Chapter 2: One Wrong Move

*Layla* 

I hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the ballroom. I knew I should say no, that I should find Anton and stick to the plan to meet Dante. But something about this man drew me in, like a moth to a flame.

He was breathtakingly handsome, with chiseled features that seemed to be carved from marble. His dark hair was perfectly styled, with a few stray strands falling rakishly across his forehead. But it was his warm chocolate eyes that truly captivated me. When he looked at me, it felt as though he could see straight into my soul.

He had a presence about him, an aura of power and confidence that was impossible to ignore. 

I placed my hand in his, allowing him to sweep me into his arms. We moved together like we'd been dancing for years, our bodies perfectly in sync.

His hand rested on the small of my back, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of my dress. When the music ended, he didn't let go right away. Instead, he held me close for a moment longer, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.

As the song ended, he leaned in close, his breath tickling my ear. "Let me take you home tonight," he murmured, his voice full of promise.

For a moment, I was tempted. Heat pooled between my legs and I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in this man's arms, to forget about Marco and the danger that lurked around every corner.

But I knew I couldn't. I had a mission to complete, and I couldn't afford any distractions.

I pulled away, my heart racing. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I can't."

And with that, I turned and fled, leaving the handsome stranger behind. I hurried through the crowd, my eyes searching for Anton.

As I made my way towards the exit, I began to worry about Marco’s reaction when he found out that I hadn’t been able to get a look at Dante DeLuca, let alone talk to him. All I wanted was to get home and make sure my mother was okay.

When I stepped outside, I looked for Anton but couldn't find him.

"Leaving so soon?" a voice hummed from beside me.

I turned to see the same man I danced with standing before me, his presence commanding and magnetic.

"I... I should get home," I forced myself to say despite the intense need I had to drape myself in his arms. “I should find my escort."

The man glanced around, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "Some escort. Just send him a text." he said, his voice smooth and confident.

When I still hesitated, he seemed to concede defeat. “May I at least have your name?” 

“Layla… Layla Jennings.” 

He smiled, a smile that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. 

"Layla," he repeated, as if savoring the sound of my name on his tongue. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

I felt a blush creep into my cheeks at his words. "And you are?"

He gestured towards a waiting limo, where a man in a suit was standing patiently. "Please, let me escort you home. I insist."

I knew I should decline, that I should stick to the plan and leave with the man who had brought me here and report back to Marco. 

"I don't want to impose..." I began, but he cut me off with a gentle hand on the small of my back. I felt shivers run through my entire body just by this small, simple touch.

"Nonsense," he dismissed, guiding me towards the car. "Your safety and comfort are of the utmost importance to me."

As he held the door open for me, I paused, my eyes meeting his once more. There was something in his gaze that both terrified and thrilled me, an intensity that I had never encountered before.

I slid into his limo, my heart pounding in my chest. He followed close behind, his presence filling the small space with an electric energy.

As the limo pulled away from the curb, I couldn't shake the feeling that my life had just taken a turn into uncharted territory. Who was this man, whose name I didn't even know, that had walked into my world just as it was turning upside down?

As we sped through the city streets, I found myself sitting closer to the mysterious man than I had intended. The scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, a heady mix of spice and musk that made my head spin.

"I don't even know your name," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, a slow, seductive curve of his lips. "I promise to tell you before sunrise." 

I raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on my lips. "I'm not certain I'll know you for that long."

He chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Well, if you have to call me something. You can call me Mister..." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Or Daddy, if you prefer."

My cheeks flushed at his bold suggestion, a mix of shock and excitement coursing through my veins. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, his expression changed. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he stared out the window.

"We're being followed," he noted, his voice tight with tension.

I turned to look, my heart pounding in my chest. Sure enough, a black SUV was tailing us, its headlights blinding in the darkness. It must have been Anton. I was ready to explain and ask to be left out, but he spoke first.

"I'm sorry, Layla," he said, his hand finding mine and squeezing it gently. "But we're going to have to take a detour."

