Chapter 9 - The Million Dollar Kiss
Thirty days later.
The skyline of the city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Mercer Tower penthouse. The war was over. Volkov’s empire had been swallowed whole by the Mercer syndicate. The streets were quiet.
Mave stood in the master bedroom, staring at a sleek black leather duffel bag sitting on the immaculate king-sized bed. Next to the bag lay a crisp, white envelope with her name written on it in Rowan’s sharp, aggressive handwriting.
She opened the envelope. It contained a single piece of paper: a bank statement showing a balance of $1,000,000.00 in an offshore account under her name.
The contract was complete. She was a millionaire. She was free.
Mave ran her thumb over the raised ink of the paper. She should have been ecstatic. She could open her own bakery in Paris, buy a villa in Tuscany, or disappear to a tropical island. But as she looked around the cold, beautiful penthouse, her chest felt tight, filled with a suffocating, heavy ache.
She didn't want Paris. She wanted the devil.
The heavy mahogany door clicked open. Rowan walked in, stopping abruptly when he saw her standing by the packed bag. He was wearing his signature charcoal suit, looking as untouchable and dangerous as the day she met him in the alley. But the mask slipped, just for a millisecond, revealing a flash of raw panic in his dark eyes before he locked it away.
"Your flight to Rome is scheduled for 8:00 PM," Rowan said, his voice flat, professional. "Elias is waiting downstairs to escort you to the private terminal."
Mave placed the bank statement on the bed. "You really want me to go?"
Rowan clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Our arrangement was for thirty days. The threat is neutralized. You have your money. There is no reason for you to stay in this world. It is violent, dark, and it will eventually destroy your soul."
"My soul is fine," Mave countered, taking a step toward him.
"Mave, stop." Rowan held up a hand, his voice thick with a desperate, suppressed emotion. "Do not make this harder than it has to be. If you stay, you will never have a normal life. You will always have security. You will always be a target."
"I don't care about a normal life," Mave said, taking another step until she was mere inches from him. She looked up into his eyes, refusing to let him hide behind his walls. "Normal was working sixty hours a week and drowning in debt. Normal was boring. I kissed a stranger in a bar because I wanted to feel something. And for the last thirty days... I have never felt more alive."
Rowan’s breathing grew shallow. He looked down at her, his eyes burning with a dark, consuming hunger.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he warned, a dangerous rumble vibrating in his chest. "If you stay... I will never let you leave. I am a selfish, possessive bastard, Mave. If you choose me, you are mine. Forever."
Mave didn't hesitate. She reached up, her hands sliding over his broad shoulders, her fingers tangling in the dark hair at the nape of his neck.
"Then keep me," she whispered.
Rowan groaned—a guttural, primitive sound of surrender. His hands slammed onto her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. He crashed his mouth down onto hers.
It wasn't like the first kiss in the bar. There was no hesitation, no coldness. It was an explosion of fire, heat, and desperate possession. Rowan kissed her like a starving man who had finally found sustenance, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting, claiming, devouring.
Mave kissed him back with equal ferocity, her nails digging into his shoulders as she yielded completely to the storm that was Rowan Mercer. The diamond ring on her left hand caught the city lights, flashing brilliantly as she pulled him closer.
When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Rowan rested his forehead against hers. His heart was hammering a violent rhythm against her chest.
"I'll buy you a bakery," he murmured, his voice husky, his lips brushing against hers with every word. "I'll buy you ten bakeries."
May you like
Mave laughed, a bright, genuine sound that echoed through the penthouse. She pulled back slightly, looking into the eyes of the city's most feared kingpin—her kingpin.
"Keep your money, Mercer," she smiled, trailing a finger down his jawline. "I already won the bet."
