Chapter 3

Veronica

The sound of my phone buzzing violently woke me from sleep. My body felt heavy. I looked over to lift the weight pressing on me, only to meet the face of the man from yesterday.

I glanced at my phone as the alarm continued to buzz.

9:30.

Shit, shit, shit.

I was late for work. I unlocked my phone to see a pile of notifications from my boss at Italian Pleasantries. I was already an hour late.

I grabbed my clothes from the bedside. Carefully, I lifted the man's hands off my body and laid them gently on the other side of the mattress. But as I moved, I glanced at his sleeping state—so peaceful, like someone who hadn't had a decent sleep in ages.

Looking at his face up close, he appeared even more calm, with the features of a model. I hadn’t seen much of his face yesterday because of the darkness, but now I noticed a small scar near his left eye. It was permanent, but it somehow added to his beauty.

I tiptoed out of bed and into the bathroom, making sure I didn’t make a single noise to wake the beast.

There was no use going home to change; if I wasted more time, I’d definitely lose my job.

Inside the bathroom, I turned on the water and splashed it over my face as I scrubbed off the makeup from last night. I swished a handful of water in my mouth and spat it into the sink.

Just as I reached for the towel, the door clicked open, revealing the stranger from yesterday.

His eyes wandered around the bathroom before settling back on me. This time, his gaze seemed to darken.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his morning voice rough and groggy—one that could make any woman stutter.

I stood still for a moment, unsure how to respond.

“The night's over,” I mumbled, taking the towel from its hook.

“Why?” he continued, his voice husky and low.

Why? Was he serious? I nearly rolled my eyes. Did he think this was some casual hookup we could keep going with?

“The night’s over,” I repeated, trying to brush past him.

“No,” he said, stopping me with one hand on my arm. He pulled me back toward the bathroom, his grip firm but not rough—just enough to keep me in place.

My breath hitched as he backed me into the corner, looking down at me like a predator ready to devour its prey.

“Stay with me.”

“Let go of me!” I yelled, trying to wiggle out of his hold, but his grip was like iron.

He didn’t relent. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin.

“I'll pay you ten times more, Hell, I’ll give you whatever you need. Just stay.”

He growled, his eyes flickering in the morning sun as he held me under his arms.

“Let go of me!” I screamed again, instinctively sending a hard kick at his groin. He loosened his grip just enough for me to slip out, and I seized the chance to run.

I could hear his loud groan and curses behind me as I dashed out of the hotel, my shoes held tightly in my hands.

Last night with him was something I had never felt before—a mixture of force and gentleness.

Outside the hotel, I stopped a cab and immediately got in, heading for work at the restaurant.

During the day, I worked as a waitress at Big Burgers Cafe, and at night, I stripped. The pay from both jobs was minimal, but just enough to cover my accommodation and food.

The cab came to a stop in front of the cafe. I paid the driver and quickly ran inside.

“Late again, are we, Miss Norman?” my manager, Miss Shelby, said, blocking my path at the entrance.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, lowering my head in a bow.

Miss Shelby liked me, but when I overstepped my boundaries, she didn’t take it lightly. Lateness was one of those boundaries she took very seriously.

She gave me a stern look before her expression softened with curiosity as she glanced down at me. I followed her gaze to see her looking at my outfit. I forgot I still had on part of yesterday’s makeup, my heel in my hand, and a short black dress.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll quickly change now,” I said, answering the question I already knew she was going to ask.

I scurried away before heading into the backroom for staff only. Just as I tightened the knot of my apron, my phone buzzed in my purse.

“Mr. Brandon?” I said aloud, looking at the caller ID. He never called me unless it was work hours. Did the stranger complain to him, and now he was going to scold me? I picked up the call and pressed it to my ear.

A shaken, breathless voice filled with fear and urgency greeted me as soon as the line connected.

“Run, Far away! Just leave the country at once.” His voice echoed through the phone, trembling

with fear.

“What do you m—”

“He's after you. He wants you, and he wont s—”

The line cut before he finished his sentence, and I felt my heart race.

Did I anger a Mafia Don?