Bite Me- Part 2

**Enzo**

*2 weeks ago…*

I watched the perfect angel retreat down the bustling sidewalk. Her distinct scent still hung heavy in the air—sweet, warm vanilla mixed with something entirely intoxicating, wrapping around my lungs and refusing to let go. I didn't even know her name. She never gave me the chance to ask. She just crashed into my chest and bolted into the crowd. But I liked the chase. I felt it deep in my marrow, a primal instinct flaring to life. She was the one. She was different from the rest.

I pulled my phone from my coat pocket and snapped a quick picture of her retreating form. The quality wasn't flawless, catching only the side of her face and her body profile, but it captured enough. I immediately hit the speed dial for Dante.

"What now?" Dante answered. His deep voice sounded bored, carrying a heavy exhale like he expected a problem.

"I found her, Dan," I stated. I held my breath, gripping the phone tight. I bit down on my lower lip, closing my eyes to burn the image of her face into the back of my eyelids.

"You better not be joking." I heard the sharp snap of his fingers. Papers shuffled. Floorboards squeaked under heavy boots. "You're on speaker. Gideon and Ro are here in the office."

"What's going on? You good?" Ro's dark, rumbling voice echoed through the receiver.

"Enzo says he found her," Dante announced. The sudden predatory grin was audible in his tone.

"For real? What's her name? What does she look like? Tell me her favorite movie isn't Frozen," Ro barked out, practically screaming into the microphone. The man was a ruthless killer, terrifying to the masses and lethal with a blade, but right now he sounded like a kid hyped up on a sugar rush.

"Calm down, Ro," I ordered, my own heart hammering against my ribs. "She literally ran straight into me. She is flawless. Exactly our type. But she slipped away before I could catch her name. I'm sending the picture right now."

I hit send. A heavy silence stretched over the line. A collective sharp intake of breath followed. I knew exactly what was happening on their end. My own cock was already rock hard, a thick, throbbing erection pressing painfully against the zipper of my tailored slacks just from looking at the pixelated image of her face. She rendered us all speechless.

"Find out every single detail," Dante commanded, the boredom entirely gone from his voice.

"I'm on it. She walked out of Vance Tower. I'll have Dex compile a full dossier within the hour," I replied.

"Do it. Bye," Dante muttered, and the line went dead. I forwarded the image to our top hacker, Dex, with strict instructions: pull everything on our little minx, fast.

Two excruciating hours dragged by. Dex finally pushed open my office door. He sauntered in, oblivious to the murderous rage simmering under my skin. He was an hour late with my angel's file.

"Boss, I have bad news," Dex announced, stopping near the center of the rug.

"Speak," I ground out, my jaw locking tight.

"The security cameras were running a firmware update this morning. Nobody on the floor remembers seeing her. I can't track her movements inside the building. And the facial recognition software is pulling zero matches on the photo you provided. The only lead is street-cam footage showing her walking toward the Z line three blocks away."

Dex didn't flinch. He had served us for fifteen years. He was loyal and would take a bullet for any of us, but he still stood a few feet back, cautious. Waking the beast was never a smart move.

"Fuck!" I roared. I swept my arm across my massive mahogany desk. Stacks of files, crystal glasses, and heavy metal pens crashed onto the tile floor, shattering into jagged pieces.

I braced my hands on the bare wood, breathing heavy as adrenaline flooded my veins. You can run, my little mystery vixen. But I will hunt you down. You are ours.

**Dante**

*Present day*

The day dragged on in a brutal, bloody mess. I spent the afternoon meeting with Cruz, a local street gang leader, managing the logistics for our upcoming weapon shipments. Cruz discovered a rat in his ranks trying to leak inside intel to the cops. I sat back in a damp downtown warehouse and watched Cruz and his boys handle the problem. I doubted the rat would be whispering to the feds anytime soon, considering he currently lacked eyes, a tongue, and a head.

I sat in the back of our bulletproof SUV as the driver pulled up to the curb outside Vance Tower, our corporate headquarters. Thick armored glass separated me from the city we controlled. The heavy metal doors swung open. Enzo stepped out of the building, flanked by two armed guards. He rushed through the open car door and dropped onto the leather seat beside me.

"Hey," Enzo muttered.

He looked like hell. Dark, bruised bags dragged down the skin under his eyes. His usually sharp hazel eyes looked dead and bloodshot. His dark hair stood up in uneven clumps, and a thick shadow of stubble coated his sharp cheekbones.

"Rough day?" I asked. Enzo was my closest friend. I knew exactly what was eating him alive. We were all suffocating under the exact same tension. It had been two full weeks since he snapped that picture. Two weeks of absolute nothingness.

"Hmmm," Enzo grunted. He tilted his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

We were on our way to Zenith to meet up with Gideon and Ro. Zenith was the crown jewel of our legitimate empire. Years ago, we poached Chef Mags from a rival boss, and he transformed the place into a culinary goldmine. The man was a freak of nature in the kitchen. Getting a table took a six-month waitlist.

We needed the distraction. The four of us hadn't sat down for a decent meal together in weeks. I forced this outing because these stubborn bastards would work themselves into an early grave if I didn't intervene. We had all drowned ourselves in syndicate business, obsessively burying our heads in ledgers and blood money to drown out the miserable reality that Dex still hadn't found our girl.

The frustration made us lethal. Our tempers snapped over minor infractions. The men working under us walked on eggshells, terrified to breathe too loud. They had every right to be scared.

