Chapter 51 - 50 The Other Side Of Laziel

Chapter 51: Chapter 50 The Other Side Of Laziel

I walked back into the room, and there it was—a box sitting on the bed. It wasn’t there ten minutes ago. Laziel. That man was a control freak down to the last thread on my back.

I popped the lid. Inside, there were three dresses: Black, red, and purple. Short, expensive as hell.

All very much the kind of clothes that made me wonder whether Laziel had ever heard of the word subtle.

I picked up the black dress.

It was a fitted mini dress with thin straps and a square neckline. Short enough to show my legs but not so short that I would be practically walking around naked.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted me looking like a million bucks for his own twisted pleasure, but he didn’t want any other man actually getting a look at what was underneath.

I slipped it on.

It hugged my body without suffocating me, ending several inches above my knees. The neckline was modest enough, but the open back added just enough to make the dress dangerous.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

"Okay."

I turned sideways.

"Okay, bitch."

The dress looked good.

Annoyingly good.

I reached for the pair of black Casadei Blade heels sitting inside the box.

Of course he’d even chosen my shoes.

Of course he’d even chosen my shoes.

I slipped them on and pulled my hair into a high ponytail. Then I grabbed the red lipstick sitting beside the perfume bottle.

One swipe.

Then another.

I looked at myself again.

Fuck.

I looked hot.

There was no other word for it.

I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.

The moment I entered the foyer, the maids and guards weren’t even hiding their stares. They were looking at me like I’d just stepped out of a magazine, their eyes wide, then quickly snapping back to the floor the second I caught them.

Laziel’s car was already waiting outside.

And, naturally, he was already inside.

He didn’t say a word, just scanned me from head to toe, his eyes lingering on the hem of my dress. He looked pleased.

Asshole.

I slid into the seat beside him.

"You’re late."

I stared at him. "I took eleven minutes."

"Twelve minutes, twenty seconds."

"Do you have a fucking stopwatch?"

"Yes."

I rolled my eyes.

The driver pulled away from the mansion.

For the first few minutes, neither of us spoke.

I kept glancing at Laziel.

He looked completely relaxed.

The car eventually slowed.

I looked outside.

The building ahead wasn’t what I expected. There was no giant neon sign. No long line of drunk people. No flashing advertisement.

Instead, there was a discreet black entrance surrounded by security.

Men in dark suits stood everywhere.

Two guards opened the gates the second they saw Laziel’s car.

This wasn’t an ordinary nightclub.

The car stopped.

Laziel stepped out first.

I followed.

The moment he entered, the entire atmosphere changed.

Men straightened.

Heads turned.

A few people immediately stepped aside.

"Buonasera, Don Monroe. Benvenuto."

Laziel didn’t even acknowledge them. He just kept walking, his hand guiding me forward.

"Why the fuck are you bringing me here, Laziel?" I whispered.

"Stay close to me," he commanded.

I rolled my eyes. "I wasn’t planning on wandering off, you prick."

He stopped, turning his head just enough to look at me. "I meant stay where I can see you. Don’t leave my side. Not for a second."

We stepped inside, music hit me immediately.

Girls were on the poles, twerking. Men in suits who looked like they were plotting murders, drinking champagne.

So this was Laziel’s world.

Before we could even get to the stairs, three of the girls spotted him and swarmed us. They weren’t even wearing clothes.

Bitch. I could see their nipples and their pussy. What the fuck?

They were basically fucking naked. One of them, a blonde with lips like she’d just been injected with a gallon of filler, reached out to graze her nails down Laziel’s arm.

"Laz, baby, you’ve been gone so long," she cooed, her hand drifting lower, toward his belt.

Ewwww.

Why was I annoyed?

She wasn’t doing anything to me.

She wasn’t even touching me.

So why did I suddenly want to break her fucking fingers?

She started rubbing her ass against him, trying to grind on his dick like he was some kind of vending machine.

It was so pathetic it made me want to puke.

My blood boiled. I didn’t think; I just grabbed her shoulder and shoved. "Hey! Get your nasty ass off him, you desperate bitch!"

Oopps!! Did I say that out loud?

The girl stumbled back, looking at me like I’d slapped her. Laziel didn’t even look at her. He just used his arm to sweep the rest of them away like he was clearing space on a table. He grabbed my hand and pulled me right into his side, his grip so tight my knuckles turned white.

