Page 15 of Obsidian Devotion

"What you need," he says, taking the rag from my hand, his fingers brushing mine deliberately, "is dinner. With me. Tomorrow night."

His confidence would be charming under different circumstances. In another life, I might have said yes. Tommy Chen is exactly the man I would have wanted before everything changed. Before revenge became my only purpose.

"Dating coworkers is a no-go," I declared, taking my rag.

He lets out a laugh. "That's not a no. That's a policy. Policies can be changed."

Despite myself, I smile. "Not this one."

"Is it because of the boss?" Tommy asks, his voice dropping. "He has been around a little, but I've seen how he looks at you."

My pulse quickens. "Lorenzo? Don't be ridiculous."

"The way you just said his name tells me everything I need to know." Tommy sighs dramatically. "Fine. I'll back off. For now." He winks. "But fair warning—I don't give up easily."

After he leaves, I finish closing up, turning off lights and making sure everything is ready for the next shift in the morning. It's past 3 AM now, and I'm exhausted. Working the late shift at Black Sin is grueling—Things pick up considerably at 11 PM. When the regular clubs are winding down, but that's when our real clientele arrives.

I roll my shoulders, willing the ache away, but my mind keeps drifting to Lorenzo. Three weeks of planning my move, and he vanishes. Did he sense something off about me? Did I already blow my cover?

I step out into the cool night air, locking the door behind me. That's when I hear it—a rustle from the alleyway where the dumpsters sit. My hand instinctively reaches for the knife strapped to my thigh.

I round the corner slowly, careful to keep my footsteps silent.

And there he is. Lorenzo.

I stare at his unconscious form sprawled across the pavement, blood seeping through his side. My heart hammers against my ribs as I glance around the deserted alley behind Peccato Noir. No witnesses. No help.

Just me and the devil, him bleeding out at my feet.

I stare at his unconscious form, watching the blood spread across his expensive shirt. Time seems to slow as opposing forces war inside me.

This is it. The moment I've dreamed about for two years. Lorenzo Bellanti—the man who killed my brother, dying alone in filth, where he belongs. Poetic justice served on a silver platter. All I have to do is do nothing. Walk away. Let the night to finish what someone else started.

My legs actually twitch with the impulse to turn. To leave. To finally close this chapter.

But something holds me in place. Not sympathy—he deserves none.

Perhaps it's pride.

The cold, hard truth?

I want to be the architect of his downfall, not some unknown assailant in a back alley.

Or maybe it's something deeper, a need to look him in the eyes when he pays for what he did.

But I don't leave. I can't. I guess I'm not that type of monster.

I drop to my knees beside him, cursing under my breath. Blood warms my hands as I apply pressure to his wound.

"Don't you dare die on me," I hiss through clenched teeth.

His eyelids flutter, revealing those green eyes.

“Sofia? His voice is rough with pain. "What are you doing here? ”

I almost laugh at the irony. Two years of plotting his downfall, of dreaming about watching the light fade from his eyes, and now here I am, desperately trying to keep him alive.

"Don't talk," I order, pressing harder on the wound. The blood seeps between my fingers, stubborn. Just like the man himself.

---