Chapter 4 Every Devil Has a Smile

"Take off your coat," Jaxon said, not even looking at me.

He stood behind his glass desk, city lights stretching behind him like a playground he owned and ruled. That stupid, arrogant tilt of his jaw told me he expected me to obey.

I didn't.

I kept my coat on. And my guard.

"I said I'd show up," I replied. "Not that I'd play house."

He finally turned around. God, that face.

Sharp, untouchable, all shadows and clean lines, the kind of face you wanted to punch or kiss depending on the hour. Tonight, it was both.

"This isn't a game, Raven," he said. "You walked through that door. Now you stay."

"I came to talk. Nothing more."

He moved slowly, like he was giving me time to run. Or maybe he just liked the way I watched him and I hated that I did.

He took my coat off himself. His fingers brushed my arms.

The heat of his touch was familiar. Dangerous.

And unwanted.

Or so I told myself.

"You broke into my world once," he said, hanging the coat on a chair like it was his. "And now you're wearing my name around your neck."

I froze. The necklace.

He'd sent it.

After our last fight. After he told me I didn't know what I was asking for.

A thin gold chain. No note. No box. Just... a message.

You're mine.

"You think gifts buy loyalty?" I snapped.

He stepped close. His voice lowered.

"No. But I think possession breeds addiction."

My pulse stuttered.

He was too close. Too knowing.

And I couldn't afford to melt.

"You still haven't told me what you want, Jaxon."

He moved behind me, dragging a finger down my spine not touching skin, but close enough that my breath caught anyway.

"I want you to be smart," he said. "Sharp. But protected."

"I don't need protection."

"Then why are you trembling?"

I hated him for that. For knowing me too well. For knowing what I didn't say out loud.

He walked to the minibar, poured two drinks. Expensive bourbon. No ice.

He handed me one.

"I have enemies, Raven. The kind that won't just ruin your career. The kind that bury people."

I took the glass, but I didn't drink.

"What did you drag me into?"

He looked at me for a long time. No smirk. No mask.

Just the truth.

"My family runs the DeLuca Group. What you know is the surface. Investments. Nightclubs. Real estate."

"And what's underneath?" I asked.

He stared at his glass. Swirled it once.

"Everything else."

I waited.

He gave me what I didn't expect:

"The DeLuca syndicate. I was born into it. My grandfather built it on blood. My father sharpened it. I " he met my eyes, "I turned it into a business. A legal one. Mostly."

My heart pounded.

"You're telling me this now?"

"Because you need to decide," he said. "Are you in... or walking away?"

I laughed. It was sharp. Bitter.

"You're giving me a choice? After dragging me into this?"

"I didn't drag you," he said, stepping close again. "You crashed into my world like a match. I should've put you out. Instead, I watched you burn."

His voice was rough. His eyes were softer than I expected.

And it terrified me.

"What do you want from me, Jaxon?"

He leaned in.

His mouth brushed mine.

"Everything."

A knock at the door.

Jaxon's body stiffened.

He looked toward the hallway, jaw clenched. Voice low.

"Stay here."

But I didn't.

I followed.

And what I saw at the end of that hallway, in the dim glow of one broken light

was a body.

Blood pooling on marble.

And a name I recognized carved into the skin.

> My name.

The hallway smelled of iron and silence.

I walked slowly, barefoot on chilled floors, and stopped behind Jaxon. His body blocked most of the scene, but I saw enough.

A man. Late forties. Blood-soaked dress shirt.

His throat

Slit clean. Deep. Ritualistic.

But what made my breath vanish was the thing carved across his chest.

Three letters.

R-A-V.

They hadn't finished the name.

I choked. "Is this a message?"

Jaxon didn't look at me. His jaw was clenched so hard I thought it might shatter.

"Who was he?" I asked.

"One of mine," he replied. "Security detail. Off duty."

"But this wasn't random."

"No." His voice was ice. "It's personal."

Jaxon turned toward one of his men Enzo, I remembered and gave a nod.

Within seconds, the hallway flooded with silent, black-clad men.

Efficient. Loyal. Trained.

"Clean it up. Burn everything he touched," Jaxon ordered.

I grabbed his arm. "You're not just a businessman. This... this is mafia sh*t, isn't it?"

He looked down at where my hand touched his. And something unspoken passed through him. Pain. Fury. Restraint.

"You want the truth?" he asked, voice low.

"I think I deserve it."

He stepped closer until I had to tip my chin to meet his eyes. His fingers found the chain around my neck, the one he gave me. His thumb brushed over my throat like he owned it.

"I run a world that doesn't play by rules. The blood on that floor? That's a warning. Not just for me. But for you."

