Chapter three Almost tempted.

Elio’s POV

I was genuinely intrigued by this boy. I mean, he had the fucking guts to hack into my database and infiltrate it in less than two minutes.

My fingers gripped the bourbon glass, the burn of it lingering on my lips. I had watched him strip hours ago, his lean body trembling under my stare, his defiance cracking into something raw.

It took every ounce of control not to cross the room and touch him then.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I didn’t build an empire by giving in to impulses.

His file sat open on my desk, pulled from the dark corners of my network. Micah Reed, twenty-six, freelance hacker, no criminal record but a trail of debts. Unpaid hospital bills for his mother. A sister in college. He was good. Too good to be working for scum like Rico. And too reckless to realize he had stepped into my world.

The shipping manifest he hacked was Sophia’s location. My blood. If the cartel had reached her first, I would have burned their world to ash.

I drained the bourbon and set the glass down. My phone buzzed. Luca’s message: He’s in the suite. System’s active.

The reconditioning program was live, tracking his every move, every breath. I needed to know who Micah was beyond the code.

Was he a tool I could sharpen or a liability I had to erase?

I walked to the security room, the hum of monitors filling the air. Luca stood by the screens, his scarred face lit by the glow of Micah’s suite. The kid was sitting on the bed, staring at the monitor with his name in red. His shoulders were tense, his hands fisted in the sheets. He looked like a caged animal, ready to bolt but with nowhere to go.

“He’s scared,” Luca said, not looking at me. “You sure about this?

I didn’t answer him, instead, my gaze was trained on Micah on the screen. His dark hair fell into his eyes, his jaw tight with defiance.

Luca shifted beside me, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “We should’ve ended this when we had the chance. You’re playing with fire.”

I didn’t look at him. “I don’t play.”

“Then what the hell is this?” he snapped, gesturing toward the screen where Micah sat still, eyes narrowed at the camera like he could see us watching. “He’s not just some kid, Elio. He broke into your system. No one’s ever done that and lived to talk about it.”

“He cracked level-three encryption in less than two minutes,” I finally said, my voice even. “Do you know anyone else who can do that?”

“That’s exactly my point!” Luca’s voice rose, edged with frustration. “You’re letting him stay because he impressed you?”

“I’m letting him stay,” I said, turning to face him finally, “because he’s useful.”

“For now.”

“For long enough,” I snapped. “He found the shipping manifest I encrypted personally. Do you know how many of our own men have failed to crack that system during drills?”

Luca’s jaw clenched. “So, we keep a hacker with a god complex locked in a suite and hope he doesn’t bury us from the inside?”

I stepped closer to him, my voice low. “We keep a boy who’s desperate enough to risk death for his family. You want loyalty? Nothing’s more loyal than a man with someone to lose.”

Luca looked away, his nostrils flaring. “You think he’s some prodigy, but he’s just another risk.”

“He’s a risk worth calculating.”

There was a beat of silence between us, the tension sharp and humming. On the screen, Micah stood and walked to the window, placing both hands on the glass, staring out. He looked small from this distance. Fragile.

But I’d seen the fire behind those eyes.

“He’ll test you,” Luca said quietly. “I can already see it. He’s not afraid enough of you.”

I gave a small, dark smile. “Then we’ll give him a reason to be.”

Luca’s mouth twisted. “You always did like breaking things before you claimed them.”

I ignored the jab. My eyes remained fixed on Micah. “Just make sure the system logs everything. Every deviation. Every instinct. If he even thinks about betraying me, I’ll know before he does.”

“And then?” Luca asked, almost spitefully.

I smiled faintly. “Then we’ll see if he deserves a place at my table. Or in the ground.”

Luca shook his head. “You better hope he’s worth it, boss. Because if he’s playing you, Elio. I won’t wait for your permission to end him.”

I clapped him on the shoulder, firm. “That’s why I keep you around. Don't forget to station men around his mother and sister before the Carusos cartel get to them.”

Luca left me in the security room with a frustrated grunt, muttering something in Italian under his breath. I left the room without another word.

His warnings clung to me, but they didn’t matter.