"Smell that?" he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "That’s jealousy, Mireya."

"Don’t flatter yourself," I hissed.

He looked completely amused.

Then he started walking.

I followed.

But I couldn’t stop the stupid little flutter in my chest.

This man was going to be the fucking death of me.

We reached a staircase.

The noise from downstairs slowly faded as we climbed.

Security stood at the top.

They immediately stepped aside for Laziel.

He led me through a quiet corridor and toward a set of enormous dark doors.

The doors opened.

And I stopped.

For a second, I honestly thought I had walked into the wrong building. This wasn’t a VIP lounge. It was a cathedral to human depravity.

Men sat in booths, their faces half-hidden in the dim, golden light. Some had cigars between their fingers. Others drank from crystal glasses while women lounged beside them.

In the corner, a man had his fingers buried in a girl’s hair, his other hand gripping a bottle of Chardonnay. He was pouring it slowly over her chest, the wine staining her skin like blood as he forced her to lick the liquid off his fingers. Two booths over, a girl was pinned against the wall, her dress shredded into ribbons, her naked breasts exposed while a man worked her with such aggression it looked like he was trying to break her in half.

I even saw a girl sprawled across a table, her legs wide, while a man shoved the neck of a wine bottle deep inside her, her eyes rolled back into her head as she let out a sound that was half-scream, half-moan. It was violent, it was erotic, and it was completely lawless.

My skin crawled. I felt like I was watching something I wasn’t meant to survive.

I felt bile rise in my throat. I tried to look away, but Laziel kept me pinned to his side.

He looked at the chaos—the sex, the raw violence, the degradation—like he was checking his watch.

Jesus Christ.

He didn’t care. He was used to this. He was the reason this place existed.

Nobody even looked drunk.

They looked like men who were used to getting whatever the fuck they wanted.

And then they saw Laziel.

The entire room shifted.

"Don Monroe. Finalmente."

Don Monroe. Finally.

Another man stood.

"Don Laziel, benvenuto."

Welcome, Don Laziel.

Another lifted his glass.

"Il nostro Don è arrivato."

Our Don has arrived.

I looked at Laziel.

Then at the men.

Then back at him.

Don?

What the fuck did they mean by Don?

"Buonasera, Don," a man muttered, bowing his head slightly as we passed.

I knew the word—I’d lived in Italy long enough to know it wasn’t just a title. It was a rank. A designation of absolute authority in a world that didn’t follow the law.

He pulled me into a booth at the back, sliding in so that I was pressed against his chest. I felt like a prize cow on display.

Across from us sat a man with silver hair and cold blue eyes. A woman was twerking inches from his face, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was locked on me, his eyes raking over my dress, my skin, my lips, with a hunger that made me want to scrub myself

He leaned forward. "Laziel... la donna è magnifica. Who is she?"

Laziel’s body went stiff.

"Ti dico di levare gli occhi di dosso a lei, stronzo," Laziel spat, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone.

("Take your fucking eyes off her before I cut them out and feed them to you.")

The silver-haired man laughed, slow and unbothered. He didn’t even blink. He reached into his suit, pulled out a stack of bills, and tossed them at the girl grinding on him. She snatched the money and slinked away toward another booth like a trained dog.

"Calmati, Laziel," the man chuckled, swirling his glass. "I’m just admiring the merchandise. I haven’t seen you bring anything this... fresh... to the table. Can I have her for the night? I’ll give you whatever you want."

I felt my heart stop. Merchandise.

I looked up at Laziel, waiting for him to tell the bastard to go to hell, waiting for him to snap that I wasn’t his to trade.

Instead, Laziel just leaned back, his eyes turning into bottomless, black pits. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked bored.

"She’s not for sale, pezzo di merda," Laziel said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "She’s not even for you to breathe near. You want to keep your tongue, keep it behind your teeth."

I sat there, frozen, realizing he was claiming me. And in this room, that wasn’t a romantic gesture—it was a declaration of ownership.

My hands were shaking beneath the table. Guilia was right. Laziel wasn’t just a CEO.

What the hell was Laziel Monroe?

Because whatever he was...

I was beginning to realize I knew absolutely fucking nothing about him.