Ashes for a rival

Renz's Pov

Nyx’s answer came in a whisper, almost lost in the hum of my penthouse air system.

“Yes… I’ll be your mistress.”

It wasn’t the kind of yes you say when your heart wants something. It was the kind you give when your back’s against the wall and your pride is bleeding. I saw it in her eyes — that flash of hesitation before her lips moved.

Nyx didn’t belong in my world, but she keeps stepped right into it.

I told her to finish what the other women had started earlier.

They’d been kneeling before me when she walked in — and unlike them, she didn’t hide her disgust. Still, she came closer. I could almost taste her defiance in the air.

I almost smirked—pride or fear, I couldn’t tell which stopped her.Instead I stepped in closer, letting the tension strangle the room

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. I knew she wouldn’t. That wasn’t disappointment I felt — it was intrigue.

She needed money. Desperately. I could see it in the way her hands trembled but her chin stayed high. That fire… it would either burn her alive or make her mine.

I had her right where I wanted. and just as the air thickened to breaking point, my phone cut through the silence.

A Colombian country code flashed on the screen. My jaw tightened.

I answered, voice low.

On the other end, my manager from Club El Sombrío—a Colombian jewel in my empire—was gasping through his words.

Four of my men were dead. Shot execution-style in the back alley.

The safe… cleaned out. Only a handful knew that’s where my shipment money was hidden.

someone had been watching me too closely.

Inside, My mind was already replaying names, faces, movements — and one stood out: Lucian Draegor.

My rage tightened like steel wire inside me, but my face remained unreadable. Nyx was watching. I wouldn’t give her, or anyone, the sight of my fury.

Renz never cracks.

I straightened, slow and controlled, masking the blood in my thoughts with an easy calm. Then I leaned close enough for her to smell the danger I carried.

"Quit your job,” I said, my voice low, final. “Come work with me. Starting tomorrow.”

Her lips parted, maybe to protest, but I didn’t give her room.

“I don’t share what’s mine. Especially not with the fools I saw drooling over you at that restaurant the other day.”

“Meet Marco. He’ll give you whatever you ask for. But if you try anything smart…” I leaned in until my breath brushed her ear. “You’ll learn exactly who you’re dealing with.”

and so I left before she could answer.

Left her standing there — confused, cornered, and maybe just a little bit afraid.

Good.

The elevator doors closed, sealing me in. I pulled out my second phone, the one only my men knew existed.

“Find Lucian,” I told Marco. “Alive. I want him breathing long enough to talk.”

---

They brought Lucian in three hours later.

We were in the soundproof basement of one of my Miami clubs. The air reeked of gasoline and stale beer. Lucian’s wrists were zip-tied, his face already swollen from the greeting my men had given him.

He spat blood on the floor. “You can’t—”

My fist cut his words in half.

He clamped his mouth shut.

Marco stepped forward, wordless, and handed me a thin steel rod — fresh from the burner. It hissed when I brought it close to the his cheek.

“I’ll make this quick,” I murmured. “One name, and you walk out of here breathing.”

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes later, he was screaming. Twenty minutes later, sobbing.

Finally, he broke. His voice was a shredded whisper.

“Ricardo… Ricardo Cruz.”

The name dropped like a blade between us.

My jaw tightened. Ricardo. That snake had been circling for years, pretending at alliances. But I had always known he was waiting for the right moment to sink his teeth in.

I stood, tossed the steel rod aside, and looked at Marco. “Dump him. Somewhere people can find him. Alive. I want the fear to spread.”

Marco glanced at me and nodded.

In my office, I poured a glass of whiskey and stared at the skyline. Miami glittered like a lie — beautiful from a distance, filthy when you were close enough to see the cracks.

“Ricardo thinks he can bleed me?” I muttered, more to myself than anyone.

Marco appeared in the doorway. “And Ricardo?”

I took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in my chest before answering.

“Two teams. One to lie in wait and hit his men hard — I want them rattled before they can breathe. The other…” I set the glass down, my eyes narrowing. “…will be me.”

Marco’s brow lifted. “You’re going yourself?”

I smiled. Cold.

“Not to knock. To burn.”

That night, under the veil of colombian restless dark, I stood in the shadows outside Ricardo’s main warehouse.

The place was a fortress — but fortresses burn just as easy.

I lit the match myself.

The flame was small, almost innocent, before it touched the fuel we’d planted. Then it roared to life, swallowing steel and brick, painting the night in violent orange.

Screams erupted inside. Alarms wailed.

And I stood there, watching, until the roof caved in and the night swallowed another man’s empire.

Ricardo wanted war?

Now, he had it.