Deal with the Dark Don

Beyond floor-to-ceiling glass, Jaxon Creed stood in his penthouse, the skyline of Birmingham a ragged crown of lights. At thirty-two, he was a legend etched in rumors, tall and broad-shouldered, with ice-blue eyes that cut like a dagger through darkness. His swept-back dark hair framed a face that was both merciless and angelic, a mafia don dressed in the style of a billionaire. His massive form was embraced by his fitted suit, which exuded authority in every inch. However, his heart, which was bruised by Lila's treachery ten years prior, trusted few people. With its slick black leather and polished mahogany, the penthouse was a stronghold of authority, and the aroma of cigar smoke and alcohol filled the air. His wealth served as a shield, his influence as a noose, and he was regarded as a deity among criminals in Birmingham.

He drank a crystal bourbon while staring at a monitor that showed shaky video from the Grand Belle's masquerade. Through the lace mask, Scarlett Boone's image flickered, her auburn hair catching the light and her fierce stare burning. Her lavender perfume lingered like a ghost after that kiss, shattering his finely crafted armor. He hadn't gone to the gala to lust after a stranger, but something he couldn't control had been roused by her fire. Even though he was in his territory now, with the city below him like a chessboard he controlled, his mind was still attached to her.

His second-in-command, Tucker Vance, paced the room, his scarred cheek twitching in the dim light, his rough physique tense. Tucker was respected for his slyness at thirty, but Jaxon doubted his devotion since his ambition was too strong. Tucker threw a tablet onto the desk and stated, "Shipment's delayed again," in a tense voice. "Our routes are being hit by Carver's men. We must strike back.

With his eyes fixed on Scarlett's picture, Jaxon yelled, "Then make it happen," in a tone as icy as steel. "Tucker, I don't pay you to complain."

"No faith in me?" Tucker narrowed his black eyes and leaned forward to ask. Or is that gala girl occupying your attention too much?

Jaxon's fingers gripped the tumbler as his jaw tensed. "Be mindful of your tone," he added in a low, menacing voice. "I own my business."

Tucker leaned back and grinned. "Just letting you know, boss. For you, chasing a nobody is a fresh look.

Jaxon turned to Tucker and said, "She's not a nobody," in a quiet storm of a voice. "And you should keep in mind who is in charge."

Gideon Holt entered through the open door, his tattooed bulk taking up the entire frame. Dark-haired and devoted, Jaxon's enforcer was a former street boy whom Jaxon had rescued at the age of sixteen. Those in Jaxon's inner circle admired him for his unwavering dedication, and his rugged visage and steady brown eyes made him a trusted shadow. As he tossed a file onto the desk, Gideon growled, "You're off, boss." "Carver is going quickly. We need you to be focused and not lusting for a girl.

Jaxon's eyes darted to the file and then back to Scarlett's picture as he remarked, "I'm sharp." "Gideon, what's her story?"

With a smile that broke his frown, Gideon added, "Scarlett Boone." Waitress on the fifth dive. Bills are mounting and the mother is dying of cancer. A spotless record, but He looked at Tucker and hesitated. In ancient files, her father's name appeared. Boone Thomas. Signify anything?

The name was a shard of ice in Jaxon's chest as his hold on the tumbler tightened. Thomas Boone was a traitor who had cost his family blood and was a phantom from his past. His voice clipped as he said, "Dig deeper." "Her life, her debts, her secrets, I want it all."

"Are you already in love?" Gideon folded his arms and teased. "There must have been something in that kiss."

Jaxon muttered, "Watch it," but there was a rare slip in his façade as his lips quirked. Make an appointment with her. By themselves. Tonight.

Tucker's scarred cheek twisted as he scoffed. You're trying to find a waitress? Jaxon, that isn't a plan; it's a liability.

With a low, menacing voice and a feral gleam in his eyes, Jaxon declared, "She's more than you think." "I own her."

With a nod, Gideon made his way to the door. "I will find her." But boss, don't let her cloud your judgment. Carver isn't performing.

Jaxon looked out the window, his eyes reflecting the lights of the city. In his meticulously regulated environment, Scarlett was a wild card, a flame, and he was terrified by the need he felt for her. He was prepared to ignite the spark that her kiss had ignited.

Scarlett's auburn hair fell into her doe eyes as she washed tables back at the cafe, her wiry frame hurting from working two shifts. Ivy sipped her coffee while leaning on the counter, her blond curls bouncing. She smiled and remarked, "Scar, you're glowing." "Are you still considering that unidentified man?"

Scarlett replied softly, a small smile piercing her tiredness, "I don't even know his name." But Ivy, he gave me a sense of being seen. As if I were important.

Ivy's tone became serious as she stated, "Seen is dangerous in this town." "Are you certain you're not overburdened?"

With her rag motionless on the table, Scarlett hesitated. "Perhaps," she said, her voice hardly audible. "However, it felt... alive."

An unsigned packet fell out of her bag and onto the ground as she turned to retrieve it. With her heart pounding, she bent down and opened it to reveal pictures of her kissing the stranger at the masquerade, her face visible through the mask. As she showed Ivy, her breath froze and she felt fear coil in her stomach. Her voice was shaking as she muttered, "Who took these?"

With green eyes wide with fear, Ivy replied, "Someone is watching you." "Scar, this isn't random."

A note with the following incisive and methodical handwriting was tucked inside: "Midnight, diner parking lot." Come by yourself.

"Who is involved in this?" Scarlett's fingers gripped the note as she asked, her voice trembling.

"Are you going?" Taking hold of her arm, Ivy questioned in an agitated tone.

Scarlett's jaw was set, fear subdued by determination. Despite the storm in her breast, she spoke steadily as she said, "For Mama." "I must."

The dining lot was a puddle of darkness at midnight, with rain and fuel permeating the air. With her heart thumping like a battle drum, Scarlett stood by herself, her sneakers scuffing the damp sidewalk. "Show yourself!" she yelled, her voice piercing the quiet, her dread concealed by defiance.

A towering, powerful figure with eyes that gleamed in the gloom like a predator's appeared out of the shadows. The weight of his presence forced air out of her lungs.

"Who are you?" Scarlett's hands shook at her sides, but her voice was sharp as she ordered.

With a silky and menacing voice, he murmured, "Your only hope," and moved closer until his shadow engulfed hers.