No table is big enough when two devils claim the same throne. Especially when the throne is you.
The meeting was supposed to be about PR strategy.
Campaigns. Numbers. PowerPoint lies.But all I could think about was the ache between my legs and the signature I'd just given to the devil with the better pen.
Cassian sat at the head of the conference table—an Armani executioner in human form.I was two seats down, legs crossed, lips shut, pretending I belonged in a room where silence was currency and fear wore cologne.
Then the air changed.
Not like a breeze.Like a threat.
The door opened without a knock.
And just like that—every alpha in the room shrank back, except for one.
Dante Morelli.
All black.No tie.A shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the crucifix scarred into his chest.
Three men flanked him. Mafia muscle in designer suits. No names. No expressions.
Cassian didn't move.Didn't blink.He just tilted his head like he was already calculating the cost of cleaning blood out of marble.
"Cassian," Dante drawled. "Still polishing your ego with your interns' broken dreams?"
"Dante." Cassian's voice was ice wrapped in velvet. "I assumed you'd overdosed on relevance by now."
A flicker of a smile from Dante.The kind you get right before the blade slips in.
"I came for her."
And just like that—every head turned to me.
I felt naked.And not in the good way.
Dante's gaze dragged across my body like a promise and a punishment all at once.
"She's not yours," Cassian said, rising, slow and controlled.
Dante stepped closer.
"She bleeds like mine. Screams like mine. Still tastes like mine."
I froze.Not from fear.From memory.From need.
Cassian's jaw flexed.
"I'd be careful," he said, voice low. "You're not in Chicago anymore. You're in my city. My tower. My game."
Dante leaned in—close enough to fuck with the air between them.
"You've got rules? Cute."He tilted his head, eyes flicking to the execs like they were mannequins in a murder scene."She likes it better when there are none."
The tension cracked—violent, erotic, unbearable.
Cassian reached into his jacket.Dante's men tensed.
But Cassian only pulled out a card. Smooth. Unbothered. Deadly.
He placed it on the table in front of Dante.
"That's the name of a surgeon. You'll need him."
Dante laughed.Laughed like he didn't care if he died.Because some men don't want to survive.They want to leave scars.
He turned to me.
"I'll see you soon, bambina. When this glass castle shatters. When you're on your knees, remembering who you really are."
Then he walked out.
No fear.No permission.
Just a hurricane dressed in silk and sin.
Cassian didn't say a word.
He sat.Took a sip of his wine.Then turned to the man next to him.
"Reschedule the rest of the day," he said. "I need a room cleared."
His gaze landed on me.But this time, it wasn't possession.It was promise.
"Come with me."
And I did.Because I wasn't Lexa anymore.I was theirs.
Caught between two storms, with no one coming to save me.