The Devil's Favourite Obsession

When the black armoured SUV pulled into the underground garage in the Casanova building, Mark was already waiting near the private elevator.

Cassian did not wait for his driver to circle the vehicle. He pushed the heavy door open himself and stepped out into the damp basement air.

”Mark,” Cassian delivered the name entirely devoid of emotion.

Mark knew immediately that he was not going to like what was coming. He lowered his head, pressing his chin toward his chest in an old gesture of fear and submission. ”Yes, Boss.”

”Boss?!” followed a second pause before Cassian continued. ”Are you entirely certain I am your boss and not my father?” Cassian asked. His tone was coated in razor-thin sarcasm as he stalked past his second-in-command, heading straight for the elevator that led to his second-floor office.

”I would never dare act like your father when you already have one alive, Boss,” Mark replied, falling into step respectfully behind him.

”So you would attempt to parent me if he died?”

Mark genuinely considered the question for a fraction of a second, briefly taking mental residence in Michael Crown’s violent shoes, only to snap his chin up when he felt the sudden drop in the air pressure.

Cassian was glaring at him. The heat of that single look could melt bone.

Mark immediately dropped his head again. ”I apologise, Boss. I would never think of replacing any of your relatives.”

Mark knew exactly what this was about. The woman called Cixi McLore.

He desperately wanted to confess exactly why he had kept the truth of her continued existence hidden for the last six months, but Cassian’s next question cleanly cut him off.

”What about the body from the hotel?” Cassian asked passively.

”It has been taken care of and returned quietly to the family members,” Mark reported, easily shifting into his professional element.

”And?”

”The media have been fed the primary narrative. A severely drugged patron started a random shootout in the club before succumbing. It has already hit the late news cycle.”

”What about the witnesses who fled the scene early?” Cassian pressed as the elevator doors slid shut.

”Every single one of them received a direct message to their personal phones,” Mark answered smoothly. ”If they breathe a single syllable of what actually happened, they will meet the exact same end as the dead ones. The message contained a self-deleting code. It will wipe itself the second they finish reading it.”

Cassian said nothing more and even nodded his head.

When the elevator chimed, they walked directly into the massive executive office. Cassian took his seat behind his heavy desk.

He did not speak, nor did he dismiss Mark. He simply sat perfectly still, keeping his predatory, pitch-black eyes fixed entirely on his right-hand man.

An entire hour crawled by.

Mark remained standing in the exact centre of the room. He kept his head down. A cold sweat broke out across his temples, and his rigid muscles screamed in absolute agony from holding the tense posture without twitching.

He desperately wanted to shift his weight. Yet he could not. Standing frozen under Cassian’s lethal scrutiny was the preliminary punishment before the real interrogation began.

”Why did you do it?” Cassian finally broke the crushing silence.

And Mark lifted his head, feeling physically relieved to finally move after an hour of acting like statuesque prey.

”She is bad news, Boss!”

”So you decided to make a unilateral decision on my behalf?”

”I only meant to keep you safe.” Mark lowered his eyes before forcing himself to meet Cassian’s deadly stare. ”Since she entered your life, you have almost been killed twice.”

Cassian rested his large hands on the expensive leather armrests. ”Even after I gave her the coin?” His voice dropped dangerously low. If Mark spoke one single incorrect vowel, Cassian would kill him where he stood.

Mark swallowed hard. A thick bead of sweat trickled down his spine, rolling all the way to the waistband of his trousers.

He immediately sank to his knees, planting his fists heavily against his own thighs.

”Forgive me for stepping out of my boundaries. It was purely to protect you, Boss,” Mark pleaded with honesty. ”The first time you kidnapped her, our armoured car was violently smashed and pushed directly into the river. Before the vehicle even hit the third force, she was thrown outside and fell on the bridge. The second time you met her, you received the bad news. And that same news dragged you straight to your and France’s vicious murder attempt.”

”I kidnapped her?” That took Cassian off guard.

”Yes, Boss! Due to her ex and current parents’ debt! Who doesn’t know yet that their daughter is still alive and has been found...”

Cassian was truly thrown off this time. Ex and current parents? What was the story behind this little human girl? And how had he forgotten her? And why only her?

If Cassian was intrigued by Cixi’s colourful life. On the other hand, Mark genuinely felt guilty for hiding Cixi’s existence from his boss, but he knew in his gut that he was not wrong.

Look at what has happened today. They reunited for five minutes, and blood spilled across a club.

That woman was surrounded by a dark, rotting aura of terrible luck. It was not that a Mafia Lord’s life was ever crime-free or blood-free. But the sheer concentration of bad luck radiating around Cixi was impossible to ignore. What if she dragged Cassian into an early grave?

Call it paranoid superstition, but when it came to keeping his boss breathing, Mark was a heavily superstitious man.

”Boss, you bleed whenever she is nearby,” Mark pushed on, desperate to make him understand. ”If you ask me, that night on the terrace when you bled out to your very last drop of blood... that brings me to the absolute conclusion that she was somewhere nearby.”

Mark clamped his jaw shut, offering no further justifications. He wanted his boss to truly reflect on the revelation he had just laid bare before him.

Cassian remained silent. His expression remained a terrifying, blank canvas.