Page 40 of Lord of the Dark

"Mrs. Pierce, Mr. Russo just asked me to personally deliver some critical documents for the deal. Time is of the course, as you know—courier would take too long. Unfortunately, I don’t have access to his office address." He wasn’t the only one who could redraw boundaries.

Mrs. Pierce had access to all client data, and since Russo clearly wanted to stay off the radar at all costs, her involvement was necessary to obtain his company's address. She nodded slowly, well aware of the pressure surrounding our collaboration with Dade County.

"Very well, if Mr. Russo deems it necessary, then so be it." She removed her glasses, opened a document on her screen, and scrolled through the contacts. "His office is located at the Obsidian Tower. 1050 Meridian Avenue, 16th floor."

I thanked her and strode out of her office, a faint, self-satisfied smile playing on my lips as I reached for my phone. Once I was far enough away, I dialed the general number for Russo Ventures.

Of course, I would make sure he wasn’t there before setting foot in his office. It rang a few times before a polite, professional voice answered.

"Russo Ventures reception, how may I assist you?"

I cleared my throat and replied in a firm tone. "Good afternoon. This is Kate Reynolds from Dade County Investments. I need to personally deliver some urgent documents to Mr. Russo—time is critical, as his client’s deal is closing next week. He asked me to bring them by today. Is he in the office?"

"One moment, please," came the courteous response, accompanied by the soft tapping of a keyboard. Then: "Mr. Russo is out all day for business meetings and isn’t expected back until tomorrow. But you’re welcome to drop them off regardless."

Perfect. "Exactly the answer I'd hoped for. 'Thank you, I'll do that.'"

I hung up and felt determination surge through me. So Alessandro wasn't there—my chance to stay one step ahead. Surely his office held documents I could use to pressure him, should he keep trying to exert his control over me. Something that would make it clear I could play this game just as well as he could.

And that I wasn't afraid of him.

Less than forty minutes later, I entered the lobby of the Tower and introduced myself to the courteous lady at reception as that Kate Reynolds with whom she had just spoken regarding the documents for Mr. Russo. She greeted me and escorted me to the elevator, which would take me directly to his command center. A thrilling shiver ran through me as she inserted the key into the elevator lock and politely granted me entry. Oh, Mr. Russo, if only you knew how much pleasure our game brings me.

A soft chime announced my arrival. I stepped out slowly, surveying the space. The reception area exuded an elegant,almost icy modernity. The desk was minimalist, a muted gray that harmonized perfectly with the dark marble floors. Subtle integrated lighting accentuated the furniture’s clean lines, creating a floating effect that emphasized the room’s understated style. Behind the desk, a wall of large white marble panels stretched, veined with delicate gray streaks that reinforced the space’s cool sophistication. In the left corner stood a massive bookshelf, its compartments arranged in geometric patterns like an art installation, seamlessly blending into the refined yet stylish ambiance.

The two employees, impeccably dressed and flawless in their poise, blended seamlessly into the controlled aesthetic of the room. Both were clad in dark suits, their hair neatly styled, their expressions detached and professional. One of the women was engaged in a phone call, while the other stared intently at the screen before her, barely lifting her eyes. I waited for the right moment—until the second employee finally stood, tucked a folder under her arm, and made her way toward one of the offices. The remaining receptionist was now entirely absorbed in her telephone conversation, and I seized the opportunity to slip forward unnoticed.

At the end of the long hallway, my gaze landed on a double door of black wood, broad and heavy, like an imposing gateway to a world accessible only to a select few. Everything about that door exuded power and secrecy—and I knew instinctively that this had to be Alessandro’s office. I paused briefly, my pulse quickening, but the adrenaline gave me the necessary courage. With one last cautious glance over my shoulder, I reached for the handle. To my surprise, the door opened without resistance, and I slipped inside, electrified with tension, stepping into what felt like a sacred, forbidden space.

The moment I entered the office, my breath caught. This was no ordinary workspace—it was a domain of power, a near-sacredstage where Alessandro Russo conducted his affairs. The walls were a deep, shadowed gray, almost black, lending the room an air of refined yet untouchable austerity. The ceiling was structured with geometric precision, softly illuminated so that light fell in golden accents, casting the space in muted radiance.

