Chapter 3: The First Night

The first time the bedroom door opened again, the light was weak and gray, the kind that came in through the windows after dawn had already given up. Alexei woke with a start, chains rattling against the marble floor like they were trying to wake the dead. His body felt heavy, every muscle locked in place from the long night of nothing. Throat dry as bone. Thigh pulsing with that, hot ache where the bullet had grazed it. The leather cuffs were still tight, biting into his wrists, and the chain had him pinned to the bed like a dog that had finally been caught.

He didn’t know how long he’d slept. The clock on the nightstand said 6:17 a.m., but it might have been 7:47. Time had lost its teeth in these rooms. Luca’s penthouse swallowed hours and spat them back out thin.

The door creaked. Not much just the soft groan of hinges that hadn’t been oiled in years. Alexei’s green eyes snapped open. He was ready for it. Ready for the voice, the smell of Luca’s cologne, the way those storm-grey eyes always looked like they were measuring exactly how much pain to hand out today.

Luca stepped in without knocking. Black slacks, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows like he’d been out doing something real instead of sitting in a boardroom while the city burned. Blood from last night had dried on his knuckles, faint but visible. His hair was still damp from a shower, the ends curling slightly at the ends. He looked tired. Not exhausted, just… off. Like the war had finally caught up with the man who thought he could run it alone.

“Morning, ghost,” Luca said. His voice was rough around the edges, the accent thicker than usual because he hadn’t slept much either. “Are you still breathing?”

Alexei didn’t answer right away. He tested the chain first metal bit into his skin, but the links were still loose enough for him to roll onto his side. The movement pulled at his ribs. Pain flared, bright and familiar, but he didn’t make a sound. Pain was currency. He had plenty of it.

Luca crossed the room in three strides and dropped to one knee beside the bed. Close enough that Alexei could smell the faint trace of gun oil and yesterday’s rain on his skin. The bigger man reached for the cuff on Alexei’s left wrist, thumb brushing over the leather where it met skin. Alexei jerked away, but the chain didn’t let him go far.

“Easy,” Luca murmured. “Just loosening it a little. You’re gonna be here for a while.”

He unlocked the first cuff. Metal clinked against metal as the leather slid off. Alexei’s wrist throbbed instantly, blood rushing back in waves. He didn’t rub it. He just flexed his fingers, watching the veins stand out on the back of his hand. Luca did the same with the right, then waited while Alexei sat up slowly, chain still looped through the bedpost but now loose enough for him to kneel.

Alexei’s head felt like it had been packed in cotton. He stared up at Luca and spat, the word tasting like rust. “You really gonna keep me on a leash forever?”

Luca’s mouth twitched not quite a smile, more like the corner of his lip had decided to play a joke on the rest of his face. He pulled a small black box from his pocket, set it on the nightstand, and opened it. Inside was a switchblade, the kind with a matte finish and a handle that looked like it had been worn smooth by years of use. Not fancy. Practical. The kind of blade that didn’t need to be pretty to cut deep.

“Three days,” Luca said, like he was reading from a grocery list. “No food. No water. No talking unless you’re bleeding or dead. I’ll come back at night and see how much of your precious Voss code you still remember.”

He snapped the blade open with a sharp flick of his wrist. The sound cut through the quiet like a gunshot. Alexei’s green eyes narrowed. The blade caught the gray light and threw it back at him.

“You’re bluffing,” Alexei said. His voice came out lower than he meant, rough from disuse. “You shot me in the leg, not the heart. You want me alive.”

Luca didn’t answer with words. He just leaned in, close enough that Alexei could feel the heat rolling off his body. The bigger man’s free hand came up, not to choke this time, but to grip Alexei’s jaw, thumb pressing just under the bone so he couldn’t turn his face. Their eyes locked. Storm-grey against green, cold against fire. Alexei could smell the faint copper of Luca’s dried blood from yesterday, mixed with the sharp bite of the cologne he still wore.

Then Luca kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, hard and deliberate, his mouth slanting over Alexei’s like he was trying to eat the defiance right out of him. Alexei tasted blood his own, probably, from where his lip had split against his teeth during the fight. Luca’s tongue pushed past his lips, insistent, tasting the inside of his mouth like he was mapping every weak spot. Alexei bit down hard, feeling the give of skin, tasting more of his own blood when Luca hissed through his nose.

The kiss broke with a wet sound. Luca pulled back just far enough to breathe, lips shiny and split. A thin line of red trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Alexei spat again, this time directly onto Luca’s cheek. “That's all you got?”

Luca’s eyes darkened. He wiped the spit away with the back of his hand, but the smile that tugged at his mouth was sharper now. “Not even close.”

He stood up, the switchblade still open in his right hand. Alexei stayed on his knees, chest rising and falling too fast, the chain clinking softly against the bedpost. Luca walked around the bed, slow, deliberate, like he was circling prey that hadn’t quite figured out it was trapped. The blade flashed once, catching the light, then he pressed the flat of it against the side of Alexei’s neck, right where the pulse jumped under the skin.

“Not deep,” Luca said conversationally. “Just enough to remind you who’s in charge.”

The cold metal dragged down the line of Alexei’s throat, slow and steady. Alexei’s breath hitched. He didn’t fight. He knew better. The cut was shallow nothing that would bleed out in minutes, just enough to sting like fire when the water hit it later. Luca’s thumb brushed the edge of the cut, spreading the tiny bead of blood that welled up.

“There,” Luca murmured, almost gentle. “That’s better. You’re awake now.”

He turned and walked to the closet, pulling out a black duffel bag and tossing it onto the bed. Inside, Alexei could hear the soft rattle of something metal. Luca left the room without looking back, leaving the door cracked open just enough for the hallway light to spill in. The penthouse was quiet except for the distant hum of the city far below. Sirens. A car horn. The kind of sounds that didn’t belong up here, in a world where money and bullets kept the rest of the world at bay.

Alexei stayed on his knees, breathing through his mouth, the cut on his neck cooling slowly. His wrist burned where the cuffs had left red lines. His thigh throbbed in time with his pulse. And somewhere deep in his chest, the same cold thing that had started three years ago when Luca’s father put the first bullet in his old man’s skull was waking up again. Not hope. Not yet. Something sharper. Something that tasted like rage and the faint, stupid hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he could burn it all down.

He rolled onto his back, chain clinking, and stared at the ceiling. The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked glass. He could see the faint red mark Luca had left on his jaw where the kiss had bitten him. He touched it, thumb pressing just hard enough to hurt, and laughed once low, broken, wet.

Tomorrow would be worse, just like Luca had promised.

But today he was still alive.

And the war had just found its new face.

Luca would come back. He always did.

And when he did, Alexei would be ready.