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.”

Chapter Six Touch yourself!

Elio’s POV

Fucking hell.

Was this a test? A joke? A goddamn punishment?

I had spent the last twenty-four hours holding myself back from this boy—this reckless, sharp-mouthed hacker—and now he’s standing there offering himself like it means nothing.

He was trembling slightly, but he didn’t back down. His shoulder was bare, his lips parted, his shirt hanging half-off his frame like a deliberate invitation.

I exhaled slowly through my nose. Micah had no idea what he was playing with.

I stepped forward, slow and measured. His eyes tracked every movement I made, wide but not afraid. Not exactly. No, there was something else brewing in those pupils—an unstable mix of defiance, curiosity, and maybe the faintest flicker of need.

Good. That was the look I wanted when I finally fucked him.

I stopped just inches from him, letting the silence stretch between us like smoke filling the room.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking for, young man?” My voice came out low, dangerous.

He didn’t answer. Not with words. Just a slight tilt of his chin, like he was saying *try me.*

I reached up, fingers ghosting over the side of his jaw. He flinched, but not away. No, the little shit leaned into it, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it.

“You think this is what I want?” I asked. “Some desperate little whore willing to trade his body for pity?” My thumb slid across his lower lip, lingering there. “And for what? A phone call to mommy?”

His breath stuttered, but he held his ground. Brave or foolish, I wasn’t sure yet.

“I don’t do pity, Micah,” I said, curling my fingers into the back of his neck. “If I want something, it’s because I mean to own it. Not because it’s thrown at me.”

His lashes fluttered. He was trying so damn hard to hold that mask of control, but his body betrayed him. I noticed the slight hitch of his breath, the flicker of heat in his gaze, the way his thighs tensed under those cheap sweatpants.

“Then take it,” he said. “Want me.”

The words were quiet but sharp. A challenge and a plea rolled into one.

My jaw flexed.

“You must’ve forgotten what I told you yesterday,” I said tightly. “I own you now. Your body. Your mind. Your skills. All of it. I don’t need your permission to use what’s already mine.”

His eyes flickered. Something deep in them cracked. Fear? Arousal? Maybe both. The line between those things was always razor thin when you knew where to press.

I grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked it downward, tearing it open and baring his chest completely. He gasped, instinctively crossing his arms over himself—then forcing them back down.

I didn’t touch him.

Instead, I leaned in, my mouth brushing the sharp angle of his jaw, letting my breath warm his skin.

“You want to give yourself to me?” I murmured. “Then do it properly.”

“How?” he breathed out, almost like it hurt to ask.

I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Let’s see if you’re really ready to give yourself to me.” I turned and walked to the couch in the center of the room, slow, deliberate steps, letting the tension thicken behind me. I sat down and leaned back, legs spread, watching him like prey.

“Strip,” I said calmly. “Then touch yourself. Right here. In front of me.”

Micah froze for half a second. Just long enough for me to catch it. That flicker of hesitation in him, that stutter in his breath. But then he moved.

He reached for the hem of his shirt and peeled it off, slow and deliberate. His hands trembled just enough to give him away. He wasn’t a stripper. He wasn’t a submissive. He wasn’t some porn fantasy. He was a scared, angry boy trying to prove he wasn’t any of those things.

I sat back, one leg crossed over the other, soaking it in.

“Keep going,” I murmured.

He kicked off his shoes, his fingers fumbling at the waistband of his pants. They dropped to the floor with a soft whisper, and he stood there in front of me—vulnerable, exposed, his jaw clenched like he was daring me to laugh at him.

God. How I wanted this boy.

I felt my cock twitch in my pants, straining against the zipper like it knew exactly what came next.

“Now,” I said, my voice low and husky. “Touch yourself.”

His lips parted, and for a moment, he looked so unsure it almost made me reach for him.

But I didn’t.

Micah dropped his hand to his cock, fingers curling around it. He closed his eyes. A soft breath slipped from his mouth as he began to stroke—slow, hesitant, his rhythm unsure. His other hand hovered, then pressed flat against his stomach like he was holding himself together.

“Look at me,” I ordered. His eyes snapped open. Wide. Glassy.

“Do you want me to stop you?” I asked, voice rough. “Do you want me to take control?”

He shook his head once, fast.

Then there was a knock.

No. Not a knock. A sharp, impatient rap.

The door creaked open. I didn’t bother to look.

“Elio,” came Luca’s voice, clipped and tense. “We have a situation.”

Micah froze like someone had poured ice down his spine. His hand fell away. He reached for his pants, but I snapped my fingers.

“Don’t,” I said coldly. “Stay.”

Luca stepped into the room, saw Micah, and paused. His face didn’t change—he’d seen worse—but he didn’t look away either.

“What is it?” I asked, still watching Micah, who was now standing half-naked, cheeks flushed, fists clenched at his sides.

“It’s the Carusos,” Luca said. “Word just came in they’re sniffing around the east docks. Asking about him.”

My fingers curled against the armrest.

Micah’s head jerked up. His face went pale.

“What exactly are they saying?” I asked, my voice flat.

“They’re not subtle,” Luca replied. “They’re offering money to anyone who’s seen a kid matching his description. And from what I’m hearing, he pissed off someone high up in their ranks.”

“Of course he did,” I muttered, with my eyes narrowing on him. “Did they say what they want with him?”

Luca shook his head. “Not yet. But they’re not just looking to talk. They want to make an example out of him.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Micah still hadn’t moved. His chest was bare, the defiance in his posture gone. The only thing left was the silence pressing down on him.

“Triple security,” I said. “No one goes in or out without clearance. Put eyes on the docks. I want to know exactly where the Carusos breathe.”

“Yes, boss,” Luca said, turning toward the door.

“And Luca?” I called out before he stepped out.

He paused.

“Make sure no one even *thinks* about touching what’s mine.”

Micah’s gaze jerked to me, but I didn’t give him the chance to say a word.

“Get dressed,” I said, standing. “This performance is over.”

“But—”

I turned on him sharply. “Next time you offer yourself to a man like me, make sure you’re ready to finish what you start. Because next time... I won’t stop.”