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Lachlan Byrnes wasn’t just another powerful man with a pretty face and a conscience he mistook for honor. He was connected to Nikolai Volkov, The Syndicate, Club Xyst, and DarkMatter machinery, and he knew things Ciro would pay dearly to hear.

Ciro would break him for information.

I wanted him broken for other opportunities.

A ruined man could be trained. Lachlan had already shown me his weak spot: his noble sense of honor. Touch the right nerve, wet the eyes, be submissive, make him believe saving me was his idea, and the stubborn Irishman lost his footing.

I wanted him on his knees, furious and bleeding, staring at me with those green eyes when he finally understood the helpless woman had led him by the throat.

Maybe, if I played this right, Lachlan Byrnes would become something more valuable than either Ciro or The Syndicate expected.

A weapon.

A shield.

A man dangerous enough to be useful once someone taught him how to submit.

My phone was still in my hand.

I opened my contacts and called the private salon that handled women who didn’t ask prices.

“Clear a room for me this afternoon,” I said when the manager answered. “I need the works.”

“How much time do you have, Miss Delgado?”

“Enough for a full-body wax and massage. And I need hair, nails, and makeup. Send someone for wardrobe too.”

“Any particular look?”

Men always named the wrapping and pretended the gift belonged to them.

“A palette of whites again. Soft,” I said. “Expensive. Innocent.”

A pause. “Innocent?”

“Did I stutter?”

“No, Miss Delgado.”

The woman on the other end understood then. People in service industries always did. They heard more truth in appointments than priests heard in confession.

“Of course,” she said. “We’ll take care of everything.”

“Yes, thank you.”

I ended the call and set the phone on my desk.

All I had to do was wait.

Men who wanted to save women always found a way to play the hero.

And when Lachlan Byrnes reached for me again, I would let him believe he had found something worth protecting.

By the time he realized who I really was, Ciro’s men would already have him locked inside his Salvadoran dungeon.

Chapter four

Thank the Lord, Sundays in late January were quieter at Xyst. Rich men with bad marriages and expensive habits would still fill the main floor and underground casino once we opened, but the lighter crowd made the building easier to control while we met upstairs.