All Chapters of BURNING EMPIRE: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Matteo slipped into the apartment quietly. The door creaked — same as always. The hallway light still flickered. And from the bedroom, he heard the soft, steady sound of Leo’s breathing. Safe. For now. He closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and exhaled. His legs felt weak. His hands were still trembling from the warehouse, though he tried to hide it. He walked to the small kitchen, opened the fridge. He put in the items he got from the store. He shut it again. In the bedroom, Leo coughed. Matteo rushed in. Leo was sitting up now, his face pale but smiling. “You’re back.” “Yeah,” Matteo said, forcing a grin. “Told you I wouldn’t be long.” Leo looked at him closely. “You look weird.” Matteo laughed nervously. “It’s the lighting.” “You only look like that when you’re scared.” Matteo sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not scared. Just tired.” Leo didn’t believe him, but he didn’t press. He leaned his head on Matteo’s shoulder. “Did y

They said Dominic Pendragon once set a man’s house on fire… and lit a cigar from the flames.No one could prove it, of course.No one ever could.Dominic built his empire young — sharp-eyed, soft-voiced, and impossible to read. While other boys played games in the street, he was already learning who pulled the strings in the city... and what it took to cut them.By thirty, he controlled half the underworld.By thirty-five, he didn’t need to raise his voice. One glance could silence a room.He ran his world with cold rules and colder hands — no warnings, no mercy. And if you crossed a line, there was no second chance. You were gone.To the public? Dominic was polished. A philanthropist. The man who rebuilt the children’s wing of St. Gabriel’s Hospital.To the streets? He was shadow wrapped in silk. Power with a pulse. And if he smiled at you... it meant you were already in trouble.He gave orders once.And those orders echoed like thunder.---That Night – Beneath the CityThe vault ro

1 week later;The club was colder than it looked from the outside.Matteo shivered as he stepped into the back entrance, holding a mop bucket in one hand and a folded cleaning uniform in the other. It was still early—too early for music or crowds—but the place already smelled like stale smoke and spilled liquor. Lights flickered above, dull gold bouncing off polished floors that didn’t feel quite clean. This place was money. It reeked of it. And danger too.He hated how quiet it was."You're late," a voice snapped.It was the lieutenant—the same one who he had spill coffee on and ordered him to deliver pizza days ago. Matteo still didn’t know his name. Just the voice. Low and cold. The man who handed him the job.After Matteo agreed to the deal in the warehouse, they didn’t give him many instructions. Just a time. A place. A paper with a name that wasn’t his and the warning: "Play it dumb, do the job, keep your head down. He might not notice you. Yet."Matteo still couldn't understand

The second day on the job felt colder.Maybe it was the club’s marble floors, or the way silence lingered even when music played low through hidden speakers. But Matteo felt it deeper than skin — like something heavy pressing against his chest.He cleaned without speaking, just like the lieutenant had told him. No wandering. No questions. Invisible.That was fine with him. He’d spent most of his life trying not to be seen.But now…Someone was seeing him.He felt it again. That same prickle on the back of his neck. Like eyes tracing his every move, stripping him down even when he kept his head low and his mouth shut.He didn’t need to look to know who it was.Dominic Pendragon.He was up there. Somewhere in the private glass booths that overlooked the club. Sometimes he appeared at the bar, talking in hushed tones to men who never smiled. Other times he passed through the halls like a shadow in human form — never rushing, never uncertain.And yet, every time Matteo entered a room, he

Matteo stood in the center of the club’s main floor, holding a tray of empty glasses that smelled like bad choices and expensive regrets. His sneakers squeaked on the polished tile as he moved, trying not to draw attention—not from the guests, not from the bouncers, and definitely not from the cold-eyed man who sat like a storm cloud at the private table in the corner.Dominic Pendragon.Matteo could feel his presence even when he wasn’t looking. It was like gravity. Or a headache.He tried not to look over. Tried to focus on cleaning, on blending in. Just a lowly cleaner-boy, invisible and harmless. That was the goal.“Hey, kid.”A bartender waved him over with a sigh and dropped another stack of used glasses into the tray. “Try not to break those. Last guy did, and now he limps.”“Noted,” Matteo muttered, nodding.He moved through the crowd like smoke—quick, silent, careful. His shoulder brushed a drunk man’s arm.“Watch it, twink!” the guy slurred, clearly already on his fifth drin