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’s 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’s 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’t walk in unless you were invited… or you didn’t plan to walk out.

I had only one purpose.

I was going to kill Damian Moretti. To avenge my brother. I’d waited too long, planning and grieving until this day. I wanted his blood on my hands like Matteo’s 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’t 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’t have the voice.

But I had a stolen guard’s 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’t even flinch when he spoke.

“You’re late.”

I froze. Did he know that I was coming?

My finger tightened on the trigger. “Turn around.”

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

My heart raced.

Damian Moretti wasn’t 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.

“Luca Romano,” he said, smirking like the devil himself. “Did you really think I wouldn’t 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 a 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’d already bought and was deciding whether to return.

“You really don’t look like a killer,” Damian murmured.

“Let me go.”

He chuckled. “You broke into my home. Tried to kill me. And you want me to let you go?”

“I had a reason.”

“I’m sure you did.” He stood and walked toward me, every step a slow, deliberate threat. “Tell 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. “You deserve worse.”

“Mm.” He stopped at the foot of the bed, tilting his head like he was inspecting merchandise. “You’re a little too overconfident for someone who’s lost the majority of their power. Did you know that?”

I snarled. “You son of a—”

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

“Shhh.” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “I didn’t kill Matteo. But I did let it happen. So I’m equally at fault.”

That stopped me.

“What?”

“He crossed a line. A line that got him noticed by the wrong people. And when they came for him, I wasn’t able to stop it. Does that make me guilty?” His mouth was so close, I could feel the heat of it on my skin. “Maybe it does.”

He trailed his fingers down my chest. I flinched.

“You don’t get to touch me. And I don’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth.”

“You’ll believe me eventually.” Then he paused and said. “And I’ll touch you wherever I want.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m already there. But you….” he leaned in, nose brushing my cheek “you’re going to be my favorite sin. You’re just like your brother. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree indeed.”

“You think you can keep me cuffed like some dog?” I spat. “You murderer. Once I get out of this, I’ll fucking kill you, you bastard.”

His expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of guilt.

“I just said that I didn’t kill him. I just clearly said that I didn’t pull the trigger.”

My blood boiled. “You let him die. That’s the same thing.”

“I let a lot of people die,” he said quietly.

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

I stared at him. “I’d rather die.”

“You won’t. Because you want answers. And I’m the only man who can give them to you.”

I laughed in a mocking way.

“You’re delusional.”

He leaned down, his mouth next to my ear.

“No, Luca. I’m patient.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he whispered. “That’s 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.

“Let it sink in, Luca. Your rage. Your grief. Your guilt. Sit with it. Sleep in it. Feel it. You’ll need it all.”

He opened the door.

“I’ll be back when you’re 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 dragging through gauze.

I hadn’t slept all night.

How could I? I was chained to the bed of the man I hated the most in this world.

The door opened at sometime past dawn. My heart jumped a bit. But it wasn’t Damian.

It was a woman in her early forties, dressed in gray, her eyes were lowered like she’d been taught never to raise them.

She didn’t speak. She just set a silver tray down on the table beside the bed: toast, eggs, coffee, a cloth napkin folded like origami. I glared at it.

“I didn’t ask for food,” I muttered.

She didn’t respond.

“Do you work for him?” I asked.

Still nothing from her.

“Tell me, what’s the going rate for pretending he’s not a fucking monster?”

That got me a flicker. Not of anger but of fear. Her eyes darted to the corner where the collar sat. She whispered, so low I barely heard it.

“Don’t make him angry no matter what.”

Then she turned and left.

My wrists throbbed against the cuffs. I’d spent half the night testing them, and all I’d gotten was raw skin and bruised pride.

So when the lock clicked again and his footsteps echoed through the suite, I just stayed motionless.

Damian strolled in like he owned the world. His hair was damp from the shower. A black shirt half-buttoned. No tie. Just casual menace and the scent of spice and leather trailing behind him like smoke.

