"So it has to be human intelligence," she continues. "Someone inside. But I've run facial recognition on every person who's entered the compound in the past month. Cross-referenced them against known Bratva associates. Nothing."
