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45. Stings Of Betrayal
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2025-07-13 06:39:31
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I AM YOURS TO PLAY 45. Stings Of Betrayal
Chapter 45: Stings of BetrayalMARCO’S POVOne Month LaterThe penthouse planning room was a ghost of its former self, the Miami skyline mocking me through the windows, its neon glow cold without Lucian’s fire to match it. I stood at the head of the mahogany table, my hands gripping the edge, my knuckles white as I finalized a four-million-dollar deal with the Italians from Palermo—cocaine and rifles, a deal Lucian had started before the bomb at Joe’s Diner a month ago left him in a coma, his body broken, his empire that he built with his sweat and blood was crumbling.The syndicate was bleeding—half the crew had jumped ship, defecting to smaller outfits or hiding from Viktor Salazar’s taunts. He strutted through Miami’s underbelly, crowing that he’d toppled Lucian Moretti, The Reaper and kingpin who fell in love with a Fed. Love killed that fool, Salazar sneered in every dive bar, every backroom, calling Lucian a weakling, a fool who let that demon called Ethan Caldwell drag him dow
I AM YOURS TO PLAY 44. Guilt Cage
Chapter 44: Guilt CageETHAN’S POVThe world exploded in a roar of fire and steel, the blast from my car throwing me to the pavement, my ears ringing, my vision blurred with smoke and terror. Shrapnel sliced the air, a jagged piece grazing my arm, blood seeping through my torn sleeve. My thigh, still raw from Salazar’s stab wound from weeks ago, screamed as I hit the ground, my cane skittering across the asphalt. I lay there, gasping, the diner’s neon sign flickering above, the smell of burning rubber and gasoline choking me. My life flashed—moments with Lucian, his hands on me, his voice promising to save me. What if I’d listened? What if I’d followed him into his car instead of arguing, too ashamed to be seen with him in broad daylight? What if I’d trusted him, just this once?I scrambled to my knees, my hands scraped raw, my heart pounding. “Lucian!” I whispered, my voice shaky with fear, desperate, scanning the chaos. People spilled out of Joe’s Diner—Joe, the owner, waitresses,
I AM YOURS TO PLAY 43. For Love?
Chapter 43: For Love?LUCIAN’S POVThe basement of my Miami safe house reeked of blood, sweat, and fear, the concrete walls stained with years of violence. Chains clinked as Tommy Russo, one of my own enforcers, hung from a steel beam, his wrists bound with rusted links, his body sagging, bruised, and bleeding from the beating my men had delivered. His shirt was torn, his face a mess of swollen flesh and broken teeth, his eyes darting between me and the six enforcers circling like wolves, their guns glinting under the flickering fluorescent light. Tommy had crossed me—betrayed the Moretti Syndicate by running a side hustle with Salazar’s crew, trafficking women and children for sex rings. I didn’t touch that filth. Drugs, guns, murders fine—but human trafficking that involves women and children was a sin I’d never forgive. My blood burned, my Beretta heavy in my hand, the weight a promise of justice. I stepped closer, my boots crunching glass on the floor, my shadow falling over him
I AM YOURS TO PLAY 42. Deadly Plot
Chapter 42: Deadly PlotVIKTOR’S POVI leaned against the rusted railing of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of Miami, the humid night air thick with the stench of salt and decay. My phone buzzed in my pocket, a text from one of my guys confirming Ethan Caldwell’s release from court earlier today. The news hit like a slug to the gut—Ethan, that stubborn FBI prick, walked free, his charges dismissed thanks to some anonymous evidence that tore apart the case we’d built to bury him. I knew who was behind it: Lucian Moretti, self-acclaimed “Reaper,” the bastard who’d been a thorn in my side for years. My blood boiled, my fingers itching for the Glock tucked in my waistband. They knew too much—Ethan and Lucian had unraveled the truth about the train heist, about me, about Director Hayes. They hadn’t spilled it in court, but that only made me more uneasy. They were planning something, and I’d be damned if I let them bring me down.I lit a cigarette, the ember glowing as I inhaled, my min
I AM YOURS TO PLAY 41. Passion And Defiance
Chapter 41: Passion And Defiance ETHAN’S POVI stood in an opulent room that looked like a hotel, the skyline glittering through the windows, my voice raw from shouting, my thigh throbbing from the old stab wound as I leaned against the bar to steady myself. The argument exploded the moment he dumped me in here, his rough hands still a ghost on my skin. I recoiled from his grip, taking a few steps. “Don’t you get it, Lucian? We can never work out no matter how many times you save me.”Lucian’s eyes blazed, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his fists clenched as he paced. “Why are you such a coward? Why can’t you stand on what you love, Ethan? Why the hell do you keep denying me?” he roared, his voice echoing off the marble floors. “Why the hell are you scared of? What’s more important than my feelings for you?”My chest heaved, tears stinging my eyes. “You don’t get it, Lucian!” I shouted back, my cane slipping as I stepped forward, pain shooting up my leg. “Ryan would have
I AM YOURS TO PLAY 40. Desperate Measures
Chapter 40: Desperate MeasuresLUCIAN’S POVI sat at the head of the polished mahogany table in my penthouse’s private dining room, the Miami skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Three Italians—sleek suits, heavy accents—leaned forward, their eyes sharp as we haggled over a shipment of cocaine and AK-47s, a ten-million-dollar deal to move product through their Sicilian channels. The air was thick with cigar smoke and tension, my fingers drumming the table, my mind half on the numbers, half on Ethan. Five days ago, I’d stormed out of his apartment, his words—“I’m not gay, Lucian. Get the fuck out!”—cutting deeper than any blade. I’d vowed to stay away, but my chest still ached for him.The door creaked, and Marco slipped in, his broad frame tense, his face pale under the dim chandelier. My gut twisted—something was wrong. Not a deal gone south, not Salazar’s goons, but something personal. I raised a hand, cutting off the Italians mid-sentence. “One minute, gentleme
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