My boots echoed sharply against the marble floors as I descended the hallway, my hands buried in the pockets of my suit pants. I keyed into the suite, and the soft chime of the lock gave way to silence. But not for long.

The bathroom door creaked open just as I stepped into the living area.

Micah stepped out from the bathroom, bare-chested, towel slung low on his hips. His skin was still glistening from the shower, droplets trailing down his chest in slow, carving trails down the curve of his collarbone and lower v-line.

He froze when he saw me. His grip tightened on the towel, the fabric slipping just enough to reveal the sharp curve of his hip.

My eyes dragged down his body, slow, deliberate. “Settling in, Micah?”

He shrugged. A single drop of water slid down the side of his neck, trailing over his chest. “It's hard to enjoy anything with you watching.”

I stepped forward once. He lifted his chin and didn’t back away. Daring me?

I moved closer again, until there was barely a breath between us.

“You have a habit of being cocky,” I said, my voice smooth, but tight. “Even when you should be afraid.”

“I am afraid,” he murmured. “I just don’t like to show it to predators.”

My hand moved before I could stop it, my fingers brushing his jaw, trailing up to cup the side of his face. His breath hitched.

God, he was warm. His skin was smooth beneath my fingertips. That mouth was so close now I could taste it on my tongue. I should’ve pulled away. I didn’t.

“Say something,” he whispered.

I didn’t.

My gaze dropped to his pink lips, parted, tempting in a way that made my restraint falter.

I leaned in, just enough for him to feel it, for our breaths to mingle, heat curling between us like smoke.

And then—

I pulled back.

Chapter four Pretend It’s Micah

Elio's POV

I stormed out of the suite, slamming the door harder than necessary.

What the hell was that? God. Help me. I was this close to kissing that boy. My fists clenched as I strode down the hall. My jaw ached from how tight I’d been grinding it. Micah. That little shit. Standing there, wet and unbothered, like he hadn’t just shattered every shred of control I had left.

I hated how easily he got under my skin.

No—I hated that I wanted him to.

I yanked my phone out of my pocket and dialed. “Luca.”

He picked up on the first ring. “Boss?”

“Send someone to my quarters. One of the regulars. I don’t care who, as long as he’s willing and tight-lipped. I want him there in ten minutes.”

There was a beat of silence before Luca’s voice came back, clipped. “Got it, boss.”

I hung up without another word.

Ten minutes later, a young, blond arrived. He was a familiar face, probably from my club, but I couldn't remember his name, and didn’t care to. He looked nervous when I opened the door, but I gave him no time to speak.

My shirt hung open, tie discarded somewhere behind me. My knuckles were red from where I'd slammed the wall earlier. I didn’t bother fixing a damn thing.

“Put off your clothes. Now.”

He stripped bare almost immediately.

“Kneel,” I growled, not looking at his face. I closed my eyes for a second, my jaw tight.

Pretend it’s not him, I told myself. Pretend it’s not Micah’s throat I want to fuck. Pretend it’s not his name I want to rip from my mouth.

The boy obeyed without hesitation, dropping to his knees in front of me like he’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe he had. I didn’t care.

I watched him with a cold detachment, my hand tangled in his hair as he leaned in and unbuckled my belt, his fingers trembling slightly from either anticipation or fear.

I tilted his chin up roughly with two fingers, studying his face. Pretty, smooth-skinned, eager to please.

But he still wasn’t Micah. Goddamn it.

“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” I muttered coldly. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, lips parting as my cock bounced free, dripping with pre cum.

“Hands behind your back,” I commanded.

Still, I shoved my cock past his lips with a grunt. I buried myself deep in his throat, watching tears prick the corners of his eyes as I held him there.

“Breathe through your nose,” I muttered, hand tightening in his hair. “You’re here for my relief. Nothing else.”

He choked around me, but nodded the best he could. His lips were wet and red, his jaw struggling to keep up with my pace. I used his mouth like it was mine, like he had no purpose other than to take every ounce of anger I couldn’t unload on the boy who really caused it.

I stared down at him, trying—desperately trying—not to imagine Micah kneeling in his place.

But the image forced itself in anyway.

Micah’s swollen lips, wet and red, eyes locked on mine with that damn arrogance. Micah wouldn’t be obedient. He’d fight, resist, moan when I forced him to submit. That thought made my jaw clench.

