Chapter 4 - The Predator’s Table
The dining room looked like a museum exhibit. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over a mahogany table long enough to seat twenty people, though tonight it was set for just two.
I sat at the far end, wearing a dark emerald dress that hugged my curves in a way that made me feel entirely exposed. Across from me, Victor cut into a rare steak with clinical precision, his dark eyes never leaving my face.
"Eat," he commanded quietly.
"I'm not hungry," I muttered, pushing a single roasted potato around my plate with my fork.
"You’ve eaten nothing for twenty-four hours," Victor said, his tone softening just enough to be unsettling. "In my house, people take care of themselves. Or I have to do it for them—and as you learned this morning, I am a very heavy pillow."
A reluctant flush heated my cheeks. I forced myself to take a bite, keeping my eyes locked on my plate. "Why me, Mr. Hayes? Out of all the girls who have walked through these doors, why did you let me sleep on your chest? Why didn't you just throw me out?"
Victor set his cutlery down with a soft click. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, the candlelight casting sharp shadows across his striking, dangerous features.
"Because for ten years, everyone who has ever looked at me has seen a monster," Victor said, his voice dropping into a raw, unfiltered honesty that caught me entirely off guard. "They look at my power, my scars, the blood on my hands. They cower, they lie, or they try to kill me."
He paused, his gaze burning into mine.
"You didn't cower. When I was bleeding out, having the worst nightmare of my life, you didn't run. You didn't steal anything. You just... tried to fix it. With two cracked hands and a dirty rag."
"I was doing my job," I whispered.
"No," Victor corrected softly. "You were being human in a house full of wolves. And once I found you in my arms, Elena... I realized I couldn't let you go back to scrubbing floors."
Before I could process the terrifying weight of his words, the heavy oak doors of the dining room slammed open.
Paul stood in the threshold, his face pale, breathing heavily. "Boss. We have an emergency. The Italian syndicate just breached the perimeter at the South Gate. They know about the shipment."
Victor didn't panic. He didn't even blink. He simply stood up from the table, picked up his leather holster from the adjacent chair, and strapped it across his chest with practiced ease.
He looked down at me, his eyes dark and burning with lethal intent.
"Stay in this room," Victor ordered, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "If anyone opens these doors who isn't me, you shoot them."
May you like
He tossed a heavy, diamond-encrusted silver pistol across the mahogany table. It slid right next to my wine glass.
Then, he turned and walked out into the war zone.
