Page 8 of Obsidian Devotion

Her pupils dilate slightly. The only sign of my words has affected her. "That's not a business reason."

"Everything is business in my world," I counter. "Including fascination."

A server passes with champagne. I take one glass, but Sofia stops her, taking one for herself as well.

"I thought you didn't drink around questioning men," I say.

She takes the glass, her fingers brushing mine. "Maybe I'm willing to make an exception."

"Why?"

"Because you fascinate me, too." She repeats my words with a small smile.

I clear my throat, nodding at the man who's raising his voice at the hostess.

"How would you handle him?"

Sofia watches for five seconds, then says, "His wedding ring is new, but he's not wearing it proudly. He's rotating it constantly. First time cheating, feeling guilty. He's creating a scene to get thrown out so he can tell himself he tried to stay faithful."

I raise an eyebrow, impressed despite myself. "And your solution?"

"Have a female staff member approach him privately, say his wife called, looking for him. The fear will sober him up. He'll leave on his own, relieved to have an excuse."

"Not have security throw him out?"

She shakes her head. "For what? Violence creates witnesses, discussion, police reports. This method is cleaner. No one remembers the night nothing happened."

I smile. She understands one of the fundamental rules of our world: true power moves invisibly.

"The job is yours if you want it. Double what Isabella pays you."

She sips her champagne, studying me over the rim. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I've wasted a perfectly good glass of Dom Pérignon."

That earns me a genuine laugh, and the sound does something unusual to my chest. I want to hear it again.

"You're not what I expected," she whispers.

"What did you expect?"

She considers me for a long moment. "Someone who doesn't have to try so hard to appear human."

The words hit with surprising force. Not an insult, but an observation that cuts too close to truth.

I lean closer, close enough to smell her perfume—something subtle with notes of amber and vanilla. "What makes you think I'm trying?"

"Everyone's trying something, Lorenzo." Her eyes never leave mine. "The question is whether it's working."

I realize I've been watching her lips as she speaks. Full, perfectly shaped, still stained with that calculated red.

"Is it?" I ask.

"It is." She extends her hand. "I accept your offer."

I take her hand, but instead of shaking it, I turn it over and press my lips to the inside of her wrist, where her pulse jumps beneath my touch.

"Welcome to the family business, Sofia Russo." I release her hand. "I hope you know what you're getting into."

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