I came hard, deep in the boy’s throat, grunting as I emptied everything into him. He swallowed like a good toy, even opened his mouth to show me. Fucking show-off.

But the tension in my chest didn’t ease. Not even a little.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pushing the boy off me roughly. He blinked up at me, confused and breathless, lips swollen and wet.

“Did I—”

“Turn around,” I snapped, yanking him to his feet and pushing him face-down on the bed. “I need more.”

I grabbed a condom from the nightstand and rolled it on, in one rough motion. He moaned when I pressed into him from behind, but I wasn’t gentle—I didn’t ask if he was ready since he was here to take it.

I shoved him forward again. “Turn around.”

The boy looked up, licking his lips. “Sir—”

He scrambled onto the bed, ass up, head buried in the sheets. I didn’t bother with lube. I just spat in my palm and slicked myself, anger twisting in my gut like a coil ready to snap.

I grabbed his hips and thrust into him in one stroke, rough and punishing. He cried out, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. My mind was already gone—already lost in the fantasy.

Micah, bent over.

Micah, struggling under me.

Micah, cursing my name while I ruined him.

“Fuck,” I growled, snapping my hips harder, my fingers digging into the boy’s waist until I was sure I’d leave bruises. The boy moaned, pushing back, trying to match me. It only pissed me off more, that it wasn't Micah.

Nothing about this felt satisfying. No matter how deep I drove into him, no matter how he screamed, it felt empty. Mechanical. Wrong.

I came with a growl, deep and guttural, my teeth clenched as I emptied into the condom. But it didn’t feel good.

It felt hollow.

I pulled out without a word, tossing the used condom into the bin, my chest heaving. The boy lay there panting, body used and trembling with satisfaction he didn’t deserve.

“Get dressed,” I said flatly, already lighting a cigarette. I didn’t bother to look at him.

He sat up slowly. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“I don’t want to see you.”

He turned to look at me, eyes searching mine. “Was I—?”

“Just shut the fuck up and leave,” I cut in, my voice like ice. “Now.”

He dressed in silence, stealing glances at me.He left, the door clicking shut. I exhaled as I sank into the couch in the corner of the room, smoke stinging my eyes, but it didn’t clear the haze in my head.

Micah had invaded my head, and I had no fucking idea how to get him out.

My phone buzzed, pulling me out of it. The security system alert flashed. I opened it, expecting a routine update. Instead, the screen showed Micah in his suite, sitting at the desk. He had pried open the monitor’s casing, wires spilling out, his fingers moving fast.

What the fuck—

Chapter five

Micah’s POV

What the fuck kind of mafia Netflix nightmare had I landed in? Was I being tested?

Everything that had happened from the warehouse till now felt surreal, like I’d wake up in a cold sweat any second and laugh at how messed up my dreams had gotten.

But I wasn’t waking up.

And Elio Romano... God. What the hell was that earlier? Why did he storm in like a man possessed, only to stop short like he was fighting himself? There’d been tension in the air, thick enough to choke on.

I paced the suite again and again, like a caged animal—which I guess I was, cursing under my breath and raking my hands through my damp hair. I had risked my life for this mission all for nothing.

My chest tightened at the thought of my mom. She’d be losing her mind by now. And Rico... damn it. That idiot better be looking for me. He owed me that much, at least.

Right. My phone.

I moved quickly to where my clothes had been dumped, snatching up my jeans and digging through the pockets. I’d taken a shower the second I got in here, scrubbing the filth of the warehouse off me.

My fingers shoved into the back pocket—nothing. Front ones—empty. I flipped the jeans inside out like a desperate addict hunting through drawers for a last fix. Still nothing.

“Fuck,” I hissed, kneeling beside the pile of clothes and patting everything down like the phone might magically appear if I begged hard enough.

It was gone.

Elio’s men must’ve taken it when they dragged me here. Who the hell knew what the protocol was for kidnapping someone under the pretense of hospitality?

I looked around the suite, desperate for something that could at least be of help. Landline? Nope. Nothing but sleek furniture, blackout curtains, and cameras surrounded me.

