‎Elijah's patience was already running thin, and Dante Moretti wasn't helping.

‎The man had waltzed in, taken what Elijah wanted, and now had the audacity to sit across from him with that infuriatingly smug smirk.

‎Elijah leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "So, you dragged me here just to gloat?"

‎Dante tapped his fingers on the table, his expression unreadable. "Not quite."

‎"Then get to the point," Elijah said, voice cool. "I don't like playing games."

‎Dante chuckled, low and amused. "See, that's where we differ, Sinclair. I love games." He leaned forward, locking eyes with Elijah. "Especially when they involve interesting opponents."

‎Elijah refused to look away, refused to be intimidated. He'd dealt with cutthroat businessmen before, Dante Moretti was no different. "If you're looking for a business partner, I'm afraid I don't work with criminals."

‎Dante's smirk didn't waver. "You say that, and yet you're here. Negotiating. With me."

‎Elijah clenched his jaw. He hated that the bastard had a point.

‎"Let's cut the bullshit, Moretti. You stole..."

‎"Acquired."

‎Elijah's glare sharpened. "You acquired property that was supposed to be mine. So, what do you want?"

‎Dante studied him for a moment, then exhaled, as if mildly disappointed. "I expected more from you, Sinclair. Thought you'd at least try to figure it out."

‎Elijah's patience snapped. "If I wanted to deal with mind games, I'd go back to my office and negotiate stock shares with a room full of idiots." He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "This was a waste of time."

‎Dante remained seated, still relaxed, still in control. "Sit down, Sinclair."

‎Elijah raised an eyebrow. "No."

‎That single word changed the air between them. The men around them stiffened, glancing at Dante as if waiting for him to react. But instead of anger, something else flickered across his face; amusement.

‎Dante exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You really don't know when to be afraid, do you?"

‎Elijah held his ground. "I don't waste my energy fearing men who overcompensate with power."

‎The room went dead silent.

‎The nervous businessman from before visibly paled. One of Dante's men; a tall, broad figure dressed in black shifted slightly, as if preparing to move.

‎And Dante?

‎Dante smiled.

‎A slow, lazy, dangerous smile.

‎The kind that usually came before someone ended up dead.

‎"Careful, Sinclair," Dante murmured, his voice smooth but laced with something sharp. "You're playing with fire."

‎Elijah smirked. "Then I guess you'll just have to try and burn me."

‎For a long moment, neither of them moved. The tension stretched tight, thick and almost suffocating.

‎Then, Dante pushed back his chair and stood. The motion was slow, deliberate. He was taller than Elijah not by much, but enough that it forced Elijah to tilt his chin slightly to meet his gaze.

‎"You're lucky I like you," Dante murmured, voice low enough that only Elijah could hear.

‎"I don't recall asking for your approval."

‎Dante chuckled. "No, I suppose you didn't."

‎The way he looked at Elijah then, it wasn't just interest. It wasn't just amusement. It was something far more dangerous.

‎A challenge.

‎An invitation.

‎Dante clapped a hand on Elijah's shoulder, a seemingly friendly gesture that held just enough weight to remind him of the power difference between them. "This was fun, Sinclair. We should do it again sometime."

‎Elijah shrugged off his hand. "I'll pass."

‎Dante only grinned, unaffected. "Oh, I don't think you will."

‎And with that, he turned and walked away, his men following without question.

‎Elijah stood frozen for a moment, his heartbeat annoyingly uneven.

‎Dante Moretti was a problem. A dangerous, smug, irritating problem.

‎And worst of all Elijah had the distinct, gut-wrenching feeling that this wasn't the last time they'd cross paths.

‎In fact, something told him this was only the beginning.

‎Elijah hated being underestimated.

‎It didn't matter if it was corporate sharks, power-hungry investors, or, apparently, arrogant mafia bosses who thought they could waltz into his life and take whatever they wanted.

‎Dante Moretti had walked away from their little meeting like he'd already won. That smug bastard probably thought Elijah would let this go.

‎Big mistake.

‎Elijah Sinclair didn't lose.

‎---

‎The next morning, Elijah sat in his sleek, glass-walled office, his fingers tapping against the dark oak desk. The city skyline stretched behind him, a reminder of the empire he'd built from the ground up.

‎Across from him sat Nathan Cross, his best friend and head of security, wearing his usual black tactical gear and an unimpressed expression.

‎"So let me get this straight," Nathan said, rubbing a hand down his face. "You insulted the head of the Moretti crime family. Refused to back down. And now you want to go after his newly acquired properties out of spite?"

‎Elijah swirled his coffee, unfazed. "It's not spite. It's business."

‎Nathan snorted. "Right. And I suppose the fact that he smirked at you like you were his next meal has nothing to do with this sudden vendetta?"

‎Elijah's eye twitched. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

‎Nathan groaned. "Elijah. Listen to me. You don't mess with these people. They don't play by your boardroom rules. They don't care about contracts or legalities..."

‎"Neither do I," Elijah interrupted, setting his coffee down with a quiet clink. His black eyes gleamed with challenge. "If Moretti wants a fight, I'll give him one."

‎Nathan muttered something under his breath, probably questioning why he still worked for Elijah after all these years. "Fine. What's the plan?"

‎Elijah smirked. "Simple. If I can't take the properties from Moretti..."

‎Nathan leaned forward, brows raised. "then?"

‎"I'll make him regret ever touching them."

‎---

‎LATER THAT Night – MORETTI'S CLUB

‎Dante Moretti leaned against the private balcony of his high-end club, watching the nightlife below with mild disinterest. The VIP section was filled with important figures; corrupt politicians, business moguls, people who owed him favors.

