Dangerous Craving

Sofie Lancelot stepped out of the luxirious Maybach, her fingers tightening around the strap of her handbag.

Inside the bag rested a small, wrapped box. Ronan Whitelock had placed it in her hand, giving only one clear order to deliver it with no mistakes.

She lifted her eyes to the towering building in front of her. The place screamed money and power. Private security cameras tucked into every corner. Definitely not a spot for civilians.

Sofie inhaled slowly, steadying herself. She swallowed the knot in her throat and straightened her posture. She wasn’t just some errand girl. She was representing the Whitelock Syndicate.

Before heading in, she glanced back at the car. Vincent DeLuca, Ronan’s trusted right hand, sat behind the wheel, watching everything like a hawk. Their eyes met briefly and he gave her a small nod, which said: do the job, stay sharp, don’t screw this up.

This was her third official run as the boss’s personal assistant. The last job had gone real ugly. She still remembered the taste of that drugged drink, the spinning room, the way danger had closed in on her. If Ronan hadn’t kicked that door down when he did… She quietly pushed the memory away.

She turned and walked inside.

The doorman barely spared her a glance, offering a lazy hum of greeting. She returned it with a polite nod and moved across the grand lobby. On the outside, she looked calm and collected, but inside, her pulse drummed hard in her ears.

The elevator doors slid open. She stepped in and pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

As the elevator climbed, she went over her mental checklist like a soldier prepping for battle. Knock, enter, deliver the package, walk away.

The doors opened to a dim hallway bathed in low light. At the far end stood Room 352, her destination.

She approached the door and paused, listening carefully. Faint music pulsed inside, mixed with muffled laughter and the clink of glasses. Definitely not a business-only environment.

She knocked lightly.

A deep voice called out. “Come in.”

She pushed the door open.

The suite was warm and the air saturated with the smell of cigar smoke and whiskey. A man lounged in a large couch, like he owned the world. A glass of whiskey rested in his hand. Two naked women draped themselves across the couch nearby, their laughter soft and sultry, their attention fixed on him. They barely acknowledged Sofie’s presence.

The man’s sharp gaze lifted and locked onto her, his eyes cold.

“You must be the delivery,” he said smoothly, his Italian accent faint but present. “You’re late.”

Sofie kept her voice steady. “I’m right on time. Three minutes early, actually.”

He glanced at the wall clock and gave a faint smirk. “I see.”

She stepped forward and pulled the wrapped box from her handbag, holding it out calmly.

“Put it there,” he said lazily, nodding toward the glass coffee table.

Sofie placed it down carefully. Her fingers trembled just a little, but she prayed he didn’t notice. In this world, weakness was blood in the water.

He picked up the case and turned it slowly in his hands, weighing it, studying it, testing it without opening it. His sharp eyes flicked up to hers.

“Hope it’s what I ordered,” he said smoothly.

“We’re efficient,” Sofie replied, keeping her voice steady and professional. "We don’t mess up deliveries.” She straightened slightly. “I’ll be on my way.”

His eyes stayed on her longer than necessary. A cold wave of panic slid through her veins. The way he looked at her made her skin crawl, like she wasn’t a representative of a syndicate, but something to be owned.

“Have a drink with me,” he said softly, lifting his whiskey glass.

Hell no. Her stomach tightened instantly. Last time she accepted a drink on a job, she had ended up drugged and helpless, trapped with a savage who thought a woman working for the mob was fair game. If Ronan hadn’t shown up when he did, there wouldn’t have been much left of her pride or her safety.

“I’m on a tight schedule,” she said, swallowing hard as she took a small step back. “Maybe next time.”

Her instincts were screaming at her to leave immediately.

He smirked slowly, amused. “No need to rush, bella. A little conversation never hurt anybody. It’s good for business.”

“Nice doing business with you,” she replied quickly, cutting him off before he could push further.

She turned immediately and walked out, keeping her pace controlled, refusing to show fear.

The moment she stepped into the hallway and headed toward the elevator, a gunshot exploded through the air. The sound cracked like thunder in a closed room.

