Raising the stakes

Luther POV

The night air was calm, almost too calm. I sat back on the veranda, the weight of the cigar burning between my fingers, smoke curling lazily into the evening sky. The glass of whiskey beside me glowed faintly under the warm light, the amber liquid swirling every time I lifted it for a sip.

Moments like these were rare—moments when I could breathe, when the chaos didn’t come crashing down on me. But I knew better. In this world, peace was nothing but the silence before a storm.

And right on cue, my phone vibrated against the wooden table. I glanced at the screen and couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at my lips.

Vicenzo Conti.

I took the call. “Vicenzo,” I greeted smoothly.

“Luther,” his voice was hard, deliberate. He wasn’t in the mood for games. “I’m ready to make my payment. I know you have my shipment… and my men. I want them back.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbow on the armrest, savoring his desperation. “Finally. Took you long enough. I was starting to think you’d given up on them.”

“Don’t play with me,” he snapped. “Name your terms so we can end this.”

I chuckled, low and amused. “Alright then. But listen carefully, because the rules have changed.”

Silence stretched through the line, heavy.

“I’m not taking forty percent anymore,” I said, my tone sharp as glass. “It’s fifty. That’s the new price.”

“What?” His voice erupted in fury. “Are you out of your damn mind? Fifty? You think I’ll hand you half of what’s mine?!”

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, calm against his storm. “Oh, I don’t think, Vicenzo. I know. Because you don’t have a choice. Not if you want your men alive. Not if you want your shipment untouched.”

“You bastard,” he hissed. “I already agreed to forty! That was the deal!”

“Deals change,” I replied coldly. “You should know that better than anyone. This isn’t about fairness—it’s about power. And right now? I have it. You want your empire to keep breathing? Then you’ll bleed for it.”

There was a long silence. I could almost see him pacing, fists clenched, torn between pride and necessity. Vicenzo hated being cornered. But hate didn’t change facts.

“Fifty percent is theft,” he growled.

“No,” I corrected, “it’s survival. Call it what you like, but it’s the price you’ll pay. Or don’t—and we’ll see how far you get without your men, without your goods, without your credibility.”

He exhaled heavily, the sound of defeat creeping into his voice. “One day, Luther, this will come back to you.”

“Maybe,” I said with a smirk. “But not today. Today, I win. Do we have a deal?”

Another pause. Then finally, through gritted teeth: “Fine. Fifty percent.”

“That’s better,” I murmured, satisfaction warm in my chest. “Transfer the funds. Now.”

Within minutes, the alert came through. The numbers lit up my screen, more than enough to buy loyalty, silence, and power for months to come.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” I said smoothly.

His reply was like venom. “Rot in hell, Luther.”

The line went dead.

I leaned back in my chair, laughing under my breath. He thought he’d cursed me. But to me, it sounded like victory.

“Marco!” I called.

My right-hand man stepped onto the veranda, arms crossed, waiting for instructions.

“Release them,” I ordered. “The men. The shipment. Everything. No scratches, no excuses.”

Marco’s brows lifted slightly. “All of them?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I got what I wanted. No need to give him an opening to scream betrayal. Make it clean.”

Marco nodded. “Consider it done.”

Hours later, the job was finished. Marco returned, his shirt slightly wrinkled, his face calm.

“It’s done,” he reported. “His men are on their way back. Shipment intact. Not a single hair out of place.”

“Good.” I raised my glass in mock salute. “Vicenzo can choke on his pride every time he remembers he gave me half his bloodline just to crawl out alive.”

Marco smirked faintly. “You always know how to twist the knife, boss.”

I shrugged, flicking ash from my cigar. “That’s why I’m still here, Marco. That’s why I’m still breathing while others rot.”

I had barely finished the sentence when I heard the sound.

Heels. Clicking against the marble floor inside the house.

Marco stiffened, hand inching toward his belt. I waved him off, my instincts sharpening. Whoever it was, they weren’t one of mine.

The steps grew closer, measured, confident, until finally—she appeared.

The sight stopped me for a heartbeat.

Marylin.

Her dark hair spilled in soft waves, her crimson dress hugging every curve like it was tailored by the devil himself. Diamonds glittered at her ears, catching the low light. Her presence was commanding, dangerous, and yet hauntingly familiar.

“Hi, Luther,” she said softly, her voice a velvet blade.

Marco straightened, eyes darting to me, waiting for a signal.

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. My lips curved slowly into a knowing smirk.

“Well, well,” I drawled, my voice low. “Marylin. It really has been a long time.”

Her lips tugged into the faintest smile, but her eyes… her eyes were sharp, unreadable.

And I knew, without her saying a single word—whatever reason had brought her to my door tonight, it wasn’t good.