Chapter 11
Viola hadn't planned on going out. Her weekend was supposed to be quiet — her laptop, a blanket, a glass of wine, and maybe some music low in the background. But then Samantha showed up at her door, already dressed like trouble in a black leather mini skirt and a deep red crop top that screamed confidence.
"Get dressed, Vi. We're going out," she declared with a wicked grin, barging in before Viola could protest.
"I didn't agree to anything—"
"Exactly. That's why it's a surprise."
Viola narrowed her eyes. "What about Mack?"
Sam snorted, rifling through Viola's closet. "You mean the growly control freak with abs carved out of a rock? He doesn't need to know. Tonight is for you. Just us. No bodyguards, no brooding stares, and no one trying to 'protect' you from having fun."
Viola hesitated. A part of her liked the idea — the thrill, the escape, the rebellion. Another part imagined Mack's reaction. He didn't like surprises. He didn't like being left out. But this wasn't about him.
Sam held up a sleek black dress. "Wear this. You'll be turning heads before we even step out of the Uber."
An hour later, they were standing in line outside Velvet Room, one of the most exclusive nightclubs in the city. The beat throbbed through the walls, and coloured lights painted the sidewalk in blues and pinks. Inside, the dance floor pulsed with bodies, laughter, and the kind of energy that makes you forget your name.
Viola let herself go. For once, she wasn't someone's heartbreak story, someone's shadowed obsession. She was just a woman with her best friend, swaying to the rhythm, letting the music pour over her like heat.
Sam pulled her into a booth between songs, breathless from dancing. "You needed this," she shouted over the music.
Viola grinned. "I did."
They clinked mocktails — Sam had promised, no alcohol, just vibes — and watched the crowd swirl. Men had been trying to approach them all night, but Sam waved most off with a look. Viola was off the market, and Sam knew it — but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a night of freedom.
Then came the moment.
Viola's phone buzzed.
MACK: Where are you?
Her heart skipped. She hadn't told him. Hadn't meant to. But of course, Mack had his ways. Cameras, people, intuition. He always knew more than she wanted him to.
Another message.
MACK: You're at Velvet Room. With Sam. That's… bold.
Viola looked up at Sam, who leaned over and read the screen.
"Uh oh. Daddy's mad."
Viola laughed — nervous, breathless. A rush of heat moved through her. "Let him come," she said, a flicker of challenge in her voice. "Let's see if the control freak knows how to dance."
Mack's POV
He wasn't planning to go out tonight. Work was stacked, calls were unanswered, and his Glock hadn't left his side all day—not because of danger, but because the weight of it grounded him. Centred him.
But then Sam slipped.
Not in words—she was too loyal for that. But her voice cracked when he asked where Viola was."Home," she'd said too fast."No music in the background?""No. I mean, yeah. She's just watching a show."He heard bass thumping in the background. Not a TV. That was club bass.
Mack smirked as he tossed his jacket over his shoulder, gun still clipped under his belt. "Cute."
Now, walking into the club like sin in motion, Mack moved through the shadows like he owned them. The bouncer didn't stop him. No one ever did. His dark shirt clung to him, sleeves rolled just enough to expose the tattoos on his forearms. Every woman turned. None were the one he wanted.
Then he saw her.
In a short black dress, hair falling in wild waves, Viola danced like she hadn't been burned before. She was laughing—laughing—with her head tilted back, spinning into her freedom.
And Mack's jaw clenched.
She was his chaos. His storm. His damnation.
He didn't push through the crowd. No. He let the crowd part for him. Men caught his stare and backed away. When Viola turned and saw him, her smile faltered—just for a second. He caught it. And then, that fire sparked in her eyes again.
She turned her back to him and danced even harder.
Oh, hell no.
He stepped up behind her, one hand resting low on her waist. She stiffened.
"Having fun, Princess?" His voice was low, almost teasing, right at her ear.
"More than I should be," she shot back, not turning around. Her hips kept moving. His body followed without thinking.
"You wore this knowing it would ruin me, didn't you?" he muttered, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "Little black dress, legs for days, and that d*mn smirk."
She looked back at him, half-lidded and dangerous. "Why would I dress for you? You weren't invited."
Mack chuckled. "You think I need an invitation to claim what's mine?"
Viola laughed softly, still dancing. She turned to face him now, body pressed close—too close—hands slipping around his neck. "So, what now, big bad boss? Gonna drag me home like a caveman?"
He leaned in until their noses nearly touched, his breath hot and slow. "Tempt me again and you'll see exactly how far I'll go."
The beat dropped. Her lips were inches from his. Their bodies moved as if pulled by some rhythm only they could hear. Heat swirled between them.
"You don't scare me," she whispered.
"You should," he replied, voice rough now. "Because when I have you, Viola, it won't be dancing that leaves your legs shaking."
Her breath hitched—and that was his victory.
But before he could kiss her, a drunk guy stumbled too close, brushing Viola's shoulder. Mack's hand shot out, grabbing the guy by the collar.
"You blind, or just suicidal?" he snapped.
The guy stuttered and backed off, almost falling over himself as he ran.
Viola was breathless. "Overkill."
Mack grinned, possessive and primal. "No. That was restraint."
Their eyes locked again. She dragged her hands down his chest slowly, provocatively, then turned around, pulling him by the belt toward the dance floor again.
"You want me?" she said over her shoulder. "You'll have to catch me."
Mack growled under his breath and followed—knowing full well he already had.