001

The black armored SUV sped down the winding, deserted road that led to the Montoya estate. Alessio De Luca sat in the back seat, staring blankly out the tinted window at the blur of darkened trees. The evening sky was heavy with storm clouds, fitting for the kind of night this would be.

Inside the car, the tension was suffocating.

Across from him, his younger brother Nico scrolled through his phone, expression unreadable. Their father, Lorenzo De Luca, sat beside Alessio, silent and imposing, a glint of cold steel in his eyes. His tailored suit fit him like a second skin, and the faint smell of expensive cologne did nothing to mask the scent of gun oil that clung to him.

Alessio swallowed hard.

He was expected to marry Isabella Montoya, the only daughter of Javier Montoya, head of the Montoya cartel. A marriage meant to end a decade of bloodshed between their families. A marriage he never asked for. But as the first son and heir, Alessio had never been asked what he wanted.

Obedience was the currency of survival in the De Luca family.

Armed SUVs followed in convoy, headlights slicing through the gathering dusk. Men with automatic weapons sat stone faced in each vehicle, prepared for war should one word be spoken wrong tonight.

“Keep your head high, boy,” Lorenzo finally said, voice rough like gravel. “You’re not walking into a party. You’re walking into a deal that’ll save this family’s future.”

Alessio didn’t answer.

His heart pounded harder as the iron gates of the Montoya estate loomed ahead. The Montoya crest,  a silver serpent coiled around a dagger  gleamed on the black iron. Guards in dark suits, weapons holstered but ready, stood at attention as the cars passed.

The mansion itself was palatial. Lights poured from the tall arched windows. Luxury cars lined the circular driveway. Politicians, crime lords, and dangerous men mingled beneath the high lit  portico.

A den of wolves, Alessio thought grimly.

The SUV rolled to a stop. A guard opened the door, and Alessio stepped out, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes latch onto him like predators scenting blood.

His father exited next, followed by Nico. The air was thick with cigar smoke and danger.

Then,  a figure.

Tall, broad shouldered, dressed in a black tailored suit that clung to his frame like sin itself. Dark hair, swept back, sharp jawline, and eyes like storm clouds before the first strike of lightning.

Rafael Montoya.

Alessio felt his chest tighten. He knew who Rafael was the Montoya family’s enforcer, rumored to be more ruthless than his father, colder than death itself. He had a reputation built on blood and silent executions, on bodies dumped in rivers and men disappearing into the night.

And yet… those eyes.

Rafael’s gaze landed on him, not with warmth, not with hostility  but with something else. Something dangerous. A quiet, unsettling calculation, as if he was sizing Alessio up, stripping him bare without ever laying a hand on him.

Alessio’s breath caught.

Their eyes held for a beat too long.

Then Rafael looked away, as if uninterested, stepping aside for his father’s arrival.

“Lorenzo.” Javier Montoya’s voice boomed across the courtyard, a mockery of warmth.

The two mafia bosses met, shook hands,  a handshake a decade in the making. The photographers at the edge of the estate snapped their pictures. Cameras might have called this peace, but Alessio knew better.

A war paused is still a war.

“To a new chapter,” Javier said, his smile a predator’s grin.

“To blood left in the past,” Lorenzo answered.

Alessio stood stiffly as Isabella Montoya was brought forth. She was beautiful, dark haired, delicate in an emerald gown, her expression a perfect mask of obedience. She glanced at Alessio with no more warmth than a stranger.

They were both pawns.

The engagement was announced with clinking glasses and hollow applause.

Alessio barely heard it. His attention was drawn again, unbidden, to where Rafael leaned against a pillar, glass of whiskey in hand, watching him. Those gray eyes pinned him in place like a dagger to the throat.

There was no smile, no nod, no acknowledgement.

Just heat.

Unspoken.

Unacceptable.

Undeniable.

Alessio’s pulse thudded against his throat. He didn’t understand it. A strange, hot coil low in his stomach, a pull toward danger that felt nothing like duty and everything like desire.

For a man.

For Rafael Montoya.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Rafael flicked his gaze away, disappearing into the shadows of the mansion.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of fake smiles, meaningless toasts, and empty promises of peace.

But Alessio only felt the weight of two things….the cold, hard shackle of his future, and the lingering heat of that look.

The war might have ended.

But a different kind of battle had just begun.