Ro was handling it the worst. He had gone rogue, turning into a rabid dog off the leash. He slaughtered fourteen men during a standard cargo run last week just to feel bone crack under his knuckles. He was tearing the city apart piece by piece, creating chaos wherever he walked. None of us had touched a woman since that photo hit our phones. Our cocks belonged to a ghost. The sexual frustration was a boiling, toxic pressure cooking in our veins. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her blurry face. If we didn't drag her into our beds soon, we were going to burn this entire city down just to watch the ashes fall.

The SUV glided to a halt. Zenith's grand entrance loomed through the tinted glass. Massive white stone pillars held up the gold-trimmed awning. A pristine red carpet stretched across the pavement.

We stepped out. Gideon and Ro climbed out of the trailing vehicle behind us. Our private security detail immediately formed a tight perimeter around our sides, ushering us toward the front doors. A young valet in an oversized tuxedo yanked the glass door open, bowing his head fast and keeping his mouth shut in reverence.

"Mr. Callahan, Mr. Vance, Mr. Thorne, Mr. Rossi. A pleasure as always. Your private room is ready. Please follow m-me." Cyrus Barton, the restaurant manager, scrambled out from behind the hostess stand. He was a short, stocky man who looked like a sweating marshmallow. We put him in charge two years ago because he showed blind loyalty.

We moved through the crowded ballroom. Silence rippled through the wealthy patrons. Hushed whispers and terrified stares tracked our every step. We pushed through a heavy golden door into our private VIP room, stopping at the singular, massive mahogany table dead in the center.

"Tell the staff to bring our regular drinks, and tell Mags to make us his Secret Special," I ordered, dropping into my seat.

Minutes later, our drinks arrived. The waiter's hands shook so hard the ice cubes rattled like gunfire against the crystal highball glasses. He dropped the tray, bolted, and left us alone.

Twenty minutes passed. The door opened again. The same trembling waiter stepped in, carrying our food. He placed a heavy porcelain plate directly in front of me.

I stared at it. A bark of raw, genuine laughter ripped out of my throat.

A burger.

Are you kidding me, Mags? A damn burger? We charged hundreds of dollars for caviar salsa, and the kitchen sent us diner food. Did the old man freeze his brain cells?

"Mags is losing his fucking mind," Gideon chuckled, leaning over his plate.

Despite the sheer disrespect of the dish, we all cracked a smile at the audacity. And the smell radiating from the bun was intoxicating.

I picked it up, shaking my head slightly, and took a massive bite.

My jaw stopped chewing. A deep groan of pleasure rumbled in my chest. The flavor hit my tongue like a sledgehammer. It was flawless. Was that melted cheese blending with garlic mashed potatoes stuffed inside the meat? The culinary explosion hijacked my brain. It was salty, savory, followed by a sharp, spicy kick hitting the back of my throat, balanced by a faint trace of caramelized sweetness. The gooey cheese stretched, the creamy potatoes melted, and the thick-cut bacon shattered perfectly against my teeth. It was a chaotic, brilliant masterpiece. I was borderline having a food-gasm. Mags had outdone every dish in his entire career.

I glanced down the table. Enzo, Gideon, and Ro were tearing into their meals, savoring every bite.

The gold door creaked open. Cyrus scurried inside. He took one look at the burgers on our plates and the color drained from his pudgy face.

"Oh my god. I am so sorry, sirs. I cannot believe she served you burgers. That is completely unacceptable!" Cyrus gasped, his chest heaving in panic.

Gideon stopped chewing. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "What do you mean 'she'? Where the hell is Mags?"

Cyrus swallowed hard. "Um… Chef Mags is not here tonight. His assistant prepared your meals, sir. I-I truly apologize. I promise she will be dealt with immediately." He turned on his heel to run.

"No," I barked. The cold edge in my voice froze him in place. "Bring her to us. We will speak to her when we finish our meals."

I smirked, reaching around to the small of my back. My fingers wrapped around the cold steel of my gun. I pulled it from my waistband and slammed it flat on the mahogany table. The heavy metal clacked against the wood. It wasn't a request. It was a deadly threat.

Cyrus turned ghost-white. He bowed frantically and scurried out the door.

We finished the food. The tension in the room morphed into dangerous curiosity. Who had the guts to serve the mafia bar food and the talent to make it taste like a masterpiece?

Three soft, rhythmic knocks tapped against the door.

Cyrus pushed it open. He kept his head bowed low. "S-sirs. This is Lyra. Your chef tonight."

He stepped to his left, clearing our line of sight.

A woman stood in the doorway. She wore dark, loose chef pants and a plain white jacket. Her chin was tucked down, her eyes focused on the floorboards, and her soft, delicate hands were folded neatly in front of her lap. She stood rigid.

Enzo sucked in a sharp breath. "You!" he exploded, his voice raw.

The woman flinched. Her head snapped up.

My brain short-circuited.

Her eyes locked onto ours. Wide, beautiful, doe-like eyes. A stunning collision of hazel and green. Her plump, rosy lips parted in a silent gasp.

A violent, electric shock ripped straight down my spine and slammed directly into my groin. My cock surged against my zipper, straining instantly rigid. The erection was thick, heavy, and demanding. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the restaurant. I wanted to drag her onto the mahogany table, rip those chef pants off, and bury my rock-hard dick so deep inside her she forgot her own name. The obsessive, suffocating hunger of the past two weeks detonated inside my chest.

It was her.

The phantom we had been tearing the city apart to find just walked right into our private cage. The hunt was over.

I cut my eyes toward Enzo. A dark, predatory smile stretched across his face, looking exactly like a starved beast that just cornered its prey. I hadn't seen that look on him since the day he took her picture.

Enzo leaned back in his velvet chair, his eyes devouring her. "We meet again, sweetheart."