At the center stood an imposing desk of dark wood, its lines sharp, its surface smooth and polished. Almost nothing cluttered it—just a few papers and an elegant lamp. The desk was the focal point of the room, like an altar of control, and I could vividly imagine Alessandro seated there, gazing over the city as he pulled his strings.

Behind the desk stretched a vast window front, framing the skyline in its entirety. The view resembled a living painting—as if the city were mere scenery, a stage Alessandro had claimed as his own. To the left of the windows stood a deep gray armchair, flanked by low shelves lined with books bound in dark leather—a library radiating knowledge and power, but no warmth. A large, abstract black-and-white print hung on the wall behind the desk. The image was like a silent, brooding presence, an echo of the inscrutable aura surrounding Alessandro.

On the right side of the room sat a single chestnut-brown leather chair. Modern and elegant, it was clear no one sat here to relax—it seemed more like a place for brief, calculated conversations. A small side table beside it held only a glass decanter and two understated, refined tumblers, prepared for moments when drinking was likely more ritual than indulgence.

The floor was made of high-quality parquet, laid in a herringbone pattern that complemented the room’s monochrome elegance perfectly. The only splash of color was a large, cream-colored rug in front of the desk, visually segmenting the space and softening the dark tones with quiet harmony.

I took a deep breath, letting the room’s heavy silence settle overme. Here, in this space, Alessandro was the undisputed ruler. Every detail of the decor reflected his controlled, untouchable demeanor—cold and commanding, just like his gaze. I could easily picture him sitting here, summoning and dismissing people, making decisions no one dared question.

But today, this room was accessible to me—and I was determined to find something I could use against him. A nervous thrill shot through me as I circled the desk. My fingers trailed lightly over its cool, polished surface. It was absurd how present he felt here, even in his absence—as if his gaze still watched over the room, piercing through me, challenging me.

I settled into the large leather chair at his desk, opened the top drawer, and hesitated briefly—documents, some sealed, others loosely stacked. Everything was orderly, as expected, and yet hidden within was a world I was desperate to unravel. My pulse quickened as I pulled out a sheet of paper. It was a detailed list of numbers and names—clients, partners, sums that surpassed any notion of ordinary business. Alessandro operated in a league far beyond anything I’d ever encountered. I returned the document and opened another drawer, deeper this time. My hand brushed against a small notebook, leather-bound and unmarked. An odd object, almost personal. A brief hesitation—then I flipped it open.

The pages were filled with notes, some in his handwriting, others in printed letters. Certain passages were marked with tiny symbols, cryptic annotations in the margins—almost like a code. Traces of his inner world, the one he kept so tightly controlled. A shiver ran down my spine. I knew I was staring into his soul, the one he always fought to conceal. If he caught me here, he’d probably strangle me with his bare hands.

My fingers skimmed the pages as if desecrating something sacred. But this was exactly what I needed—proof that I was dealing with someone as human as anyone else. It made himmore vulnerable, yet at the same time, it filled me with a strange dread.

Suddenly, a faint sound came from outside. A soft creak, slicing through the quiet, almost sacred silence like a sharp knife. My heart leapt into my throat. What would I do if he walked through that door at any second? I had no idea. My breath hitched as I listened, straining against the room’s stillness. Footsteps? I couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just the building settling, a ventilation shaft, something harmless—but for one fleeting moment, panic burned through me like wildfire. I froze, eyes locked on the door.

My first instinct was to put everything back in its place, close the drawer, and slip out of this room unnoticed—as if I’d never been here. But something held me back: the question of what else I might find. I’d stepped into a world that offered a tantalizing glimpse of Russo’s true power. If I retreated now, I’d never know just how far his shadows stretched.

And in those tense moments, I realized something else: how dull my life had been until now. Russo was right. This wasn’t me. I was like him. I craved the thrill, the adrenaline burning through my veins.

When I’d left my parents’ home and the daily violence behind, I’d locked away the darkness inside me, buried it. Carter would have shattered if he’d ever seen my true self. But the feelings Alessandro stirred in me hurled me back into that abyss—no turning back. And I needed it. I was born in that darkness.

The sound faded, and silence returned, thick and suffocating as before.

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