Elvis leaned back in his chair, the soft hum of the air conditioner filling the silence as his mind wandered, once again, to her. The image of her smile, her voice, the way she looked at him—everything about her seemed to pull him deeper and deeper into obsession. He couldn’t shake it. He had tried, but the more he tried to forget, the more she invaded his thoughts.

His attention snapped back to the present as the door opened with a soft creak, and there she was. His obsession. The Mafia had brought her up again, just like they always did when he couldn’t get her out of his head. She was sitting in the chair across the room, waiting for him. Her back was straight, hands folded in her lap, just as poised and calm as always. She wasn’t like the others—no, she never had been.

Elvis felt a wave of frustration roll over him. Why couldn’t he get over this? She’d been in and out of his life for months now, always sent to his room by the Mafia. He’d fed off her, enjoyed her company, and yet... it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was. He could feel his pulse quicken as he caught himself looking at her, the same way he always did. She was still as beautiful as the first time he laid eyes on her, and that damn smile of hers—how could he resist?

Shaking his head, Elvis forced a smile, though it felt more strained than usual. He had to play it cool. He couldn’t let her see how much she’d gotten under his skin.

"Well, well, sugar," he said, his voice smooth but with a slight tremor, betraying just how much she affected him. He approached her, walking slowly, his eyes scanning her, unable to look away for more than a moment. "You’re lookin’ as gorgeous as ever."

He stood before her, trying to shake off the thoughts that had been plaguing him for days. He was a professional, damn it. He could do this, just like he always had. But no matter how hard he tried, the temptation to cross the line, to let this go further than he should, was too strong. And as he looked at her, he realized there was no going back.