Plaything Of The Enemy

"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."