Chapter 3 — The Bargain

Layna

The smell hit me first—leather, cigar smoke, and the faint tang of burning wood. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was oppressive, the kind of air that pressed down on your chest and reminded you who held the power. My wrists ached against the cold steel of the handcuffs cinched too tight around them, their bite a sharp contrast to the opulence surrounding me. They hadn’t bothered with pleasantries when they dragged me here, and I had no illusions about why.

The room was dim, lit only by the flicker of flames in the corner fireplace. Shadows danced over polished wood-paneled walls, mingling with the faint hum of tension in the air. My eyes scanned the space, cataloging details as always. A low-slung glass coffee table bore a decanter of amber liquid, its fractured light shimmering against the fire. A worn leather armchair stood at an angle that spoke of casual authority, its cracked edges betraying its age. The rest of the room was all sleek lines, quiet wealth, and restrained menace. This wasn’t just a room—it was a declaration.

Then there was him.

He stood across from me, his back to the flames, and I hated how imperious and unshakable he looked. The firelight edged his tailored silhouette in molten gold, catching the faint scar slashing across his jaw. His hands rested casually in the pockets of his slacks, but his presence was anything but casual. His dark eyes—piercing and calculating—were fixed on mine, unblinking.

“Layna Morrison,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and measured. He didn’t ask. He *stated*, as though the weight of my name meant something to him.

My throat tightened, but I forced my chin up, my mind scrambling for a way to assert control over the suffocating power imbalance. “That’s me,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “And you are?”

“Santino Venturi,” he replied. His name fell between us like a challenge, heavy with the weight of reputation. He tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “But you’ll call me Saint.”

“Saint?” I raised an eyebrow, forcing sarcasm into my voice even as my pulse quickened. “Sounds like a misnomer for a kidnapper.”

The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not here to debate semantics.” He stepped forward, each movement deliberate, measured, like a predator giving its prey just enough time to feel cornered. “I’m here because you’ve been making noise. And in my world, Morrison, noise gets you noticed—and not in a way you want.”

His words sent a chill down my spine, but I masked it with a pointed glare. “Your world?” I shot back with feigned confidence, though my wrists strained instinctively against the cuffs. “I was minding my own business.”

“Decrypting sensitive files, being tracked across the city, nearly getting yourself killed—all that is ‘minding your own business?’” His tone didn’t waver, but his words sliced through my weak defense like glass.

My jaw clenched, and I looked away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing my reaction. He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “I didn’t ask for this,” I muttered. “I didn’t even know who was chasing me until—”

“Until you ran out of options,” he interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. “And now you’re here. Because I decided not to kill you when you stumbled into my path. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Grateful,” I bit out.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and the weight of his gaze pressed down on me like a physical force. “You don’t seem to grasp the severity of your situation.”

Oh, I understood perfectly. I was alone, unarmed, and entirely at the mercy of a man whose presence radiated control with every breath. But I wasn’t going to let him see how deeply that terrified me. Straightening my shoulders, I met his unrelenting stare head-on. My defiance was thin armor, but it was all I had.

“What do you want from me?” I demanded, keeping my voice steady. “If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it already. So what’s this about?”

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes lingering on mine as though peeling away my defenses layer by layer. Then, with a slow, calculated step, he lowered himself into the leather armchair opposite me. The chair creaked faintly under his weight, the sound sharp in the oppressive silence.

“I have a problem,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His tone was calm, but there was a blade beneath it. “And you might be the solution.”

I frowned, thrown by the unexpected statement. “I’m listening.”

“You’ve heard the name Viktor Ivanov,” he said. Not a question.

The name twisted in my gut like a blade, a visceral reaction I couldn’t suppress. Viktor was the man whose name shadowed every search I’d conducted about my mother. The man whose reach extended into every corner of the city. The man I suspected was tied to her disappearance.

“I’ve heard it,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended. A flicker of something dark passed through his gaze, but he didn’t comment.

“Viktor is the reason my family is dead,” Saint continued, his voice sharp and cold, each word striking like steel against stone. “He built his empire on betrayal—and the blood of people I cared about. I’ve spent every day since making sure he knows I’m coming for him.”

For the first time, his control seemed to falter. His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, the grief and rage beneath his polished exterior bled through. It wasn’t just vengeance driving him—it was something deeper, something raw and broken.

“What does this have to do with me?” I asked cautiously, though the connection was beginning to take shape in my mind.

His eyes didn’t waver. “You’ve already proven you’re resourceful. Skilled. Reckless enough to get Viktor’s attention. That makes you dangerous to him—and useful to me.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. Useful. A tool. A weapon. And yet, he wasn’t wrong. I had skills Viktor couldn’t ignore. Skills that had already marked me as a target.

“I’m not your tool,” I snapped, my voice sharp and unyielding.

“No,” he agreed easily, leaning back in his chair. “But you are someone who wants answers. And I can give them to you.”

The room seemed to tilt, my breath catching in my throat. “What do you know about my mother?”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—calculation, or maybe something deeper. “Enough to know our goals align. You want to find her. I want to destroy him. Work with me, and you might just get the answers you’re looking for.”

The words hung in the air like a noose. A few hours ago, I’d been clawing my way out of a trap, and now I was sitting across from one of the most dangerous men in the city, being offered a deal I didn’t understand.

“And if I say no?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

“You won’t,” he said, matter-of-fact.

I forced a glare. “You can’t force me.”

“No,” he said slowly, his gaze locking with mine. “But Viktor can. You’ve seen what he’s willing to do to keep his secrets. Do you really think you’ll survive alone?”

The truth of his words hit me like ice water. Viktor’s men had already come too close. They’d try again. And again. Refusing Saint’s offer might not even buy me time. But aligning myself with him felt like slipping a noose around my own neck.

“I don’t trust you,” I said finally, my voice trembling.

His lips twitched, humorless. “Good. That means you’re smarter than most.”

“You’re asking me to make a deal with the devil.”

He leaned forward, his voice low and unrelenting. “I’m asking you to survive, Morrison. You don’t have to trust me. You just have to trust that this is your best chance.”

The silence stretched, suffocating. My thoughts spiraled in a storm of fear, doubt, and longing. Longing for the answers that had driven me this far. Longing for a way out of the nightmare I’d walked into.

“Fine,” I said finally, the word bitter on my tongue. “I’ll help you. But if you’re lying about my mother—”

“I don’t lie,” he interrupted, his voice steel. “You’ll learn that soon enough.”

I didn’t believe him. Not really. But I nodded anyway.

The deal was struck.

And I had just gambled away my soul.