‎He should have been focused on that.

‎But instead, his mind kept replaying last night's conversation.

‎You're playing with fire.

‎Then I guess you'll just have to try and burn me.

‎Elijah Sinclair was interesting. He wasn't like the other CEOs Dante dealt with, the ones who cowered or obeyed. No, Elijah fought back. Challenged him.

‎And Dante liked a challenge.

‎Just as he was about to grab another drink, Luca Moretti, his cousin brother, strolled over with an amused grin.

‎"Hey, big brother. You're looking way too serious. Thinking about a certain sharp-tongued businessman, maybe?"

‎Dante didn't react. "Did you come here just to be annoying, or do you actually have news?"

‎Luca smirked, but his playful demeanor faded as he pulled out his phone. "You might want to see this."

‎Dante took the phone and scanned the screen. His brown eyes darkened.

‎It was a news article.

‎"Sinclair Enterprises Strikes Back – CEO Elijah Sinclair Announces Aggressive Expansion Plans."

‎Attached was a photo of Elijah, standing in front of a sleek black car, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy-blue suit. Confident. Untouchable.

‎And beneath the article was the real kicker.

‎"Sinclair's company outbids Moretti's recent acquisitions, targeting the exact properties controlled by the mafia syndicate. A direct challenge?"

‎Dante exhaled a low chuckle.

‎"Elijah Sinclair," he murmured, setting the phone down. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

‎Luca raised an eyebrow. "He's basically declaring war on you, you know."

‎Dante's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk.

‎"Good," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Let's see how far he's willing to go."

‎---

‎MEANWHILE – SINCLAIR ENTERPRISES

‎Elijah adjusted the cuffs of his suit as he exited the press conference, satisfaction settling deep in his chest. The announcement had gone perfectly. Now, the world knew he was directly opposing Dante Moretti.

‎It was reckless. Bold. Possibly suicidal.

‎But it felt good.

‎Nathan fell into step beside him, shaking his head. "You realize this means war, right?"

‎Elijah smirked. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

‎Elijah had barely stepped into his penthouse when he felt it.

‎That eerie, unshakable feeling of being watched.

‎His fingers instinctively grazed the inside of his suit jacket, where he kept a small but efficient handgun, a precaution he rarely needed but never ignored.

‎He exhaled slowly, masking his tension as he walked further into the dimly lit apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering skyline, casting long shadows across the sleek modern furniture. Everything appeared untouched.

‎But he wasn't alone.

‎"I'd offer you a drink," Elijah said flatly, slipping off his suit jacket, "but I don't usually entertain uninvited guests."

‎A low, amused chuckle came from the corner of the room.

‎"You really should upgrade your security, tesoro."

‎Elijah turned to find Dante Moretti, lounging on his leather couch like he owned the damn place. His black-on-black outfit blended into the shadows, but his smirk arrogant, knowing, stood out like a neon sign.

‎Elijah crossed his arms. "Breaking and entering now? How very mafia of you."

‎Dante exhaled a lazy chuckle, completely unfazed. "If I wanted to break in, your locks wouldn't stop me." He gestured toward the glass of whiskey on the table. "Relax. I helped myself."

‎Elijah rolled his eyes but remained on edge. "Why are you here?"

‎Dante's smirk faded, his eyes darkening with something more serious. "Because you've made a mistake, Sinclair."

‎Elijah scoffed. "Enlighten me."

‎Dante leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze locked onto Elijah's, unyielding. "You don't understand the kind of people you're dealing with."

‎Elijah raised an eyebrow. "You mean you?"

‎Dante shook his head. "I mean Alessandro Romano."

‎Elijah stilled.

‎Romano. He recognized the name. Another major mafia family. Ruthless. Unpredictable.

‎Dante stood, slowly closing the distance between them. "You went after my properties, which means you put yourself in the middle of a war you don't belong in."

‎Elijah refused to back down, even as Dante stopped mere inches away, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off him.

‎"I can handle myself."

‎Dante studied him, then smirked. "You're arrogant. I like that. But it's going to get you killed."

‎Elijah's lips curled slightly. "And you care because...?"

‎Dante's expression darkened, his voice dropping to something almost possessive. "Because you're mine now, Sinclair. Whether you like it or not."

‎Elijah let out a short laugh. "I don't belong to anyone."

‎Dante moved fast.

‎One second, Elijah was standing tall, unfazed. The next, his back hit the cool glass of the window, Dante's hands pressing firmly against it on either side of him, caging him in.

‎The sudden shift sent a jolt of something dangerous through Elijah's body; adrenaline, annoyance... and something else.

‎Something he refused to name.

‎Dante leaned in, his voice a low whisper against Elijah's ear. "Romano already put a hit on you, tesoro. You're marked. Which means you have two choices."

‎Elijah swallowed, keeping his face neutral despite the way his pulse betrayed him. "And those are?"

‎Dante's brown eyes gleamed with amusement. "You let me protect you..." His fingers brushed along Elijah's side, a barely-there touch that made his breath hitch. "...or you die."

‎Elijah refused to give Dante the satisfaction of reacting. "Sounds like you're giving me a non choice."

‎Dante smirked. "Exactly."

‎The tension between them was suffocating. Neither moved, neither backed down.

‎Then, Elijah's lips curled into a slow, defiant smile.

‎"Alright, Moretti. You want me under your protection?" He lifted a hand and to Dante's surprise, let his fingers graze the edge of his suit collar. "Let's see if you can keep up."

‎Dante's smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with something unmistakable.

‎"Oh, tesoro," he murmured, voice thick with promise. "I was counting on you saying that."