CHAPTER 5

Chapter 5

LUCA 

I sat at the head of the table, my trusted men spread out on either side. Damon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression bored but alert. The others — Enzo, Matteo, Rocco — watched me, waiting for orders.

The topic was business. Always business.

Territory disputes. Shipment schedules. Debt collections.

I tapped my finger against the oak table as one of the minor gang leaders — a pathetic excuse for a man named Carlo — rambled on about how he could "handle" the northern docks without our help.

"And with all due respect, Mr. Moretti," Carlo said, sweaty and too loud, "maybe it's time we let the little guys take on some responsibility, eh?"

The room fell silent.

Damon winced.

Matteo shifted in his chair.

I slowly set my glass down.

Carlo didn't notice the shift in the room's temperature.

Or maybe he was just stupid.

"I see," I said quietly, voice like ice.

Carlo beamed, mistaking my calm for approval. "Exactly! I mean—"

One shot.

A clean bullet straight through his forehead.

His body crumpled to the floor, lifeless. Blood pooled under him, staining the marble.

No one flinched.

I blew the smoke from the barrel of my gun and set it calmly on the table.

"Anyone else want to show me their stupidity today?" I asked coldly.

Silence.

Good.

I leaned back in my chair, watching the blood inch across the floor, feeling nothing.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Everyone turned.

And there he was.

Adrien.

Wearing nothing but a massive shirt that hung off one shoulder, sleeves rolled sloppily. Bare legs, messy hair, bare feet padding casually across the polished floor.

Like he belonged here.

Damon groaned audibly and facepalmed. "Jesus Christ, kid. Not now."

Adrien ignored him, peering into the room with wide, innocent eyes. "Hey, uh...anyone know where the kitchen is?"

His voice was light, careless. He barely glanced at Carlo’s corpse.

I stared at him.

Hard.

Was he mad?

Wearing that? Walking into a meeting where I'd just put a bullet through someone's skull?

I clenched my jaw.

And then the thought hit me —

He looks good like that.

Heat stirred low in my gut, unwelcome and sharp.

I was straight.

Straight.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

"Adrien," I said, voice hard as steel. "Get out."

He blinked, completely unbothered. "Rude."

Damon shook his head rapidly, mouthing leave, leave, but Adrien was already strolling further into the room.

"Seriously, all I wanted was a sandwich," he muttered under his breath. "Didn’t know this was Murder Club headquarters."

Matteo coughed to hide his laugh. Rocco’s eyes widened. Damon looked torn between horror and amusement.

Adrien kept going, grumbling, "Bunch of psychos..."

Something snapped inside me.

Without hesitation, I pulled out my gun again and fired.

The bullet whizzed past his head, embedding itself in the doorframe behind him.

Adrien froze mid-step.

He turned slowly, eyes burning with fury, not fear.

"You fucking missed," he said, voice low and furious. "Asshole!"

He pointed at me, face red with anger. "You trying to kill me? Over a goddamn sandwich?"

Before anyone could blink, he spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

The smell of gunpowder still hung in the air.

Damon let out a low whistle. "Kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that."

I said nothing.

"Back to business," I said coldly.

And just like that, the men straightened, wiping all traces of amusement from their faces.

CHAPTER 6

LUCA

I found him in the hallway, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he owned the fucking place.

Adrien.

Still in that damn oversized shirt, the hem brushing scandalously high on his thighs. Hair a mess. Eyes bright and defiant.

Like he hadn’t just walked into a murder scene. Like he wasn’t afraid of a damn thing.

"You have a death wish, don’t you?" I said, my voice low, dangerous.

He smiled. Fucking smiled. "Maybe."

I closed the distance between us in two strides.

Adrien didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He tilted his head up to meet my gaze, those turquoise eyes gleaming.

"You think this is a fucking game?" I growled, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and slamming him back against the wall.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh. "Touchy, touchy."

I gritted my teeth. His body was warm under my hands, too warm. His smell — soap and something sweet — curled around me like a goddamn noose.

"You’re playing with fire, boy," I warned.

"Maybe I like getting burned," Adrien whispered, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile.

Before I could react, he surged forward — and bit me.

His teeth sank into my jaw, sharp and fast.

I froze.

The pain was a flash, and then —

Heat.

God, heat like I hadn’t felt in years, ripping through me, blinding and brutal.

A low, broken sound escaped me — half a growl, half a groan.

Fuck.

I shoved him back, harder than necessary, breathing like I’d run a marathon.

Adrien stumbled but caught himself, laughing softly, eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker.

"You didn’t hate that," he said, voice cocky and low.

I stared at him, chest heaving, fists clenched so tightly my knuckles went white.

