Blood and Diamonds

Domenico

The office smelled faintly of leather and old cigars, even though no one had smoked in here for years.

I sat behind the massive desk, fingers drumming against the oak surface, listening as Alessandro rattled off the numbers.

"Thirty-two crates moved through Athens last month. Two went dark."

His voice was clipped. Efficient.

"Either stolen or intercepted."

I leaned back in the chair, sightless eyes focused on the patterns behind my lids.

The world was dark, yes. But in here? In my mind?

Everything was sharp.

"Athens is your side," I murmured. "Fix it."

"Already sent men to check. But-"

His tone shifted, cold as steel.

"-our next shipment is bigger. And Lenkov's crew is sniffing around again."

Lenkov. That bastard.

Always hungry. Always stupid enough to think he could bite at our heels.

I let out a slow breath, fingers curling into a fist.

"We move before he does," I said. "Set the heist for Antwerp. Hit the De Vries vaults before they even know we're in the city."

Alessandro's footsteps paced across the room. I could hear it - precise, calculated steps.

He didn't pace out of nerves. He paced because movement made his brain work faster.

"Antwerp's tight right now," he muttered. "Too many eyes. Cameras. Armed guards up the ass."

"That's why we hit fast," I shot back. "In and out. And we funnel the diamonds through the Prague route, same as before. Guns go south. Diamonds go east."

Silence stretched between us.

I could feel him thinking. Calculating.

"We'll need new faces," Alessandro said finally. "Our usual crew is too exposed. Too many eyes on them after Madrid."

"Fine. Find ghosts," I said. "Men no one can trace."

His footsteps stilled.

Then: "And the girl?"

My fingers paused on the desk.

The girl.

Marina.

The little chef with soft hands and a nervous heartbeat I could hear every time she stood too close.

"She's nothing," I said flatly. "She cooks. She leaves. That's all."

But Alessandro's silence told me he didn't buy that.

He'd seen it too.

The way I lingered in the kitchen longer than I needed to.

The way her presence softened the edges of the house, even if she didn't know it.

"Don't let her be a weakness," Alessandro muttered. "We can't afford that. Not now."

I smiled, though it was thin and humorless.

"I'm blind, brother," I said. "Not stupid."

Alessandro

He always said that.

Like blindness was just an inconvenience, not a vulnerability.

But I knew better.

I knew how the wolves circled when they sensed blood in the water.

I moved to the bar cart, poured a measure of whiskey, and downed it in one swallow.

The Antwerp job… It had to be clean. Fast. Ruthless.

No mistakes.

No distractions.

And yet — here we were.

With a soft-cheeked girl bustling in my kitchen, her voice too bright, her scent lingering in the halls.

A civilian.

In our den of wolves.

I clenched the glass tighter.

“I’ll set the Antwerp crew,” I said over my shoulder. “And I’ll keep an eye on her. If she steps out of line, I handle it.”

Domenico didn’t answer right away.

When he did, his voice was soft — too soft.

“She won’t. But… watch her anyway.”

I smirked bitterly.

“Always do.”

And in my head, I was already counting diamonds and bullets.

Because this next move would make or break us.

And there was no room for softness in a world built on smuggled stones and spilled blood.

Not even for a pretty little cook who didn’t know the vipers she was feeding.

Marina

The knife made a soft thump against the cutting board.

Over and over.

Rhythmically.

Like maybe, if I just kept chopping these poor bell peppers to death, I could ignore the fact that I was cooking in a literal mansion that felt like it had more security cameras than my entire apartment building.

“Small slices, Marina,” I muttered to myself, mimicking that soft voice from this morning.

His voice.

The one who somehow knew exactly where I stood, exactly how I moved.

The one who told me—politely but firmly—that my veggie slices were a little too chunky.

I shivered, even though the kitchen was warm.

Focus.

Focus.

I dumped the peppers into the sizzling pan, stirred them around like I actually knew what I was doing.

Well. I did know what I was doing.

Culinary school hadn’t been cheap, and I hadn’t survived late nights and snobby professors for nothing.

But still—this wasn’t exactly what I pictured when I dreamed about becoming a chef.

I thought about opening a cute little café. Serving brunch. Having a chalkboard menu.

Not, you know… being a private cook for mysterious men in dark suits.

Stop overthinking. Just cook.

The smell of garlic and onions filled the air, warm and comforting.

This, at least, made sense.

Chop. Sauté. Season.

Unlike the way the tall one — the cold brother — looked at me like I was some kind of potential threat even when I was literally elbow-deep in basil leaves.

I stirred the sauce, tasted it, and adjusted the salt.

Perfect.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I flinched—half expecting some scary mafia code to pop up—but no.

It was just a reminder I set for myself.

“Remember: you are just cooking. Nothing more.”

Yeah, thanks, past Marina. Very reassuring.

I grabbed a cloth and wiped my hands.

The pasta was boiling just right, the bread was warming in the oven, and the salad looked fresh enough to be on a magazine cover.

For a second, I let myself relax.

Just a second.

Because in here, in this big fancy kitchen, I could pretend this was normal.

Just another day, just another meal.

But then — footsteps echoed from somewhere down the hall.

Heavy, measured.

And I felt that tiny shiver return, crawling up my spine like cold water.

I peeked at the clock.

Lunch was right on time.

Because of course it was — even crime lords needed to eat.

I exhaled sharply, trying to laugh at myself.

“Just lunch,” I whispered. “Just feeding two very intense, very mysterious men who may or may not be running… something.”

I turned off the stove, plated the food with shaky hands, and tried to pretend that my heart wasn’t racing just a little.

Because even though I didn’t know exactly what they did…

Even though they hadn’t told me a single detail…

Every part of me knew — deep down — that I had just stepped into a world much bigger and much darker than I could handle.

And all I could do now was keep cooking.

And hope that lunch went smoothly.

Thump. Thump.

The knife hit the board again as I started prepping for dinner.

Because apparently, in this house, meals were the only normal thing left.