Marco The Phoenix Novels & Stories

To plan. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Kat was so close. I could feel her. But I couldn’t reach her—not with the warehouse locked down like a damn prison. I needed more men. I pulled out my burner and dialed a number I hadn’t used in years. KC Marquez. Old friend. Old fire. Dangerous as hell. He had connections to the Riccis—loose, tangled, but real. He’d know how to move through their world without setting off alarms.

Tonight, it smelled like desperation and cheap whiskey the stench of men trying to claw their way back from hell. He was already waiting when I walked in. Marco. Once my equal, now a ghost wearing a borrowed suit. His cufflinks didn’t match, and his shirt collar had a crease that screamed he’d ironed it himself. His smile was too eager, too stretched across a face that had lost its confidence. He rose when I approached. “Damien Wolfe,” he said, forcing a laugh. “Still punctual as ever.” “Marco.” I sat down across from him. “You look alive. That’s more than most can say.”

Vince came to stand beside her, hands in pockets, posture a soft bracket. “You all right?” he asked, quiet enough to belong to a kitchen table at midnight. She exhaled. The breath felt like surrender and claim both. “Yes.” Marco joined them, wiping rain from his brow with the back of his hand. “He had a Maretti mark,” he said. “Yeah,” she said.

If it wasn’t about to get Raven killed, the sheer bravado of it would have been cowboy poetry worthy. “Two minutes out,” Tony said, rounding a corner so quickly the tires squealed. I went over in my mind all that I knew about Marco Vitelli. Former Italian special forces. Expert in interrogation and demolitions. Utterly loyal to Xaviero (maybe since the latter had saved his life after Marco's family tried to kill him for fighting too much. Marco didn't just kill people. He made them suffer first. Made them beg. Made them break.

"I can’t believe I missed you two idiots bickering this much." "You didn’t miss us," Phoenix said brightly. "You missed the entertainment we provide for free." "You’re not wrong," Gerard admitted with a smirk. "So," Christopher said, stretching lazily in his chair. "What about you, Phoenix? What have you been doing besides getting kicked out of various countries?" Phoenix grinned, "I resent that. I have not been kicked out of all the countries. Some of them invite me back just to make sure I leave again." The boys chuckled, and Phoenix launched into a wildly animated story about "accidentally" crashing a yacht party in Santorini and being mistaken for a tech billionaire's girlfriend.

TAE My pack believed that we were special. Hand picked by the Goddess and made protectors. They call it Hwansu in our tongue – Phantom beast. That was before they were attacked and shredded by marauders. If my pack saw me right now, cowering and hiding all because I thought I saw my tormentor, they’ll toast me for shaming our legacy. All because of Ronan fucking Blackwood. “Sunny?” I flinch at the mocking tone in Ronan’ voice and press my back against the wall, praying that the waste bin is large enough to hide my small frame.

Gold swallows hard, focusing on his painting. He started this artwork more than two weeks ago. The lack of time hinders him from painting it perfectly, though as stated, at least it's done. "This is Phoenix in the Fire." He tells everybody, still looking at his work. The portrait is greatly inspired by the polaroid picture he took the first night he and Kolya slept together. The canvas size is 38"W x 75"H, it's big and he can't believe that he's showing this to the public.

But I was willing to try. As I approached the apartment building with Phoenix balanced on my hip, I noticed two people standing outside the entrance. A man and a woman, both smiling broadly. It took me a moment to recognize him. Marcus. “Zara!” Marcus’s face lit up when he saw me. “I was hoping to catch you.” “Marcus? What are you doing here?” I shifted Phoenix, who was getting heavy. “I wanted to tell you something.” He turned to the woman beside him, his smile growing impossibly wider. “This is Sarah. My fiancée.”

"Marcus is in the nursery. If they get past me... you know what to do." He lunged into the hallway, his movements a blur of desperate, self-destructive speed. Phoenix stood up, drawing her silver-alloy blades. Her heart was hammering a rhythm of war, the tinnitus in her ears now a deafening roar. "I'm not staying anywhere, Blackwood," she whispered to the shadows. She looked at her hand—the one that had almost reached for him. It was steady now. Cold. Ready to kill. "If they want the White Wolf," Phoenix hissed, her hazel eyes reflecting the first flickers of blue fire from the courtyard, "I'll show them the mother who raised him."

“And that it not going to happen if you are all fighting like a bunch of rats in some pod.” His expression shifted. Nathan glanced at me, curious but not surprised. “Marcel is unstable,” I continued quietly. “Dominic stands between him and destruction. The council is restless. Rogues are hungry. Packs are divided. And as far as the rumor goes, your little rogue has managed to contain a beast that would be more than willing to take over if Marcel simply ticked.” I stepped closer, my voice lowering. “All it takes is one thread to snap… and everything unravels.”