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CHAPTER 4
ALINA
"You're going to deliver my message, dove,"
His gaze bore into mine, unblinking, as if daring me to challenge him, to defy the command lingering beneath his deceptively calm tone.
The gun traced a slow, deliberate path along my jawline, pressing just enough for me to feel the chill of the steel seeping into my skin.
"And you're going to deliver it exactly as I tell you. No questions. No mistakes."
I frowned, teeth-gritting beneath his touch.
A message?
The corner of his mouth twisted into a predatory smile, his eyes glinting with cold amusement.
"Tell your precious Daddy this—if he has the money to waste on this charade, then he damn well has the money he owes me. His time is running out. I want every penny he’s stolen, every last cent, returned. No more delays. No more excuses. Every. Last. One."
I raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the frantic pounding in my chest, though my voice faltered just a little.
"Or what?"
His brows furrowed, momentarily stunned by my question. For a brief, fleeting second, I swore I caught a glimpse of a smile—before it disappeared, quickly replaced by his usual cold mask.
"Or I’ll take something far more valuable from him. Something he’ll never be able to get back. And when I do, you’ll wish he had just paid me."
A bitter laugh escaped me, even as the cold barrel pressed harder against my skin. I shoved his hand away from my lips, my pulse roaring in my ears as his eyes flashed with brief surprise.
"Good luck with that," I spat, lifting my chin despite the fear clawing at my chest.
"There’s nothing precious to him. Nothing more important than his money."
His eyes narrowed.
"Is that so?" he drawled, voice dripping with mock amusement.
I nodded, my fists clenching at my sides, heat flooding my cheeks as my frustration surged.
"Yes," I said, my voice steady but sharp.
"And why should I be the one to deliver your message?" I shot back, my voice laced with defiance.
"Why don’t you take the damn responsibility and deliver it yourself—or better yet, call him on his damn mobile!"
He smirked, his eyes darkening as he took a slow step forward, the barrel of the gun never wavering. The chill of it pressed against my skin, a constant reminder of the danger in the room.
"If I go to your father," he said, his voice eerily calm, yet laced with a cold threat,
"I won’t be as... gracious as I am with you. I won’t simply deliver a message. No, I’ll make sure he feels every ounce of the consequence for crossing me. I’ll make sure he understands exactly what happens when you cross me. My fists will do the talking, and I’ll make him regret every cent he’s ever stolen, every lie he's told." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear.
"I’ll break him down, piece by piece until there’s nothing left but a broken shell. And then... I’ll make sure you’re there to watch the whole thing."
The venom in his words slithered into my veins, and for a brief moment, I wondered if he truly would follow through.
"Really?" I scoffed, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Holding a gun to my head counts as gracious in your book?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
The gun lingered, poised just over my heart, and for a heartbeat, I thought I'd gone too far. That I'd pushed him past the edge of his patience.
But then—slowly, deliberately—he leaned in, his breath a whisper against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The gun moved upward, tracing the curve of my breast with unsettling precision, and a dark chuckle rumbled from his chest.
“Oh, dove, you really should learn to control that tongue of yours,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous blend of silk and steel, smooth yet edged with a threat that made my blood run cold.
“You have no idea who you’re truly dealing with.”
The words slithered down my spine, leaving ice in their wake, but I forced myself not to flinch. The sharp scent of whiskey and something darker—gunpowder and danger—clung to his skin.
My heart hammered violently in my chest, but I refused to let him see my fear. Instead, I met his gaze, defiantly.
"You think you can scare me?" I asked, voice trembling but still holding its ground.
His lips curled into a smirk, but this time there was no trace of amusement. Only ice.
"Scare you?" His voice dropped lower, the threat in it so quiet it was deafening.
"Oh, dove. If I wanted to scare you...you'd be screaming already."
The gun shifted lower, trailing along the curve of my thigh with agonizing slowness, the icy metal a stark contrast against my burning skin. It lingered just beneath the edge of my underwear, deliberate and threatening, making my pulse hammer so violently I was sure he could hear it.
He was toying with me. Testing me. Pushing just to see how far I’d bend before I broke.
But I wouldn’t break.
My fists curled tighter at my sides, nails biting into my palms as I fought to steady my breathing, to think past the fog of fear pressing in on me.
"Look, Mr. Alexander Dimitri —" I forced the words out, my voice trembling despite the fire I tried to summon.
His lips curled, the smirk dark and knowing, eyes never leaving mine as if he could see every frantic thought racing behind them.
"Ah, so you do remember my name," he murmured, voice a deadly purr. The gun traced an idle path higher, the pressure never enough to hurt—but enough to remind me who was in control.
"Tell me, dove, have you been dreaming of me?"
My stomach twisted, heat flaring under my skin—not from desire, but from pure rage.
"What? No! Of course not!"
The smirk that played on his lips was a masterful blend of cruelty and allure, a potent combination that sent shivers coursing through my veins. His storm-grey eyes seemed to bore into my very soul, their piercing gaze making my skin prickle with unease.
"Mm, what a shame," he whispered, the words dripping with mockery and intimacy. His breath caressed my cheek, sending a frisson of heat through me as he drew closer, his lips inches from mine.
"Because dove," he continued, his voice weaving a spell of seduction and menace around me,
"If I was in your dreams... you'd wake up begging for more." The promise was implicit in his tone - a promise of pleasure and pain intertwined like the threads of a rich tapestry.
My response was instantaneous, born of fury and indignation.
"If you were in my dreams," I spat back at him, my voice trembling but fierce with conviction,
"they'd be nightmares." The words hung between us like a challenge thrown down on the battlefield of our emotions.
He smiled again - that maddening smile that seemed to hold secrets and promises beyond measure - before pulling back into the shadows from which he had emerged.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Now, you should leave before my father finds you and puts a bullet through your skull."
His head tilted, gaze lingering on me with a cruel kind of curiosity, as though he was savouring every flicker of fear I tried to hide. The smirk on his lips sharpened, slow and deliberate, while his storm-grey eyes narrowed just enough to make my skin prickle.