Sofie froze mid-step. Her body went stiff. Her eyes darted left and right as her ears strained to catch where it came from.

Another shot rang out.

She rushed to the elevator and hit the button.

Before the doors could even respond, a bullet tore through the glass panel with a violent blast. Glass shattered everywhere, spraying across the floor.

Panic surged through her. She quickly reached into her waistband and pulled out the small pistol Ronan had insisted she carry. “Always have a backup, piccola,” he had told her. “In this life, trust your gun more than people.”

With her free hand, she kept pressing the elevator button.

“Come on… open,” she whispered urgently, jamming it again and again.

But it wouldn't open. Either the system was disabled, or the bullet had killed it.

More shots rang out, closer now. Heavy footsteps sounded down the corridor. Men were shouting. These were not hotel security, but soldiers.

She spun around and ran back to the suite she had just left. She pushed the door open without knocking.

“You’re back?” the man asked casually.

Sofie glanced at him and froze for half a second.

He was no longer in the couch. Now he was on the bed, one woman straddling him, the other trailing her hands down his chest as if bullets weren’t flying through the hallway.

Sofie didn’t have time for the madness of it.

“The hotel is under attack!” she snapped, her voice tight with panic as more gunshots rang outside, followed by screams and running footsteps.

He looked at her pistol and raised a brow. “You’ve got a gun,” he said coolly. “Don’t panic.”

Don’t panic? Sofie stared at him in disbelief. The two women looked completely unbothered, relaxed like this was just a usual event.

That was when something clicked. If he wasn’t worried, maybe he had his own crew downstairs handling business. Maybe this was just another turf war.

A strange sense of safety washed over her for a brief second. Trying to take a deep breath of relief, the door suddenly burst open.

Armed men stormed inside, rifles raised, faces hard.

Sofie’s heart thumped hard against her ribs. She dropped fast, ducking behind a couch as bullets tore through the room. Her pistol came up in a clean motion, both hands steady now.

“She’s here! She’s here!” a voice shouted.

Her blood ran cold when she saw men moving toward the couch, where she was hiding. That was when she realized, they were looking for her.

Her mouth went dry, but she leaned out and fired three shots. The recoil jolted up her arms, but every bullet missed its mark.

Before she could reposition, a large hand grabbed her and yanked her up brutally from behind the couch.

“Amateur,” the man sneered.

He struck her wrist hard. The pistol flew from her grip, skidding across the floor before slamming into the wall. The impact cracked the frame and rendered it useless.

Sofie didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, swinging her fists wildly, kicking as hard as she could. She wasn’t going down quietly. If they wanted her, they’d have to work for it.

“Get off me!” she screamed, twisting, elbowing, fighting like a cornered cat. But they were stronger.

One man locked her arms behind her back. Another shoved her down to her knees. A third clamped a rough hand over her mouth, cutting off her scream.

“Hold her still.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a syringe in another man’s hand. Her heart nearly stopped.

“No!” she tried to shout, but it came out muffled against the palm pressed over her lips.

She thrashed violently, kicking backward, jerking her head, biting down on the hand covering her mouth. The man cursed, but his grip tightened.

The needle pierced her arm and she felt a sharp sting. Then the cold liquid spread through her veins.

She fought harder, eyes wide with terror. Her breathing became uneven. The room tilted slightly. She remembered the last time she had been drugged.

Her body began to betray her. Her legs weakened first. She tried to kick again, but her muscles refused to answer. Her strength drained like someone had pulled a plug.

Ronan’s face flashed through her mind, then Vincent who was downstairs in the car, waiting for her.

Did he hear the gunshots? Did he know she was in trouble? Or was he already fighting for his own life?

Her vision blurred. The voices around her sounded distant now, like they were underwater.

“Package secured,” someone muttered.

Package. That was what she was now.

She forced her eyes to stay open, trying to hold onto consciousness. But her eyelids grew heavier.

And in the space of a single blink, darkness swallowed her whole.