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'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.."