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."

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!"