Before I could respond, the limo swerved sharply, sending me tumbling into his arms. He held me close as the car careened through the streets, the SUV in hot pursuit.

I clung to him, my face buried in his chest as the world spun around us. I could hear the screeching of tires, the sound of metal on metal as the SUV tried to force us off the road.

But he remained calm, his arms like a fortress around me. He barked orders to the driver, his voice steady and commanding even as the car jerked and shuddered beneath us.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the limo slowed to a stop. I looked up, my heart still racing as I tried to make sense of our surroundings.

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"Somewhere safe," he replied, helping me out of the car.

We were standing in front of a nondescript building, its windows dark and its facade unmarked. He led me inside, his hand on the small of my back as we navigated the dimly lit hallways.

Finally, we arrived at a door. He punched in a code on a keypad, and the door swung open to reveal a spacious apartment.

"You'll be safe here," he told me, ushering me inside. "At least for tonight."

I hesitated, glancing back at the door. I knew I should leave, that I should find a way to contact Anton and explain. But the thought of going back out there, of facing the danger that lurked in the shadows, made my stomach twist with fear.

"I can't," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't stay here." I steeled myself to explain the SUV must have been my escort looking for me, but again he spoke first.

“I apologize, Layla. Sometimes my life has these unexpected situations. But I promise that you are safe here with me. Just stay and rest for a little while. Then we can be sure that the car is completely gone."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I took in the soft sincerity of his eyes with no hint at malice or seduction. Still, I knew I was playing with fire, that staying here with him was a risk I couldn't afford to take.

But something in his eyes, in the way he looked at me, made me want to trust him. Made me want to believe that he could keep me safe, even as my world crumbled to pieces.

"Okay," I whispered. "I'll stay."

Even as I said the words, I thought of my mom, the bruises on her face, Marco’s threats. Tears hit my eyes once more as I was torn between safety here with this man or going back out in the cold alone to content with Marco.

He lifted a hand and brushed the tear from my cheek curiously. His eyes pierced into mine full of questions that he was too polite to ask.

"Good." His hand traced from my cheek to my shoulder and then down my arm, finding my hand and squeezing it gently. "Let's get you settled in."

As he led me into the guest room, I couldn't help but admire the elegance of the space. The bed was large and inviting, with soft, silky sheets that promised a restful night's sleep. But just as I was about to express my gratitude, my stomach let out a loud, embarrassing growl.

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but he just chuckled softly. "Sounds like someone's hungry," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Let me make you something to eat."

I started to protest, but he held up a hand to silence me. "I insist," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You're my guest, and it's the least I can do."

I followed him to the kitchen, watching as he moved with grace and confidence, pulling ingredients from the fridge and cupboards. He seemed to know his way around the kitchen, and I couldn't help but wonder if he cooked often.

As he worked, I leaned against the counter, my eyes trained on his every move. There was something mesmerizing about the way he handled the food, the way his hands moved with such precision and skill.

"Could you help me drain the pasta?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me.

I nodded, moving to his side and taking the pot from his hands. As I poured the pasta into the colander, I felt his eyes on me, watching my every move.

"Thank you, Mister..." I trailed off as I realized I still didn't know his name.

He smiled, a slow, seductive curve of his lips. "You're welcome, Layla."

We worked together in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the sizzle of the sauce on the stove. But as I reached for a spoon to taste the sauce, I felt his hand on my wrist, stopping me.

"Let me," he offered in a low and husky voice.

He dipped the spoon into the sauce and brought it to my lips, his eyes locked on mine as I tasted it. It was delicious, the perfect balance of sweet and savory, and I couldn't help but let out a small moan of pleasure.

"Good?" he asked, his eyes dark with desire.

I nodded, my tongue darting out to lick a spot of sauce from my lip. But before I could, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth and tasting the sauce for himself.

I gasped, my body responding to his touch in ways I hadn't expected. When he pulled away, I was breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Thank you, Mister..." I said again, my voice shaky.

He smiled, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek. "Call me Daddy," he insisted, his voice a low growl.