BECOMING HIS OBSESSION

THALIA POV "Thalia" I snap my gaze up at the sound of my name. His face remains neutral-no anger, no satisfaction. Just dark pitch eyes. "And neither of us needs the money." He continues while I steady my heart that's in overdrive. Gun to my head He knows my name. I hold my breath, forcing calm into my racing pulse. How much else does he know? Nope. Damien probably told him. On paper and internet I'm a normal student who launders Trustfund Orio presses the gun harder. Gun. The few people remaining in the lounge rush out. "Don is here!" "Viper lane strikes again!" Words and screams muffling into each other If this turns to a gunfight, would it be smart to use mine? "You blew your cover? a six years careful revenge over chess game?!" The shrill voice of Marcus makes me shudder. I can imagine his words and heat. Even Vaughn's disappointment flash through my mind. No. Marcus and Vaughn would kill me themselves if they found out I'd blown my cover over this. I only wanted to rattle him, see if he was as volatile as the reports suggested. Now I'm about to get executed over a chess game. "I don't know what you mean, but I do need the money." A lie. I need something far more valuable-access. He leans closer. My pulse hammers as his nose grazes my skin, his cheek pressing against my neck. I expect words, threats, something. Instead, he just breathes me in. Slow. Deliberate. Taking me in like I'm evidence. Then he pulls back, removing the gun from my temple and settling into his seat as he lights a fresh cigarette. By my count-that's his sixth tonight. "You say you need money," smoke curls between us as he studies me, "but your leather isn't cheap." The flame casts sharp shadows across his features. "And? Some of us want more." His eyes narrow, his cigarette stick in place between his plump lips. But there's something else beneath the scrutiny-a current I can't quite name. "What kind of debt are you in, pretty doll?" There it is. He's profiling me, searching for leverage. "Why? Want to be my pimp?" Laughter erupts from my left. I took in this place to know it's Damien, he sits in the shadows, eating prawns with a grin that hasn't left his face since Carlos dragged me here. Carlos's expression doesn't change. We hold each other's stare until he dumps his cigarette for a cuba & Orio lights it "Okay, pretty doll, what do you want?" I don't need to think, I know what I want "You didn't take this long to state your terms earlier," Damien adds, his first words since they sat me down. "Pretty. Doll." Carlos draws out each syllable, rough-voiced and sharp-edged. The calm I hadn't noticed on his face evaporates, replaced by something lethal. "I'm thinking." I force the words past the tension in my throat. What do I want? The truth burns: I want you suffering. I want you begging. I want you to lose everything before you die choking on your own blood. But that's the endgame. Right now, I need proximity. After years of surveillance, I've learned that taking down Carlos means dismantling Viper Lane, and vice versa. Even with Shadow's resources, Marcus, the mafia lord who trained Vaughn & I, we agreed it's nearly impossible to destroy both simultaneously. But if I'm inside? I'll have access to his schedule, his meals, life, contacts, his vulnerabilities "Give me a job." Laughter ripples through the room, Orio. Carlos shoots him a glare and the sound dies like it never existed Carlos just tilts his head, curious. I move my rook to h8, facing his pawn. "Told you I need the money." He moves his knight to d7, trapping me. "What are you good at?" His voice cuts through my analysis. I meet his gaze then he puffs a smoke at the ceiling. "Cooking." Damien chuckles, but I continue. "For someone who chain-smokes, shouldn't you pair it with something to drink? Or does your throat not burn anymore?" Metal presses against my temple before I finish the sentence. I gasp: sharp, involuntary. I can shoot a gun. I've trained myself past the phobia, mostly. But I hate having one pointed at me. My chest rises and falls too rapidly. I repeat my mantra silently: Live to kill Carlos. Live to kill Carlos. It doesn't work. Carlos stands so quickly his chair scrapes the floor. He draws his own weapon and my entire body goes cold, throat goes dry. But he aims it at Orio's head. "Never point your gun at her without my direct order. Ever." "Yes, sir." Orio's voice shakes as he lowers his weapon. I remain frozen, staring at Carlos's sharp profile. "Do you all hear me?" The harshness in his tone makes me want to cover my ears. "Order received, sir." Five voices-maybe more-respond from the darkness. I scan the room but see only Orio and Damien. When I look back, Carlos is seated again, casual as if he hadn't just threatened to execute his own man. I bite my lower lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to slow my racing heart. "My personal assistant." He makes his move on the board without looking at it. "You start tonight if you win." "Personal assistant?" I can't hide my shock. "Tonight?" I don't need a job or information that chains me. Marcus PA doesn't have a life outside of work. Lives in his building. Has access to everything but he knows his breathing schedule. "What PA starts work at eight PM?" He sets down his cigarette and drains a full glass of clear tequila in one swallow. I wince at the burn he must feel. Or maybe he's too burnt to feel anything anymore. "Have a problem with it?" His eyes lock onto mine. "Then lose." The challenge in his voice sparks something defiant in me, but I force it down. He makes another move. "Play. " Demanding as usual I stare at the board before making a Mindless move "I'm not good at paperwork or taking orders." I feel the weight of his gaze and the intensity brings out a limited respect in me, so I add "Sir." For the first time tonight, I hear his teeth grind. He makes another move- another opening for me to attack. I throw it again, playing a meaningless response. He shoots me a glare. Damien chuckles before adding "This is getting interesting" Carlos downs another tequila and play. This time, he mirror me. Instead of protecting, he opens space around his king-an obvious path to checkmate. He's better than this. I glance at Damien, who raises his glass in mock salute. He knows I'm throwing the game. And Carlos knows too "I'm better in a kitchen." The words come out flat, disinterested. A smile crosses his face, but it makes him look more dangerous, not less. "Are you now?" He plays again-an obvious trap that any decent player would see. He puffs his smoke straight at me. Challenging, unwavering gaze. Please. That open slot for chef & I'll play well Marcus made one of his live out kitchen staff get sacked so there'll be soace for me to apply. Like now. I make another careless move, my mind already working through the implications. If I win, I'm his PA. Trapped & monitored. In days he'll find out my records on net are lies. My affiliation with Shadows, his enemy. He plays, I reach for another piece and throw it. Losing it is The glass in his hand shatters. Blood wells from his palm, dripping onto the board. Onto the floor. Red. So much red. My breath catches. No. Not now. Stay present. Stay focused. But the red spreads, and suddenly I'm not in the lounge anymore. I'm seventeen, standing in the doorway of my childhood home. Blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. Blood everywhere. "Stop playing games within games." Carlos's voice sounds distant, muffled. My mother's face, eyes open and empty. My brother. I suck in a breath. Force my eyes to focus on the chessboard. The pieces blur. "Shit." Damien's voice cuts through the fog. "Carlos-" Carlos walk towards me, blood trailing behind from his palm, my vision returns to my dad's blood on his palm Don't look at his hand. Don't look at the blood Another breath. Deeper. My nails dig into my palms. You're not there. You're here. In the lounge. With your enemy. But I look. I feel his attention on me like a physical weight. Blood drips from his fingers onto the tiled lounge but all I can see is theirs: My family's. And the lounge fades into fog "Interesting." His voice wraps around me, cold. Intrigued. Weapon. Close "I think we should get her a doctor," Damien says, sounding restless. "No." Carlos cuts in, so close to me. From the fog, I see his hand move up to my cheek "NO" The scream tear from me. That hand killed them I try to stand, get away from him but my legs wobble and I collapse onto rigid body