"Why me?"

"Because you're mine," he said simply. "And they know it."

I should have pulled away.

Should've screamed.

But I stood there. Breathing him in. Letting that possessive anger wrap around me like armor.

"Jaxon... what did you do?" I whispered.

His answer?

He kissed me.

Hard. Fast. Like apology and punishment.

And I let him.

Because I was afraid of the way my heart beat harder for this man even as he dragged me deeper into his world of shadows.

Later that night...

The body was gone. The marble was cleaned. But the echo of blood remained.

I sat on the edge of his massive bed, still in my dress, staring at the fireplace. Jaxon stood near the window, a glass in hand. Silent. Controlled.

"Was it your enemies?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

"Was it your family?"

He turned slowly. "You ask too many questions."

"Maybe you lie too much."

He set the glass down and walked toward me, slow and dangerous.

"I lie to survive."

I looked up. "And I'm supposed to just... accept that?"

"No," he said. "You're supposed to decide if I'm worth surviving with."

That shut me up.

Because for all my fire, my comebacks, my fury... he was right.

"You said I'm yours," I whispered. "But you don't even trust me."

"I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone," he said, kneeling in front of me. "That's the problem."

He took my hand. Pressed it to his chest. His heartbeat pounded beneath his black shirt.

"I kill for people I protect. I burn for the ones I can't live without."

"Which am I?" I asked.

His voice was a growl. "You're the one I'll destroy myself for."

The bedroom lights cut out. Total darkness.

A second later, a single red laser dot appeared on Jaxon's shoulder.

Sniper.

He pulled me to the ground.

Gunfire.

Glass exploded.

> "Stay down," he hissed.

And then he was gone into the dark, chasing the ghost that dared to aim at me.

I stayed low, heart pounding in my throat.

The gunshots had stopped, but the silence afterward was worse. It was thick. Waiting. Smothering.

I crawled toward the edge of the bed, my knees burning from the marble floor. One corner of the window was shattered. Glass sprinkled across the floor like glitter from hell.

"Jaxon," I whispered.

No answer.

My breath came in uneven waves. The echo of that laser dot still burned in my mind.

Had they hit him?

Footsteps. Fast.

Gun raised.

But it wasn't Jaxon.

It was Omega.

The woman I'd only seen once before tall, fierce, ice in her veins.

"Stay down," she snapped, checking the windows, eyes sharp.

"Where is he?"

"Chasing ghosts," she muttered. "He always does."

I didn't wait.

I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find a heavy paperweight and bolted down the hallway.

Omega cursed behind me, but I didn't care.

I wasn't going to sit pretty in a penthouse while the man who kissed me like I was oxygen got riddled with bullets.

On the rooftop...

The air was colder up there. Wound tight with tension and New York smog.

I heard scuffling near the far side. A grunt. A punch. Someone groaned.

And then I saw him.

Jaxon had the sniper pinned to the ground. His knuckles were bloodied. The man beneath him was wheezing through cracked ribs.

Jaxon's face was terrifying.

Not angry.

Unleashed.

"You touched what's mine," he growled.

I froze.

Because those words shouldn't have made my thighs clench.

But they did.

The sniper tried to speak.

Jaxon didn't let him.

He pulled the gun from the man's belt and pointed it at his face.

"Jaxon, no!" I shouted.

He looked up.

Eyes wild.

Chest heaving.

Blood on his hands.

"He aimed at you," he said.

"I know."

"And you want me to let him go?"

"No," I said, walking slowly toward him. "I want you to choose who you are with me watching."

Silence.

He stared at me like no one had ever said that to him before.

Like I was the first person who saw the man behind the beast and still stood close.

After a long, brutal moment, Jaxon lowered the gun.

"Call Omega," he said to no one in particular. "Clean this up."

Back inside...

We didn't speak.

Not until the blood was washed off his hands. Not until I was curled on the couch in one of his hoodies, shaking from adrenaline.

Jaxon stood over me, silent.

Then

He sat down. Pulled me into his lap.

And held me.

I didn't protest.

I leaned into him.

My head against his heartbeat.

His hand in my hair.

"I've never cared about anyone this much," he said quietly.

"I'm not asking for your soul, Jaxon."

"I know. But it's already halfway in your hands."

And then

He kissed me again.

But this time, it wasn't rough.

It was slow.

Meaningful.

Like he knew there might not be another chance.

He pulled back just enough to whisper

> "You're my only weakness, Raven. And I'll kill to keep you safe."

A text buzzed on Jaxon's phone.

He glanced at it. I froze.

"What is it?" I asked.

His face darkened.

"They've taken your sister."