Chapter 4: Glued to the Glass

The bedroom door creaked open again at exactly 7:42 a.m. by the clock on the nightstand. Alexei’s head had been spinning since Luca left last night, the shallow cut on his neck now a thin red line that burned every time he swallowed. His wrist throbbed where the cuff had bitten in. His thigh felt like it was on fire. But the rage was sharper than the pain. It sat in his gut like bad whiskey and wouldn’t let him sleep.

He was still naked, chain loose enough now to let him sit up, when the door opened. Luca stepped in carrying the same black duffel bag from last night, plus a small black toolkit he’d left on the floor outside. Rain streaked the windows behind him, turning the city into a smear of gray and neon. Luca’s face was calm, but there was a fresh bruise blooming along his left temple where Alexei had headbutted him. Good. Means he wasn’t completely healed.

“Up,” Luca said. No hello. No good morning. Just the command, the same tone he used when he was loading a gun.

Alexei didn’t move right away. He just looked up, green eyes flat, and spat on the floor. “You gonna chain me again? Or we doing this without the leash today?”

Luca’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “Without. For now.”

He set the duffel on the bed and pulled out the black toolkit. Inside were a handful of zip ties, a roll of thick black tape, and the switchblade again. Alexei’s stomach twisted. He knew what was coming. He’d seen the way Luca’s eyes had darkened when he traced the shallow cut on his neck. This was going to be worse.

Luca unlocked the cuffs himself this time. No rough handling. Just the soft click of metal and the chain sliding free. Alexei flexed his wrists, blood rushing back in hot waves, and stood. His legs were shaky. The graze on his thigh pulled when he walked to the window.

Luca didn’t waste time. He walked straight to the floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over the city. Rain was coming down in sheets now, turning the sidewalks below into rivers of black. He pressed the flat of the switchblade against the windowpane, right where the raindrops hit.

“Face it,” he said.

Alexei didn’t have to be told twice. He walked over and pressed his back to the glass. Cold seared through his skin, but he kept his arms at his sides. Luca stepped in close behind him, one hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. The bigger man was warm. Solid. The kind of warmth that made Alexei want to bite.

“Hold still,” Luca murmured.

He moved the blade. Not deep. Just enough. A thin line of red appeared on the glass where the tip cut through. Rain immediately ran down, washing it away, but Luca wiped it clean with his thumb and started again. The second cut was parallel, right below the first. Alexei’s breath hitched.

“Hold still,” Luca repeated, softer this time. Like he was apologizing and ordering at the same time.

The cuts kept coming. Short, deliberate strokes. Up, down, across. Alexei’s shoulder blades dug into the glass. He felt every cut like a brand. The rain was cold on his skin now, mixing with the blood that started to trickle down his back. His green eyes stayed open. He didn’t close them. Closing them would mean giving in, and he wasn’t giving Luca that.

After six cuts, Luca stepped back. The glass was streaked with red, the pattern looking almost like a map of veins. He wiped his hands on his slacks, leaving streaks of blood on the expensive fabric.

“Turn around.”

Alexei turned. The movement pulled at the cuts. Pain flared bright and hot down his spine. Luca’s eyes dropped to the mess on the glass. For a second something flickered there—something that wasn’t just anger. Something darker. Hungrier. Then it was gone.

“Smile,” Luca said.

Alexei laughed once, low and ugly. “Fuck you.”

Luca didn’t laugh back. He just grabbed the roll of black tape from the bed and started wrapping it around Alexei’s wrists, binding them together in front of him. Not tight enough to cut circulation, but tight enough that his fingers went numb in seconds. Then he walked over to the security camera in the corner and looked straight into it. Alexei saw his own reflection in the glass bloody back, green eyes, the faint red line on his neck. He looked like a ghost.

Luca pressed a button on the intercom panel near the door. His voice came out calm, almost bored.

“Camera feed is live. Tell them what you did last night.”

Alexei spat again. “I killed your brother. That’s it.”

Luca nodded once, like that was the answer he expected. He hit the button again.

“Clear the room. I want to be alone with my guest.”

The voice on the other end said something, but Alexei couldn’t hear it. The intercom clicked off. Luca walked back to the window, pulled a fresh switchblade from his pocket the one with the matte handle and flicked it open.

“Accidentally,” he said, and pressed the flat of the blade against the glass right next to Alexei’s shoulder.

The first bump was gentle. Just enough to make the glass dig into Alexei’s bloody back. Pain exploded. Alexei’s breath punched out of him. Luca didn’t stop there. He bumped him again, harder, pushing him into the window. The glass bit deeper. A fresh cut opened right where the last one ended.

“Stop,” Alexei growled. His voice came out hoarse. “You’re gonna fucking bleed out.”

Luca bumped him again. This time Alexei’s shoulder slammed into the glass and he felt something crack. Not the glass. His own ribs. The pain was sudden and white-hot, like someone had driven a knife between them. He gasped, tried to twist away, but Luca was right behind him, one hand on his back pushing him forward.

“Keep going,” Luca said. His voice was calm. Almost conversational. “You’re bleeding on my glass. I like the pattern.”

Another bump. Alexei’s chest hit the window. The glass cut through the shallow cuts Luca had already made, reopening them. Blood ran faster now, streaking down his arms and mixing with the rain on the outside. His legs buckled. The tape on his wrists held him upright.

Luca didn’t let him fall. He gripped Alexei’s hair, yanking his head back just enough that their eyes met in the reflection. Storm-grey and green, both wet with rain and something worse.

“You’re not dead yet,” Luca said. “That’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

He bumped him again. Harder. This time Alexei’s face slammed into the glass. His nose crunched. Blood poured out hot and immediate. He tasted iron on his tongue. The pain was everywhere back, ribs, face, the old scars from three years ago that suddenly felt new again.

Luca stepped back. The cuts were deeper now. The glass was a mess of red and rain. Alexei’s knees hit the floor. The tape still held his wrists together. He stayed on his knees, breathing through his mouth, blood dripping from his chin onto the marble.

Luca walked to the closet and pulled out a fresh duffel bag. He tossed it on the bed without looking at Alexei.

“Three days,” he said again. “But this time the window’s your witness. When I come back tonight, I want to see how much of you is still left.”

He turned to leave. At the door he stopped. Looked back once. The bruise on his temple was darker now. His lip was split again. He looked almost human.

“Try to run,” he said quietly. “I’ll find you faster next time.”

The door closed.

Alexei stayed on his knees for a long time. The cuts burned. His ribs ached. His nose throbbed. The city blurred through the rain-streaked glass, but he could still see his own reflection. Bloody. Broken. Still breathing.

He laughed once, the sound wet and broken.

Tomorrow would be worse.

But right now, in the dark and the rain and the blood on the glass, he was still here.

And the war had just found its new face.