I hated how effortlessly casual he was.

“You look like shit,” he said, setting his watch on the nightstand.

“Maybe because I spent the night cuffed to your bed.”

He raised a brow. “You say that like it was that inconvenient.”

I laughed bitterly. “You’re just an asshole, Moretti.”

He stepped closer. I tensed.

Then, he unlocked the cuffs one at a time, slow and silent. My wrists dropped to the bed, heavy and aching.

“Stretch and hydrate. You’ll need your strength.”

“For what? More psychological torture?”

He gave me that same amused smile, like I was a stray mutt snarling at its master.

“I don’t need to torture you, Luca. You’re already tearing yourself apart.”

I pushed myself up, muscles screaming in protest. “What do you want from me?”

“I already told you,” he said. “Since you came to me on your own accord, you belong to me now.”

“I’m not a thing and I came to put an end to your life.”

He crouched beside the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze burned into mine.

“No. But you’re not a free man either. Let’s get that straight.”

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream. But more than anything, I wanted to understand.

Why wasn’t I dead?

Why hadn’t he killed me like he did Matteo?

The question hung in my mind, heavy and poisonous.

I stared at him from the bed, my wrists now uncuffed, my jaw aching from clenching it too hard..

“Why are you keeping me here?” I demanded, my voice rough with rage and confusion. “What’s the endgame, Damian? If you want to kill me, why not just do that already?.”

He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, like a predator choosing when to strike.

“No endgame,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’m keeping you here because I want to know if you could be used.”

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Used? I’m not going to do any dirty work for you.”

At that, he came toward me, slowly and calmly, his eyes unreadable. When he stopped at the foot of the bed, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

A glint of silver.

He tossed it onto the mattress.

It was a knife.

I stared at it.

“What is this for?” I asked, throat tightening.

“Go on,” he said. “Take it.”

My eyes shot to his cold face.

“Slit my throat, if that’s what you really want. You’ve had time to think it over.”

I didn’t move. “What’s the catch?” I asked quietly.

“No catch,” he said. “I want to know what you’ll choose when the choice is yours.”

My fingers twitched. Then curled.

I picked up the knife. My body moved before my mind caught up. I rose from the bed, still barefoot, my fingers tightened around the handle as I stepped toward him.

He didn’t flinch.

“Do you really think I wouldn’t do it?” I said.

He shook his head. “We’re about to find out.”

I raised the blade.

I saw his exposed throat. I hesitated a little. Is he really telling the truth? No, I won’t be swayed by his lies. I shook off the thoughts in my head and lunged at him.

He moved faster.

In an instant, I was on the bed again face-down, arm twisted behind my back, knife clattering to the floor. The pressure of his body over mine was a threat dressed as restraint. My heart thundered.

You disappoint me,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “You have zero patience, I was able to easily maneuver you.”

“You’re just much more skilled than me. What was the point of asking me to stab you?!” I snarled.

“I wanted to see if you were capable of more than rage.”

He released me, stepping back.

I rolled onto my back, chest heaving, every inch of me pulsing with adrenaline and humiliation.

“I really didn’t kill your brother, Luca.”

I froze.

Then my eyes narrowed. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying. In fact, in this current situation there’s absolutely no need for me to lie. Don’t you think so?@ he said, quieter now.

A beat passed. My hands were shaking.

“Then how did I get a letter written with my brothers blood that you killed him?”

“Well,” he said. “Things like that could be easily faked…forged.”

Damian crouched beside the bed, leveling his gaze with mine. It wasn’t pity in his eyes.

“Matteo trusted the wrong people,” he said. “He thought he was untouchable. But someone wanted him gone. Badly.”

My throat was dry. My heart turned cold.

“Who?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But if we work together, we can find them. And destroy them.”

I stared at him.

“You want me to work together with you?”

He nodded. “I want the same thing as you do..”

I laughed.

“You think I’ll forgive you just because you weren’t the one who pulled the trigger? You were still the person that put him in that position in the first place!”

