Page 24 of Punish Me, Daddy

I kept mine folded in my jacket pocket, fingers grazing the edge like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing.

Every bet placed against Moretti, every seed of doubt I’d scattered across the web—it all came together exactly the way Iwanted it to. They thought he was off his game, thought he might finally lose.

I knew better.

I made them believe the lie, and I was practically glowing.

Not because I needed the cash—I didn’t. I could spend twice this on a handbag and still have enough left over to bribe my way into half the parties in this city.

No. This was about something bigger.

This was about proving I belonged here—in this world full of blood and danger and power plays—and that I couldthrivein it.

This was about knowing I could manipulate a room full of men who thought they ran the show. Who thought I was just some pretty little rich girl slumming it for the thrill.

This was aboutmetaking control ofthem.

I reached into my jacket and pulled out the slip—just a thin piece of paper with a few numbers and a name printed across the top:Moretti.

I glanced at it, then slid it forward across the payout table like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was.

It was time to collect.

CHAPTER 11

Nikolai

I saw her before she saw me.

She moved through the crowd like she was immune to consequence—chin up, hips swaying, eyes cunning beneath that winged liner and a mouth painted the color of spilled wine. There was a little skip in her step, subtle but unmistakable—the high of victory. The satisfaction of knowing something the rest of the room didn’t.

She was proud of herself.

And fuck, she should have been.

She’d played the game, and she played it well. Tilted the odds, manipulated perception, and rigged the outcome just enough to walk away with a win. She didn’t break anything. Didn’t cheat. Not exactly. She bent the room around her, took something carved out of blood and sweat and turned it into a game of whispers and illusion.

And now she was getting paid.

I watched from the shadows near the far wall, half-concealed by the frame of the loading dock, arms crossed over my chest, heart thudding slow and steady like I was still in the ring.

Her smile when she slid her betting slip across the table almost knocked the air right out of me.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t polite. It was self-satisfied. Just a little more smug than it should have been.

It was the smile of a girl who thought she was smarter than everyone else in the room. Tonight, she just might have been right.

She took the cash—a thick envelope of bills—and tucked it into the inside of her jacket with the kind of ease that told me she’d done this before. Maybe not here. Maybe not in my world. But somewhere. Somewhere behind closed doors and shuttered eyes and those private little corners of the city where good girls didn’t go.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? She wasn’t a good girl. Not even close. She was a bad girl wrapped in leather and lace, and I wasn’t even pretending to be mad about it.

I should have been, though. She manipulatedmycircuit. Toyed withmynumbers. Played people who would slit throats for half the payout she just made.

But I wasn’t angry. Not really. Because the truth?

I was fucking proud of her.

Not that I’d ever say it out loud, but there was something dangerous about watching a woman move like she owned theplace when I knew damn well she didn’t. The part of me that ruled this world—the cold, ruthless part that commanded rooms and broke bones and kept order by sheer force of will—was already imagining what it would take to bring her to heel.

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