ANTIDOTES OF BETRAYAL AND HIDDEN ALLIANCES

Luca’s POV

The forest swallowed us whole, branches whipping my naked skin as Rocco barreled through the underbrush, my body slung over his shoulder like a trophy from war. Gunfire crackled behind us—the compound erupting in flames, Viktor’s Bratva clashing with Sal’s Morettis in a final frenzy. Dante’s roar echoed distantly, a desperate hunt through the chaos. The toxin in my veins simmered low, a constant hum of weakness, but Rocco’s grip was iron—his blood from Dante’s graze soaking my side, mixing with the drying remnants of Viktor’s claim.

He dropped me unceremoniously in a clearing, moonlight filtering through the canopy like fractured glass. I hit the dirt hard, wrists still raw from earlier bindings, body aching from dual dominances that had left me marked inside and out. Rocco loomed above, shaved head glistening with sweat, scars twisting in the dim light. “On your feet, accountant. We’re not done.”

I staggered up, the world spinning from the poison. “Where are you taking me?”

He grabbed my jaw, forcing my gaze to his obsidian eyes. “Sal’s backup safehouse. Five miles north. You’ll walk. Naked. Remind you who’s in charge now.”

The command ignited that dark heat again—submission warring with defiance. He slapped a leather collar around my neck, attached a chain leash. “Move. Or I drag you.”

We trekked through the woods, the leash yanking me forward when I faltered. Twigs scraped my bare feet, cold air pebbling my skin, but Rocco’s presence was a furnace—his hand occasionally groping my ass, squeezing bruises from Viktor’s session. Tension built with every step: erotic, charged, his dominance heightened by the wilderness, the pursuit. “You liked my cock stretching you,” he growled, pulling me close mid-stride. “Begged like a bitch on the pier. You’ll do it again. Louder.”

His free hand wrapped my cock—slow, firm strokes as we walked. I hardened instantly, moaning despite the pain. He edged me mercilessly—building to the brink, then pinching hard to deny. “Not yet. Earn it.”

By the time we reached the safehouse—a camouflaged cabin buried in the hills—my body was a live wire, cock throbbing, pre-cum dripping. Rocco kicked the door open, shoving me inside. The interior was sparse: bed, table, chains bolted to walls. He locked the door, then yanked the leash, forcing me to my knees.

“Full submission,” he rumbled, stripping slowly—revealing his tattooed, scarred torso, cock springing free. “You’ll forget Vitale. Forget them all.”

He bound me spread-eagled to the bedposts—wrists and ankles cuffed wide, body arched vulnerably. The tension peaked: his eyes devoured me, promising more intensity than before. He climbed over me, massive frame caging mine. “Beg, slut.”

“Please, sir… use me. Fuck me raw.”

He slapped my face—sharp, then choked my throat with one hand, air rationed. His mouth crashed onto mine—brutal kiss, teeth nipping my lip to blood. Tongue invaded, claiming. Breaking away, he bit down my chest—nipples clamped between teeth, twisting until I screamed. Pain blurred to ecstasy; my cock leaked steadily.

“More,” I gasped, the toxin amplifying every sensation.

He obliged—fingers plunging into my mouth, forcing me to suck, then trailing down to my hole. Four fingers now—stretching brutally, scissoring without mercy. I thrashed, cuffs rattling. “Take it. Wider.”

Withdrawing, he positioned his cock—enormous head pressing in. One thrust—halfway, burning stretch. I howled; he choked tighter, vision spotting. “Quiet. Or I gag you with my belt.”

He slammed fully in—pounding with animal force, each snap hitting my prostate like lightning. His free hand jerked my cock—vise-grip, edging relentlessly: fast to edge, then balls-squeezed denial. Tears streamed; I begged incoherently, body convulsing under his weight.

“Imagine Vitale watching,” he growled, biting my neck. “His boy, ruined by a Moretti. Come for me—now.”

The command shattered me—orgasm exploding untouched, cum arcing across my chest in thick ropes. Waves crashed; Rocco followed, pulling out to paint my face and torso—hot, possessive.

He collapsed beside me, unchaining one wrist to let me breathe. “Good pet. Rest. Sal’s plan starts at dawn.”

But as sleep tugged, a faint beeping echoed—from my skin? No. A microchip? The toxin eased suddenly—clarity rushing in.

Sofia’s hidden antidote origins flashed: during her “residency,” she’d worked in black-market labs, sourcing nanotech counters from ex-KGB chemists. The vial she’d forced on me? Not poison alone—a delayed antidote, triggered by adrenaline. Her touch on the plane—implanting a tracker?

The door exploded inward.

Dante stormed in—bloodied, furious—gun blazing at Moretti guards outside. He took Rocco down with a tranq dart to the neck, the enforcer slumping mid-lunge.

Dante unchained me, pulling me into his arms. “Luca… God, what did he—”

But his eyes darkened at my marked body. Tension reignited—erotic, possessive. He shoved me against the wall, mouth claiming mine in a feral kiss. “Mine. Always.”

His dominance flared—hands roaming, pinching fresh welts. He spun me, thrusting fingers in—checking, reclaiming. “He fucked you again.”

“Yes… sir.”

He growled, freeing his cock—slamming in deep, no prep. I cried out; he choked my throat, pounding with jealous fury. “Erase him. Feel only me.”

Strokes brutal, edging my cock with twists. “Come for your true master.”

Orgasm hit—shattering, untouched. He filled me, roaring.

But as we caught breath, Dante whispered: “We need to talk. My secret Bratva ties.”

He pulled back, eyes haunted. “Before Marco, I ran ops for Viktor—as a double agent. Infiltrated for Giovanni. That’s how I knew about your father. I… let the hit happen. To protect the family.”

The revelation gutted me. Dante—tied to Viktor? Complicit in our parents’ death?

Before I could respond, sirens wailed—Chen’s feds closing in.

But Sofia’s voice crackled over a hidden comm in Dante’s ear: “Brother. The antidote’s active. But Viktor’s escaping—real plan: nuclear codes from Enzo’s hack. World-ending leverage.”

Dante’s face hardened. “We stop him. Together.”

As we fled the cabin, Rocco stirred—eyes opening with a smirk. “Round three soon, accountant.”

But the deeper twist: Dante’s ties—did they make him ally or enemy?

And as Viktor’s chopper thrummed overhead, I wondered: was Sofia’s antidote a save… or a slower poison?