Plaything Of The Enemy

Marchello grinned. "I do alright. Made a nice deal this week. Big shipment coming in. You should see the crates."

Damian turned his head slightly. One nod. Just a single nod toward his assistant, who stood discreetly in the back.

Thirty seconds later, Marchello's phone buzzed.

He pulled it out, blinked. Blinked again. Then his smile faltered.

He swiped his screen. His eyes widened. "What the-"

Another buzz.

And then another.

Marchello's face went pale.

"No... That's impossible. You can't-" He looked at Damian, frantic now. "You didn't."

Damian stood, drink in hand, not spilling a drop. "Your entire shipment is being held at customs under an anonymous tip for human trafficking. You'll be lucky if you get out of this building without losing everything."

"You son of a bitch-"

"Oh," Damian added, glancing at his phone. "Also... your offshore accounts are frozen. Wire fraud. Someone tipped the banks. I wonder who."

Marchello backed away, stammering, eyes darting around the room. He looked like a man drowning in the air.

Damian stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "Next time you speak about something of mine, I'll take more than your money. I'll take your life."

Then he smiled.

It was the smile of a man who buried people with clean hands.

Marchello stumbled out of sight.

Silence stretched between them.

Luca stared at him, his breath uneven. "You did that... for me?"

Damian sat back down, fingers steepled. "Yes , Luca. I did that because I won't tolerate disrespect from anybody towards you. Other than myself, of course..."

He looked Luca over slowly, deliberately.

"And because I enjoy watching men learn the consequences of their words."

"You're insane," Luca whispered.

"Possibly," Damian replied. "But that doesn't matter."

On the stage, a masked woman with wide and full lips introduced the next item a sealed briefcase with biometric locks, resting on a velvet pedestal.

"Encrypted information," the announcer purred. "Compromising files involving political elites, international bank accounts, and government secrets. It's rare and dangerous."

Damian's entire demeanor changed. He leaned forward, the temperature around him cooling instantly. Luca could feel it.

"What is it?" Luca asked.

Damian didn't answer.

The bidding began.

"Two million."

"Three-point-five."

"Four."

Damian's voice cut through the crowd like a knife dipped in ice.

"Six million."

Heads turned.

"Seven," another bidder called out.

"Eight."

Then:

"Hundred million," Damian said. "Final."

The gavel slammed down.

"Sold."

Luca stared at him, disbelieving. "You just spent hundred million dollars in less than two minutes."

"I would've spent more," Damian murmured. "For what that case might hold? It's a worthy bargain."

"What's in it?" Luca pressed. "What the hell did you just buy?"

Damian turned to him slowly, eyes dark and unreadable. "Something that could help me uncover the truth. Except it just turns out to be a trap."

"Uncover what exactly?"

Damian stepped closer. His voice dropped, almost gentle. "Of who was involved in your brother's death."

Luca froze.

His blood went cold and stomach turned.

He searched Damian's face, wanting to find a lie but there wasn't one.

"Really?" he whispered.

"I suspect. But we'll soon find out."

Luca swallowed hard. "Okay?"

Damian's lips curved in something too dangerous to be called a smile.

"Let's go. There's one more stop for you."

They came out and the blacked-out SUV descended into the beating heart of the city's underbelly.

They arrived at an inconspicuous building behind a casino-ordinary on the outside, but the second the elevator descended past the lowest floor, everything changed.

Thick steel doors slid open to reveal a hidden world.

Gunmetal walls. Blood-red carpets. And guards who looked like they were trained to kill without blinking.

The Vault.

Damian's private empire.

The scent of cigars, blood and old money, filled the air. Weapons were displayed behind bulletproof glass. Men in suits with veiled threats in their eyes paced like wolves. One wrong look could get you killed here.

Luca stepped inside a room at Damien's lead, tension snapping across his shoulders.

Everyone turned to look at him.

He could feel the judgement and curiosity.

Someone muttered, just loud enough.

"What's a male prostitute doing here?"

Someone else chuckled and put his hand on Luca shoulder. "He must be here to suck our dicks."

Before Luca could react, a hand caught the man's arm mid-motion. In one smooth movement, Damian slammed the guy's face into the wall.

The man groaned, blood dripping from his nose.

Damian leaned in close.

"Touch him ever again," he said softly, "and I'll skin your wife in front of your kids."

Silence rippled outward like a nuclear shockwave.

No one dared move or speak.

Damian straightened his jacket, grabbed Luca by the wrist, in a harsh manner and walked to the middle.

One of the older bosses, Tomas Vescari, sneered. "You bring your toy to the table now, Moretti?."

Another leaned forward. "He's pretty. But isn't this a place for serious bussiness?"

Damien circled the table slowly.

"Since do you all dare to question my decisions? You shall treat him with respect or else." His face then turned serious and he started talking about bussiness.

"There's been a leak in our South American pipeline," he said. "Drugs. Money. Ships rerouted and ambushed before arrival."

"I tracked it," Damian continued. "And the pattern always leads back to one man."

He stopped behind one of you-Andrei Petrov.

"You're accusing me?" Andrei scoffed.

"I'm not accusing," Damian said.

He pulled a sleek pistol from his jacket.

"I'm executing you based on facts."

Bang.

Blood splattered across the marble. Andrei slumped in his seat, a hole through his forehead.

Luca didn't even have time to react before Damian spoke again.

"Anyone with any objection?"

No one moved.

"Good."

The meeting continued on for a while.

Later on, in Damian's private suite above the chamber, Luca stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, still shaking at how easily Damien could kill. He knew the man was ruthless but witnessing it firsthand was another experience entirely.

Damian poured himself whiskey behind him.

"You look like you want to scream," he said.

"Because I don't belong anywhere near this madness!"