"He's Velvet Ruin"

I had heard the name Marco Deluca in passing, but it meant nothing to me beyond being one of Daniel's high-profile contacts. I knew Daniel sometimes stepped into worlds she didn't fully understand-politics, luxury business deals, high-society circles-but i stayed out of it. The less i knew, the safer i felt. That changed one Thursday evening. Daniel was hosting a private dinner meeting at a discreet, members-only restaurant in the heart of the city. It wasn't unusual for him to ask me to help coordinate seating, menus, and the flow of the event before slipping out unnoticed. But this time, he told me to stay. "I need you here tonight," he said. "Take notes. Handle any messages while I'm at the table." I nodded, thinking nothing of it-until the man Daniel was waiting for arrived. Marco Deluca. He was nothing like i'd imagined. Tall, sharply dressed in a black tailored suit, his presence seemed to shift the air in the room. There was an authority in his movements, a calculated ease in the way he greeted Daniel. His dark eyes swept over the room once, as though memorizing every exit, every face. When his gaze landed on me,it was brief but assessing-like i was a problem to be solved. "This your assistant?" Marco asked Daniel, his voice smooth but carrying a subtle edge. Daniel nodded. "Isabella." Marco gave a small nod, the kind that felt more like a formality than genuine acknowledgment, before turning back to Daniel as though she wasn't worth another second of attention. The dismissal stung more than i expected. I wasn't looking for his approval, but something about the way he radiated power and assumed everyone else was smaller irritated me.This kept me focus on my notepad, scribbling down pieces of their conversation about investments, property acquisitions, and "mutual arrangements" that didn't sound entirely aboveboard. Halfway through the night, one of Marco's men approached me discreetly, handing her a folded piece of paper. "For you," he said. Inside was a short message in neat handwriting: "Meet me outside. Now." I hesitated, glancing toward the table. Marco was still speaking with Daniel, his expression unreadable. I didn't like the idea of stepping outside for a private talk with a man i barely knew-especially one with a reputation like his-but something in the tone of the note suggested refusing wasn't an option. Outside, the night was cold, the street quiet except for the distant hum of traffic. Marco stood by a sleek black car, hands in his pockets. "You were at the Lennox Hotel last week," he said without preamble. Her chest tightened. "I was told it was a serving job. I left when I realized what it was." He studied her for a long moment. "Good. I don't deal with women who sell themselves. It's messy." The comment made her bristle. "Messy? You don't even know me." "I know enough," he replied evenly. "I watch the people who work for my friends. Daniel trusts you. That means you'll be seen. Which means you need to watch where you put yourself." Her jaw tightened. "I don't take orders from you." A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You will if you want to keep working for him." The arrogance in his tone made my blood boil. He wasn't threatening me outright, but it was clear he thought his word carried the weight of law. And maybe, in his world, it did. "I've survived worse than men like you," i said quietly, meeting his gaze without flinching. Something flickered in his eyes-amusement, maybe respect-but it was gone before I could place it. "We'll see." He stepped closer, close enough that i caught the faint scent of expensive cologne. "Stay away from situations that could be... misunderstood. You're not invisible anymore, Isabella. Act like it." Without another word, he opened the car door and got in, the vehicle gliding away into the night, leaving me standing on the sidewalk with mypulse pounding. When i returned inside, Daniel gave me a questioning look. "Everything alright?" "Fine," i lied. But it wasn't fine. Marco Deluca was everything i hated in a man-proud, self-assured to the point of arrogance, and convinced the world moved at his command. And the worst part was that he was right... at least in the circles he moved in. Over the next few weeks, their paths crossed more often than i liked. He'd appear at Daniel's office unexpectedly, his sharp gaze lingering on me just long enough to make meaware of it. Sometimes he spoke to me directly, other times not at all, as if testing how much i would insert myself into his presence. One afternoon, Daniel sent me to deliver documents to Marco's penthouse. The place was exactly what I imagined-floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, minimalist furniture in deep, expensive shades, and the kind of silence that felt deliberate. Marco was on the phone when I arrived, but his eyes flicked toward me briefly before he ended the call. "You're early," he said. "I like to be on time," i replied. "That wasn't a compliment," he said, though there was a trace of amusement in his tone. "You're here, so you might as well listen. I have work for you." I stiffened. "I work for Daniel." "Daniel works with me," he countered. "Which means sometimes you'll work for me.