Back to maford

The sky looked endless from thirty thousand feet up.

Nora sat stiff in the soft cream leather seat. Her fingers gripped the armrest tight. The jet was all about Lorenzo, sleek and cold, with black marble touches and gold parts. The air smelled like whiskey and trouble.

Next to her, Lia curled up under a blanket. Her little face pressed against the window. She was only twelve, too young for this fear, too young to get the danger hiding in all this fancy stuff.

Nora brushed hair from her sister's face. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

Lia nodded, but it was weak. "I just don't like him watching us," she said softly.

Nora looked across the cabin. Lorenzo sat a few seats away. He looked relaxed, but you couldn't read him. His eyes were half-closed, like he owned the whole world already. He didn't say a word, but Nora felt his stare like a hand on her neck.

It made sense they flew on his private jet. Lorenzo could buy ten of them easy. He was the second-richest man in the world, super rich, the kind that makes news and enemies.

No one knew who was number one. No one had even seen that guy.

But Lorenzo? Everyone knew the devil when they saw him. His money came from fear, blood, and dark deals. The world learned quick not to mess with him.

Nora had made that mistake once.

Now her little sister has been dragged into that world too.

Her stomach hurt as she watched him. His face was calm, hard to read. He knows, she thought. He has to know. He knew she wasn't doing it alone. She joined his enemies. She pulled the trigger. And they all thought the devil was dead.

But he wasn't.

He came back richer. Stronger. Colder.

Now she was way up in the air, with her twelve-year-old sister next to her... and the man she tried to kill sitting across the way.

Nora told herself not to look at him. But she did.

She saw the sharp line of his jaw. The shape of his lips. How they moved a bit when he took a sip. Damn it! he was handsome. Too handsome for his own good. Handsome was even an understatement to describe how good he looked.

She didn't know why, but she saw him differently now. It felt weird. Scary. Even before he "died," she'd never liked him that way. Never felt pulled towards him.

She tapped her forehead light, to snap out of it. This is the guy who hurt you, Nora. The one you hate. Don't be dumb.

When she looked up, he was staring right at her. Their eyes met. For a second, everything stopped.

That's when she saw it — his eyes.

Dark blue.

Her heart jumped.

The Lorenzo she killed had black eyes. She remembered that clearly.

"How come your eyes are blue?" Nora asked. Her voice mixed confusion and fear.

For a second, Lorenzo didn't move. The question hung there, sharp like broken glass.

Then his jaw got tight just a little, but she saw it. His hand with the glass froze in the air.

He put the glass down slowly. Too slow.

When he looked at her again, the calm was gone. Something darker took its place.

"What did you just say?" His voice was soft , the bad kind of soft that twists your gut.

Nora's throat went dry. "I... asked about your eyes. They're blue."

He stared hard, like he could cut her with his look.

Then he said, no stutter, no blink: "Lenses."

The quiet after that was heavy. It pressed on her ears.

Lorenzo leaned back. He looked at his glass. A muscle in his jaw moved once. Then he spoke—calm, way too calm.

"Lenses," he said again. He swirled the drink like it was no big deal. "You ask too many questions, Nora."

Her fingers squeezed the armrest harder. "It was just a question," she said low.

He didn't answer. Just looked out the window. The sky's light bounced in his blue eyes.

Lia moved next to her. She hugged her teddy bear tighter. "I like his eyes, though," she whispered. "Too pretty for a bad guy."

Nora's breath caught. "Shh, baby," she said fast. "Don't say that."

But Lorenzo heard. He turned his head slowly. His lips curved into a smile. For a quick second, it made his face softer. Then it was gone, back to cold, like it never happened.

Nora gave a shaky smile. "She didn't mean it," she said softly.

He just hummed a low sound that made the air feel colder.

The jet's hum filled the quiet. Nora looked out the window, at the clouds. But her heart kept pounding .

*********

The room smelled like smoke, metal, and fear.

Damien sat still, elbows on the desk. His eyes locked on the screen: LORENZO ALEXANDER RETURNS.

He took a slow drag from his cigarette. Exhaled. Watched the smoke twist up to the ceiling. It looked like ghosts of all the bodies they'd buried.

Back in the day, they ran it all—the ports, guns, black markets of Maford. Every dirty deal that could break a man.

Lorenzo did the business. Damien spilled the blood.

They weren't just partners. They were brothers. Two devils building an empire from dirt and gold.

But brothers fight over the crown.

It started small. Whispers. Dealers loyal to Damien vanishing. Money meant for him going to Lorenzo's secret pockets.

Lorenzo got weird shipments. Signed codes Damien didn't know. He'd built something in their world, a hidden layer.

Damien thought it was in his head at first. Then one night, truth hit.

Lorenzo cut a deal with Eastern Trade. Billions in dirty cash. Weapons. Drugs. Even people.

All signed "A." Lorenzo's new mark.

That night, Damien stopped being a partner. He turned enemy.

He didn't plan to kill Lorenzo right away. Just wanted to watch him fall. But then Nora showed up.

She was smart, tough and full of fire. Perfect for the job Damien couldn't do.

So when she pulled the trigger that rainy night, he let her. Stood back and watched.

Watched Lorenzo drop. Rain mixed with his blood. Their empire crack.

He thought it was done.

But now... the devil himself is back again.

Damien's jaw went tight. He crashed the cigarette out, killing the last smoke.

His voice came low, dark. "If he's back, the world's going to bleed."

He stood. His face caught in the window glass. Maford's neon lights flashed across it. Half dark and half broken.

"Get the team ready," he told his men. One of them flinched. " Let them prepare for the battle ahead."

No one in the room moved for a long moment. The air felt thick — like smoke and storm pressed together.

Then Damien turned away from the window. “Move,” he said quietly. That one word made every man in the room scramble.

Chairs scraped. Phones lit up. Guns clicked as magazines slid in. The whole place came alive, like a beast waking after years asleep.

He walked through them slowly, lighting another cigarette. “We built this city,” he said under his breath. “Brick by dirty brick. I’m not letting him take it back.”

A younger man, barely twenty, stopped him halfway. “Boss… what if it’s really him?”

Damien took a drag, let the smoke curl from his mouth. “Then we kill him again,” he said simply.

The kid swallowed hard.

He left the office, footsteps echoing through the hall. Every wall was lined with men who used to bow to Lorenzo once, now they bowed to him. But tonight, fear crawled back into their eyes.

At the end of the corridor, Damien stopped by the steel door that led to the vault. He typed in the code himself. The lock hissed open.

Inside was the kind of darkness that remembered things.

Stacks of money. Weapons. Files. And on the back wall a photograph, half-burned, of him and Lorenzo. Smiling once.

Damien looked at it for a long time. Then he tore it down.

“Prepare everything,” he said again, voice low and final. “Because if the devil’s really walking again…”

He dropped the photo on the floor and crashed it under his boot.

“…then hell’s about to open.”