Plaything Of The Enemy

They said revenge was a dish best served cold.

But I liked my vengeance served hot, scorching, screaming, and delivered with a bullet to the skull.

That was the plan, at least.

Until I ended up cuffed to a silk--draped bed in my enemy抯 penthouse, half--naked, and utterly at his mercy.

Several hours earlier?

The rain fell in sheets, drowning the city in a cold, merciless haze. Every drop felt like a warning. Like the sky itself wanted to stop me.

By the time I reached the gates of La Fortezza, Damian Moretti抯 skyscraper--fortress, my clothes were soaked and my nerves wired tight. The tower stood like a loaded gun pointed at the center of Europe, its black--glass skin hiding the rot beneath. You didn抰 walk in unless you were invited or you didn抰 plan to walk out.

I had only one purpose.

I was going to kill Damian Moretti. To avenge my brother. I抎 waited too long, planning and grieving until this day. I wanted his blood on my hands like Matteo抯 had been on his.

Security cameras were everywhere. Two men in dark suits stood at the front entrance, eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, hands twitching near their weapons.

I didn抰 come in through the front.

I circled to the loading bay, slipped through the fencing, and followed the blueprints Matteo had given to me months before he died. It was almost as though he predicted his own death. I saw an old maintenance shaft still unlocked. It was a security flaw

I scaled the shaft in silence, each rung slick with rain and rust. The steel groaned under my weight like it resented me. Floor after floor blurred past in the dark, until I hit the top.

A reinforced door waited for me. There was no keypad. Just a fingerprint scanner and a voice prompt.

I didn抰 have the voice.

But I had a stolen guard抯 severed thumb in a plastic bag.

I pressed it to the scanner. It scanned for a bit and then?

Access granted.

The door hissed open.

The lights were dim and there was total silence.

And then I saw him

He stood by the window, shirtless, glass of bourbon in hand, watching the skyline like a god surveying his domain.

And he didn抰 even flinch when he spoke.

揧ou抮e late.

I froze. Did he know that I was coming?

My finger tightened on the trigger. 揟urn around.

He did. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world.

My heart raced.

Damian Moretti wasn抰 just beautiful. He was unholy. His black hair was a mess, it seemed deliberately disheveled. Ink wound down his arms in brutal, elegant patterns, muscles shifting beneath them like coiled wire. A scar slashed across his collarbone and his eyes were like storm clouds, cold, unreadable, and dangerous.

揕uca Romano, he said, smirking like the devil himself. 揇id you really think I wouldn抰 know you were coming?

Before I could react, something sharp jabbed into my neck.

Then everything went dark.

I woke up to silk sheets and the soft hum of depressing music.

And chains.

Cuffs around my wrists, secured to the headboard with enough strength to hold a man twice my size. My shirt was gone. So were my shoes. Just black dress pants and the dull ache of betrayal burning in my gut.

Smoke curled in lazy spirals from the fireplace, painting the room in gold and ash. Nothing moved but the fire and him, watching.

He sat in a leather armchair across the room, legs crossed, glass of wine in hand, watching me like I was something he抎 already bought and was deciding whether to return.

揧ou really don抰 look like a killer, Damian murmured.

揕et me go.

He chuckled. 揧ou broke into my home. Tried to kill me. And you want me to let you go?

揑 had a reason.

揑抦 sure you did. He stood and walked toward me, every step a slow, deliberate threat. 揟ell me, Luca how long have you been planning it? A month? Two? Did it please you when you fantasized about putting a bullet between my eyes?

I jerked against the cuffs. 揧ou deserve worse.

揗m. He stopped at the foot of the bed, tilting his head like he was inspecting merchandise. 揧ou抮e a little too overconfident for someone who抯 lost the majority of their power. Did you know that?

I snarled. 揧ou son of a棓

He climbed onto the bed, straddling me before I could finish, and pressed two fingers against my lips. The gesture was gentle.

揝hhh. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. 揑 didn抰 kill Matteo. But I did let it happen. So I抦 equally at fault.

That stopped me.

揥hat?

揌e crossed a line. A line that got him noticed by the wrong people. And when they came for him, I wasn抰 able to stop it. Does that make me guilty? His mouth was so close, I could feel the heat of it on my skin. 揗aybe it does.

He trailed his fingers down my chest. I flinched.

揧ou don抰 get to touch me. And I don抰 trust a word that comes out of your mouth.

揧ou抣l believe me eventually. Then he paused and said. 揂nd I抣l touch you wherever I want.

揋o to hell.

揑抦 already there. But you? he leaned in, nose brushing my cheek 搚ou抮e going to be my favorite sin. You抮e just like your brother. The apple doesn抰 fall far from the tree indeed.

揧ou think you can keep me cuffed like some dog? I spat. 揧ou murderer. Once I get out of this, I抣l f*ck*ng kill you, you b*st*rd.

His expression didn抰 change. Not even a flicker of guilt.

揑 just said that I didn抰 kill him. I just clearly said that I didn抰 pull the trigger.

My blood boiled. 揧ou let him die. That抯 the same thing.

揑 let a lot of people die, he said quietly.

He then dropped a collar beside me like a gift wrapped in threat. 揝ince you came to me on your own accord, you belong to me now..

I stared at him. 揑抎 rather die.

揧ou won抰. Because you want answers. And I抦 the only man who can give them to you.

I laughed in a mocking way.

揧ou抮e delusional.

He leaned down, his mouth next to my ear.

揘o, Luca. I抦 patient.

揑 hate you.

揑 know, he whispered. 揟hat抯 what makes it so interesting.

Then he slid off me with lethal grace and headed for the door.

But just before he disappeared, he looked back, eyes burning through the dark.

揕et it sink in, Luca. Your rage. Your grief. Your guilt. Sit with it. Sleep in it. Feel it. You抣l need it all.

He opened the door.

揑抣l be back when you抮e ready to make a deal.

The door shut with a soft click.

And I was alone.

I stared at the door long after it closed. Not because I feared what would happen next. But because I feared what I might become if I stayed.

Morning arrived slowly, bleeding gray light through the floor--to--ceiling windows like a knife d