Bruised and Bound

The tires screeched as Rios pulled into the parking lot of Black Moon Bar. The neon glow bathed the pavement in eerie light, the bass-heavy music thudding through the walls like a heartbeat.

Inside the bar, Rios could see pertinent faces from the showbiz industry. Celebrities, models, and even corrupt politicians indulged in this place, all drowning in expensive liquor and party drugs that his business associates passed around in secret. However, these patrons were blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind closed doors.

Rios exhaled sharply as he stalked past the VIP lounge, pushing through a private door. Inside, Vincent Madrigal paced with a whiskey glass in hand, rage darkening his features.

"You better have a good reason for dragging me here," Rios muttered, his voice low and edged with warning.

Vincent spun, his eyes burning. "What the hell were you thinking?" He slammed the glass onto the desk. "Changing drop locations without telling me? Cutting my runners out? Now we've got heat on us!"

Rios deliberately unbuttoned his suit jacket as he tried to summon calmness in his demeanor. He definitely did not approve of Vincent's tone. "The old system was sloppy. There were too many hands and too many risks. This way, it's cleaner."

"Cleaner?" Vincent barked a bitter laugh. "A kid OD'd last night, Rios. His family's powerful enough to get cops sniffing around. You understand what that means?"

Rios stepped forward. "It means we tighten our ranks. Not throw tantrums like children."

Vincent's fist clenched. "You arrogant son of a—" He swung, Rios dodged but just enough for Vincent's knuckles to graze his jaw. Anger surged as Rios countered, landing a brutal hook to Vincent's ribs. Vincent staggered back, gripping the desk for support.

"Think before you move against me," Rios warned, pointing his fingers at Vincent.

The man wiped his mouth, his eyes still blazing. "Think before you make decisions that put us both at risk."

Hearing that, Rios lunged again, but this time, he was not holding back. A sharp right snapped Vincent's head sideways, followed by a crushing blow to the gut. Vincent grunted, doubling over but still had enough fight to shove Rios against the wall. Furniture rattled as the office turned to chaos; a lamp fell to the floor, a chair broke…

Vincent staggered back, panting, gripping his ribs. Meanwhile, Rios straightened his cuffs like nothing had happened. He was used to fist-fights like these, and it wasn't the first time he had a brawl with Vincent. "You're in this business because of me," he said. "If you can't handle the way I run things, step aside."

This time, Vincent didn't argue. Deep inside, he knew he wouldn't win over Rios no matter what he did. Rios grabbed his coat, flicking dust from his sleeve. "Clean up your mess, Vincent. And next time? Call me with solutions, not complaints," he warned before stomping out of the room.

Later, Rios was already back inside his sleek car, driving to the hotel where he left Sofia.

The city blurred past as Rios drove, the hum of the engine filling the silence. His mind, however, was far from quiet.

Sofia. Even in his messed-up brain, he kept seeing her—chest heaving with rage, hands trembling slightly despite her bravado at her apartment earlier. She had been fearless, spitting venom at the bastard who tried to touch her. And yet, later, when he left her at the hotel, she had looked... small. Vulnerable.

His grip tightened on the wheel. That moment shouldn't have bothered him. He had bigger problems—like the contract sitting on his passenger seat. Or the fight with Vincent. Or—

His father's voice slithered into his head. "You need to settle down, son. You need a real woman. A wife who understands our world."

Rios clenched his jaw. His father was talking about Beatrice Sandoval. That woman had spent years twisting him, manipulating him, sinking her nails into him at every turn. She was his family's perfect choice. Beatrice was ruthless, cunning, and bred for this life. But he wanted nothing to do with her.

His foot pressed harder on the gas. He knew now that Sofia was his ticket out, and although Sasha made a point of how dangerous this arrangement would be to Sofia, for him, it would just be purely business. Besides, Sofia would be pampered and protected.

And yet, the thought of having her in his bed stirred a different excitement in his mind… and his loins. Rios clenched his jaw, cursing under his breath. Mixing business with pleasure had screwed him over before—more than once. He wasn't about to make that mistake again. Sofia was irresistible as fuck, but he'd already learned his lesson with Beatrice Sandoval. This time, he'd let his brain do the thinking, not his penis.

As he stepped into the elevator. The soft chime echoed in the dimly lit hallway of the Grand Royal Hotel. He checked his watch. 3 A.M. He pushed the suite door open quietly. A soft glow from the city lights filtered through the windows. The air smelled of lavender and something unmistakably hers. And there, in the center of the massive bed—Sofia, curled up, fast asleep.

Her breathing was slow and even. One hand rested near her face, dark hair spilling over the pillow in soft waves. She looked peaceful. He exhaled, rubbing his fingers over his jaw. The contract was still in his hand.

Rios moved closer, standing at the edge of the bed. His fingers twitched. He felt the urge to touch her, to trace the curve of her cheek, to feel something real after a night drenched in blood and violence. But he stopped himself from doing so. Sofia wasn't like the other women he carelessly pulled into his bed. He only watched as she stirred slightly, shifting in her sleep, her lips parting with a soft sigh. Rios exhaled, glancing at the contract once more before rolling it between his fingers. Finally, he set it down on the bedside table.

"Sleep while you still can, woman," he murmured.

Because the moment she signed that paper, she wouldn't just be pretending. She would be his.