002

Rafael Montoya had killed a man this morning.

He hadn’t wanted to. The kid had been young, barely old enough to shave, with trembling hands and a desperate look in his eyes when he’d been dragged into the Montoya warehouse. Caught stealing from one of the shipment lines. An inside job. Foolish. Naïve.

But in this world, mercy was a bullet to the head. Weakness was an invitation for vultures to circle.

So Rafael had done what was expected. What was required.

The shot had been clean, one round to the forehead , the kid’s body crumpling like discarded cloth. No final words. No second chances.

Rafael had turned away before the body hit the ground.

And now, hours later, he moved like a shadow through the glittering hell of his father’s mansion. The Montoya estate had never looked more alive  or more dangerous. Politicians, businessmen, cartel bosses. Rival families dressed in silk and custom tailored suits, all flashing polite smiles while their bodyguards gripped weapons beneath their coats.

The air was thick with cigar smoke, perfumed cologne, and tension. Deals were struck in hushed corners. Eyes darted, gauging the room like predators in a confined cage.

Rafael wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

He knew what tonight meant. This wasn’t just an engagement party. It was a bloodless treaty. A fragile peace, bought at the cost of his sister’s freedom.

Javier Montoya’s terms were clear: Isabella would marry Alessio De Luca, the eldest son of their oldest rival. A De Luca and a Montoya, sworn enemies for decades, joined in marriage to end a blood feud that had cost both families dearly.

Rafael’s stomach turned at the thought.

He found Isabella by the  staircase earlier that evening, her hands trembling as she adjusted the diamond necklace around her throat. Her wide dark eyes flickered when she saw him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rafael muttered low, keeping his voice tight.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered. “For us. For what’s left of our family.”

Her words tasted like ash in his mouth.

He wanted to tell her to run. To leave this cursed family, this house soaked in blood and betrayal. But what would be left of her out there? No protection. No name. No shield.

Rafael had failed her already by letting it come to this.

“I’ll kill him if he hurts you,” Rafael said, his voice so soft only she could hear.

Isabella’s lips curved into a sad, broken smile. “You’ll be the first to know if he tries.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and forced himself to walk away.

Now, hours into the party, Rafael paced the crowded room like a ghost no one dared approach. The Montoya men nodded respectfully as he passed. Rivals lowered their gaze. His reputation did most of the talking.

The Executioner, they called him. His father’s favored weapon.

And still, none of that mattered when his gaze landed on Alessio De Luca.

Rafael didn’t need to be told who he was. The family resemblance was unmistakable,  that sharp De Luca jawline, the icy blue eyes, the posture of a man who’d been trained to rule through fear.

But it wasn’t hatred that struck Rafael like a punch to the gut when their eyes met. It wasn’t anger.

It was something worse.

The room seemed to narrow, the noise dulling under the weight of that look. Alessio held his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in those pale eyes, uncertainty, defiance… curiosity.

Rafael’s throat tightened. No. Not now. Not here.

The De Luca heir was exactly the kind of trouble Rafael didn’t need. And yet, there was an electricity in the air between them, an unspoken tension that stretched thin across the room.

When Alessio excused himself from his father’s side and crossed toward the bar, Rafael’s eyes followed him without conscious thought.

Fool.

Rafael forced himself to look away.

This wasn’t some harmless flirtation. He wasn’t some idiot to be led around by lust or curiosity. Not with the stakes this high. Alessio was the enemy’s son. Soon to be his brother inlaw. An unthinkable complication.

And yet, the pull was there. Like gravity.

“Rafael,” his father’s voice snapped him back to the present. Javier Montoya stood at his side, his expression smug as a serpent. “Come. The De Luca and I have agreed. After the engagement tonight, Isabella will move to their estate. No objections.”

Rafael’s jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white around the glass in his hand.

“That wasn’t a request,” Javier added smoothly, as if Rafael’s silence was consent.

The weight of a lifetime of obedience hung heavy around Rafael’s throat. Defiance was a foreign concept in this house. It always had been.

He gave a curt nod.

Javier moved on, satisfied.

Rafael tossed back his drink in one swallow.

And then, as if summoned by the devil himself, Alessio brushed past him, the barest graze of his shoulder. A touch most would dismiss as an accident.

But Alessio paused.

He lingered, just long enough for their eyes to meet again. A spark of reckless challenge in his gaze.

And then he moved on.

Rafael’s blood burned.

Later, after midnight

The Montoya estate’s private casino was reserved for the inner circle, family and the highest ranking men from both sides of the old war. The games were a show. The real negotiations happened behind closed doors, over whiskey and whispered threats.

Rafael hadn’t planned to stay. But when he saw Alessio at the far corner table, alone, nursing a glass of scotch, some reckless part of him took control.

He crossed the room in four measured strides.

Alessio looked up, and for a second,  just a second the bravado cracked.

“You following me now, Montoya?” Alessio asked, voice low, rough edged.

Rafael didn’t answer.

“Care for a drink?”

Still, Rafael said nothing. He simply grabbed Alessio by the wrist and dragged him from the room.

No one stopped him. No one dared.

They didn’t speak as Rafael led him down the darkened hallway, away from the games and the music. Alessio didn’t resist. His pulse thrummed beneath Rafael’s fingers, the only sign of nerves.

They reached an empty room,  one of the guest bedrooms and Rafael kicked the door shut.

“What the hell is this, huh?” Alessio demanded, but his voice lacked heat. “You got something to say to me?”

Rafael crowded him against the wall. Inches away. The scent of scotch and something darker clung to Alessio’s skin.

“This is a mistake,” Rafael muttered.

“Then why are you still here?”

Rafael’s fingers brushed his jaw, a touch meant to intimidate  but neither of them was pretending anymore.

The moment Alessio’s mouth crashed against Rafael’s. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was violent, desperate, a clash of teeth and tongues and years of inherited hate combusting into heat.

Alessio groaned against Rafael’s lips, his hands fisting the front of his jacket.

Rafael gripped his hair, pulling him closer, biting his lower lip.

They broke apart, panting.

“This is a bad fucking idea,” Alessio rasped.

“Since when did either of us care?”

And then they were on each other again  clawing, gasping, and caressing each other, dust and shadows the only witnesses. Clothes hit the floor. Flesh met flesh. Every touch a war, every kiss a battle.

Alessio’s mouth traced Rafael’s throat, his teeth grazing the pulse.

Rafael shoved him back against the wall, sinking his teeth into his shoulder and kissing his lips down to his chest and Alessio moaned his name while his mouth worked wonders on his nipple.

It was reckless. Dangerous. The kind of mistake that could get them both killed.

And neither gave a damn.

Alessio found himself moaning to each thrust from Rafael who caressed him like he was something so soft and delicate. The way he moans his name aroused something in Rafael, he couldn’t stop, he doesn’t want to. “You are driving me crazy, Alessio” he whispered in his ears.

When it was over, they laid  there, both panting, their skin marked with bruises and bites, the air heavy with the scent of sex and Heat .

Neither spoke.

Neither dared to.

Neither moved away.

And that was the most dangerous part.