"I should break your fucking neck," I hissed.

"But you won’t," he said, stepping closer again, slow and deliberate, like a predator taunting his prey. "You want to do something else."

I turned on my heel and stalked away before I did something irreversible.

I needed distance. I needed air. I needed to get that fucking boy out of my head.

I slammed the door to my room behind me, locked it, and ripped off my clothes.

The shower blasted freezing water, but it didn’t cool the heat crawling under my skin.

I leaned both hands against the tiles, head bowed, water cascading down my body.

But all I could see was him.

Adrien.

That wicked smile.

That cocky mouth.

Those goddamn eyes that didn’t know how to fear.

My cock was already hard, heavy and throbbing against my thigh.

I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing under my breath.

It would’ve been so easy to tell myself this was just adrenaline. Just anger. Just frustration.

But it wasn’t.

It was him.

The image of him on his knees, messy hair, swollen lips, looking up at me with that fucking attitude—

A groan ripped from my chest.

I wrapped a fist around my cock, pumping hard and fast, chasing the brutal edge he’d shoved me over.

In my mind, it wasn’t my hand.

It was Adrien’s mouth.

Hot, wet, desperate.

That sharp tongue flicking over the tip, teasing me, mocking me.

"Fuck," I growled, voice echoing off the tiles.

I jerked harder, faster, hips bucking into my hand, imagining him sprawled on my bed, shirt hiked up, bare and waiting, smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

"Fucking brat," I muttered, teeth gritted. "You want to play, huh? You want to get ruined?"

My climax hit like a goddamn freight train — violent, vicious, blinding.

I slammed a fist into the wall as I came, growling his fucking name under my breath.

Adrien.

Adrien.

Adrien.

The shower kept pounding down, washing away the mess, but it didn’t wash away the hunger.

It didn’t wash away the fucking need.

I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, chest tight.

This was bad.

This was so bad.

I was supposed to break him.

Not crave him.

Not imagine sinking into him until he forgot every name but mine.

I was Luca Moretti.

Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable.

No one got under my skin.

No one.

Until him.

And the worst part?

I fucking liked it.

I came out and froze.

Adrien stood in my doorway.

Wearing nothing but that goddamn shirt.

Again.

Bare legs.

Bare feet.

Wild hair.

Wicked smile.

"You’re not very good at keeping prisoners," he said, voice low and amused.

I stared at him.

"What the fuck are you doing here," I said, voice pure steel.

He shrugged, padding barefoot across the room like he belonged there.

 "Thought I’d find better company."

He stopped inches from me, tilting his head back to meet my gaze.

Turquoise eyes gleaming in the dim light.

I clenched my fists at my sides.

If I touched him, I wasn’t letting go.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for," I said, voice like a loaded gun.

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Maybe I do."

"Get out, Adrien," I ordered.

"No."

His defiance was a fucking punch to the gut.

"You think I won’t hurt you?" I asked.

"You think I’m scared of you?" he shot back.

That smart mouth.

That beautiful, reckless fucking mouth.

I moved before I thought.

One hand at his throat, backing him into the wall hard enough to make the paintings rattle.

He gasped — but not in fear.

In excitement.

His pulse thundered under my palm.

His eyes never left mine.

Wide. Wild.

Begging for something neither of us could name.

"You want to play games, pretty boy?" I hissed. "You have no idea what you’re fucking with."

"Then show me," Adrien whispered.

Fucking hell.

The leash on my control snapped taut, a single fraying thread.

I shoved my thigh between his legs, pinning him harder against the wall, grinding up —

He made a noise, low and broken and hungry.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was hard.

I could feel it against my leg.

And my cock was answering, thick and aching, straining against my pants.

I hated him.

I wanted him.

I was going to ruin him.

"You’re insane," I muttered, staring down at him like he was some beautiful, dangerous drug.

"Maybe," Adrien breathed. "Maybe you are too."

I dropped my forehead to the wall beside his head, breathing hard, dragging air into my lungs like it would save me.

It didn’t.

It just filled me with the scent of him — sweet, hot, addicting.

"You need to leave," I said, voice shredded.

"Make me," he whispered.

I snarled low in my throat.

I grabbed his wrists and yanked them above his head, pinning him with one hand.

He gasped again — not scared, never scared — and arched against me like he was made for it.

"Is this what you want?" I growled, dragging my free hand down the curve of his throat, over

the thin fabric of the shirt clinging to his chest. "To be used? Broken?"

He nodded, breath hitching.

"No," he rasped. "I want you."

Fucking hell.

I could rip him apart.

I could devour him whole.

Instead—

I shoved off him, hard enough to make him stumble.

He caught himself, panting, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

I pointed to the door. "Get. Out."