“No, we don’t have to be on the best terms.” he said. “But I’m sure you’ll work with me because deep down, you don’t just want justice for your brother. You want blood. And I’m your best chance at getting it.”

I didn’t answer because I knew he was damn right. I wanted to put an end to every single bastard that led to my brother's death. Including him.

……..

The car ride was silent. That kind of silence that wrapped around your throat and refused to let go. Luca sat in the backseat, his eyes fixed on the window, but his reflection haunted him more than the streets of the city. I didn’t know where we were going to yet.

Damian hadn’t spoken since he ordered Luca to get dressed. Black tailored slacks, a silk shirt with a collar that hugged his throat too tightly, and a silver cuff around his wrist embossed with the Moretti crest. No words were exchanged, but the meaning was clear: you’re mine.

Luca clenched his jaw and turned away from Damian’s gaze.

The car stopped in front of what looked like a luxury hotel, but the moment they were escorted down a private elevator, Luca understood exactly what kind of place this was.

The doors opened to a cathedral of decadence.

Gilded chandeliers swung over velvet-tufted booths. Red-tinted spotlights swept across sprawl floors and smoke-glass walls. Men in suits, women in silk, and waiters in masks. All of them dripping with power, violence, and secrets.

Damian led him through the crowd like he owned the building.

“What is this place?” Luca muttered, not expecting an answer.

Damian didn’t stop walking. “An auction. For the rarest things in the world.”

Luca’s blood ran cold. “You mean—”

“Everything has a price,” Damian said calmly. “Weapons. Land. Loyalty. People.”

He placed a hand on the small of Luca’s back, guiding him to a private booth overlooking the showroom. The gesture was gentle. It was also possessive and chilling.

“This wasn’t part of what we discussed,” Luca snapped.

“I’m claiming you,” Damian corrected. “Visibly. We both should play our parts properly.”

Luca’s stomach turned. “Ugh..”

“You wear my crest,” Damian said, his voice like silk over razors. “You’re supposed to show complete submission towards me in public at least.”

He sat, legs crossed, fingers draped lazily over a tumbler of whiskey a waiter just dropped. Luca stood stiffly beside him, feeling more on display than any of the items in the glass cases below.

A few people passed their booth and nodded to Damian. Some stared at Luca a bit way too long. A man in a crimson suit raised a brow in amusement.

Luca hated every second of it.

“I hate the way they’re staring at me like I’m your pet,” he hissed under his breath.

Damian didn’t look at him. “No, Luca. You’re way more than that to me. But I don’t mind you being one.”

Luca didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His throat had gone dry, and his hands were clenched so tight his knuckles ached.

The auction began. Items were paraded onto a central platform, there were rare firearms, paintings, codes and trade routes, even contracts bound in blood.

And then he heard a voice.

“Well, well. Didn’t think I’d see you here, Moretti.”

A man approached their booth, all swagger and cheap cologne, his smile a crooked mess of arrogance and filler teeth. A heavy gold watch clung to his wrist, screaming new money. Luca didn’t recognize him, but Damian clearly did.

“Marchello,” Damian said coolly, sipping his drink.

“I thought you had better taste than to bring strays to events like this,” Marchello said with a pointed look at Luca. “Or maybe you’re just getting sentimental in your old age.”

Luca didn’t flinch. He was used to much worse.

But then Marchello took it further.

“Tell me, Damian… what’s the going rate for a mutt with pretty eyes and such smooth lips?” He eyed Luca.

The words slammed into Luca like a knife. His vision blurred with rage. He moved before he could think… one step, two…

But Damian’s hand shot out, pressing lightly to his chest. “Don’t,” he said softly.

Luca froze. Not because of the words, but because of the voice. It was clearly filled with rage.

Damian turned slowly toward Marchello and gave him a smile that chilled the air.

“You must be doing well,” Damian said pleasantly. “To speak so freely.”