I sat back on my heels, chest rising and falling too fast. What can I do? How can I reach my mom? I thought, pacing the floor. My eye flicked to the only monitor in the room. If only I could get access to it.

I had no plan, no tools, no training for this exact scenario, but what I did have was desperation. That shit can power miracles.

I yanked the bedsheet off the mattress and dragged it over to the desk. If there were any screws, I’d need something thin and pointed, something I could use to open up the monitor casing or maybe trigger a reset.

A pen.

My eyes locked onto the note pad and pen set beside the TV remote. I snatched the pen, popped it open, and stripped the ink tube out. The plastic tip was sharp enough. It would have to do.

With shaky hands, I moved to the flat-screen monitor embedded in the wall. I didn't know if it was a CCTV feed, a smart device, or just a decorative prop to make the room feel less like a prison. But I had to try.

I pried at the corner seam with the pen shaft. It bent, then cracked, but it gave me enough space to start lifting the cover. Sweat slid down my spine even though the room wasn’t hot. I kept glancing over my shoulder, expecting one of Elio’s guard to

It wasn’t much, but it had enough edge to pop the screws loose. My hands trembled as I poked at the guts of the thing, wires, boards, tiny flashing lights. If I could reroute this somehow, hell, if I could send anything, even a blip that might get picked up by the agency, or call a number that was etched into my brain—just once, just to let her know I was alive.

The second I tapped a blue wire to metal, the screen flashed, and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Shit.

A high-pitched alarm sounded. Not loud, but sharp enough to cut through the quiet like a razor. I froze, hands still buried in the hardware as the suite door slammed open.

Elio.

He stormed in angrily, his coat flaring behind him, black-on-black-on-black, but his blue eyes were zeroed in on me.

I stood slowly, the pen still in my hand, not as a weapon but as a sad little symbol of rebellion. He didn't even flinch.

“I figured you might try something stupid,” he said coolly, eyes glinting. “But I hoped you had more sense than this.”

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” I said quickly, my breath shallow. “I just wanted to—look, I just need to get in touch with my mom.”

He cocked his head. “That’s what this is about? Mommy dearest?”

“Don’t fucking mock me.”

His lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You risk setting off a silent security protocol to call your mother?” He stepped forward. I stepped back. He didn’t stop. “You really think Rico’s looking for you?”

I froze. “What?”

Elio raised a brow. “He’s not your friend. You were bait. That’s why he still hasn't sent your pay. Instead, he is planning on haunting your mom and sister .”

“That’s a lie.” My jaw tightened

“Oh, is it?” he asked mockingly. “And if you’re still clinging to some fantasy that Rico’s going to storm in here guns blazing, save it.”

My throat burned. “I just want her to know I’m okay. Please.”

The word felt heavy in my mouth.

His gaze dropped to the half-ripped monitor. “You want something. That’s fine. But don’t insult me by pretending this wasn’t a move.”

He turned, like he was done with me and he was dismissing me. That snapped something inside me.

“What if I gave you something in return,” I said, my voice low, broken.

He paused.

“I know I’m not in control here. You’ve made that obvious. But if you want something—” I swallowed. “Use me.”

He turned again, slower this time. Watching. Assessing.

“Use you how?”

I stepped forward, my heart hammering. My shirt still hung loose from the shower earlier. I let it slide off my shoulder just enough to show the skin above my collarbone.

“You tell me,” I said, my voice steadier now. “Or do you only like control when it’s easy?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Desire, restraint. I knew it. I fucking knew it.

“Micah.” His voice was warning and soft. “You have no idea what game you’re starting.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

That was a lie. But it didn’t matter. I needed a win. Any win.

“I need my mother to know I’m not dead. If the only card I have is my body, then fine. I’m not a saint.”

Silence.

Then, finally, he stepped in. Closer. The air between us sizzled. He reached out, fingers brushing my jaw—so soft, it made me shiver.

“You think seducing me will get you what you want?” His jaw clenched.

I swallowed hard. My heart was thudding so loud I thought it would knock the words right out of my throat. But I didn’t break eye contact with him.

There was no need saying if I perish I perish. I had already perished.

“No,” I murmured. “I think wanting me is already messing with your head.”