XAVIER – POV
The jet touched down like a whisper, but my mood was anything but quiet.
I stepped off the plane, inhaling that bitter New York air like it owed me something. The cold stung, sharp like the memory of my brother's voice. Three years. Three long, infuriating, exile-stained years. And now I was back — and Luciano had no fucking idea what was coming for him.
The car waiting outside was matte black. Just how I liked it.
Marco, my right hand, opened the door with his usual stiff efficiency. >"Welcome home."
I didn't answer. I just climbed in, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with a flick of my thumb.
The city lights sped past us as we drove downtown. Same skyline. Same noise. But I'd changed. I wasn't the reckless golden boy anymore. I was steel now. Sharper. Meaner.
We reached Empire Edge hotels thirty minutes later — my top-floor penthouse, untouched, pristine, waiting like a sleeping beast. Well, I owe the hotel so the top floor is Mine.
I dropped my coat onto the leather couch and headed straight for the window, looking out at the city.
"Did you find it?" I asked, my voice flat.
Marco stepped forward.
>"Yeah. Took some digging, but we traced the deliveries. Luciano's secret warehouse is in Harlem. Hidden behind a bogus construction front. Zero traffic."
Of course. Luciano always played like a ghost.
"Send a small team," I said. "Three men. Tell them to hit light. Enough to leave a scar, not a crater. Just enough to whisper in his ear." I commanded, my face holding no expression at all.
Marco raised a brow. >"You sure? We could—"
"I want him to wonder," I cut in, dragging another hit from my cigarette. "I want him pacing his million-dollar office asking himself: Is it really him?"
Marco nodded, turning for the door.
"And Marco," I added.
He paused.
"Find me a bar. Something dirty. I need a drink. And I want a woman tonight."
He smirked. >"You want class or chaos?"
I grinned darkly. "I want a mouth that lies pretty and legs that don't."
Marco let out a scoff and walks out, leaving me to my thoughts.
*********************
DAISY – POV
LATER THAT NIGHT
There's something unholy about the sound of a man gurgling on his own blood.
I still heard it in my ears as I stepped into the bar, heels hitting the sticky floor like war drums. My hand still smelled like iron, my pulse still hadn't calmed.
I didn't know what 'enjoy' was supposed to feel like anymore. But the whiskey here was strong, and the air was thick with bad choices and broken dreams. It suited me fine.
I found a corner booth, slipped into the shadows, and ordered a double. My heels were up on the edge of the seat. My jacket half-open. No makeup touch-ups. No trying.
And still — every guy in the room stared like I was fresh meat.
That's when he walked in.
He wasn't like the others.
Tall. Dark. Confident like a storm rolling in. Sharp jaw. Cold eyes. Black button-down, slightly open at the neck like he didn't give a damn who noticed his scar. He didn't stumble. He prowled. And he was coming right for me.
>"Mind if I join you?" he asked, voice smooth as midnight.
I didn't look up at first. Just took a long, slow sip of my drink.
"I charge a drink per question," I said, finally meeting his eyes.
He grinned — lazy and lethal. >"How many questions do I get before you walk away?" he asked..
"Try me." I answered.
****************
XAVIER – POV
BAR – MOMENTS LATER
She was chaos.
Pure fucking chaos!
Red lips. Black heels, A mouth like a blade. She didn't soften for me. Didn't giggle or flirt or adjust her shirt. She looked me dead in the eyes and dared me to get close.
I hadn't even sat down yet and I was already hard.
We talked — if you could call it that. It was more like circling each other. Every word was laced with something sharp.
She asked if I was dangerous. I told her yes.
I asked what she did for a living. She smirked and said, >"Whatever gets me paid."
God.
I didn't even know her name. But I wanted to know the way her moans sounded echoing off a hotel wall.
"I've got a suite fifteen minutes from here," I said, tone low, eyes locked on hers. "Big bed. Thicker walls." I added.
She studied me like a puzzle she wanted to break. Then she stood, drink half-finished. >"You paying for the ride?"
"I own the ride" I replied
I threw a few bills on the table and followed her out.
***********************
DAISY – POV
EMPIRE EDGE HOTEL – XAVIER'S SUITE
I should've said no.
But I didn't.
His room was dark, sleek, expensive. The kind of place that didn't allow poor decisions — and yet begged for them.
The door hadn't even clicked shut before he pushed me against it, his mouth on mine. No hesitation. No soft warm-up. He kissed like he was claiming territory — deep, slow, savage.
I kissed him back like I was starving.
Clothes came off like confessions. I didn't care where they landed. I wanted his skin on mine. His body against me. I wanted to forget the man I killed. I wanted to forget Luciano's cold face.
His mouth dropped to my chest, sucking, licking, worshipping like my body was something holy. I wasn't used to that.
He bit my nipple and I gasped. He pinned my arms above my head and kissed my throat like it was his last act.
And then he dropped to his knees.
His fingers dragged my panties down, slow, torturous. And his tongue—
"Oh, fuck," I choked, slamming my hand into the wall.
He didn't stop. He licked me like I was the only thing he'd ever tasted. His tongue curled, pressed, flicked, sent me spiraling. My knees buckled, but he held me there, kept me steady, kept sucking like he owned my orgasm.
I came hard.
Then again.
And when he stood, eyes wild, lips glistening —he pushed me to the bed. he looked like a devil who'd been fed.
He quickly grab a condom From the side drawer, tear it open with his teeth and put it on.
Then one thrust. His mouth on mine.
I screamed into his mouth.
He pounded into me like he was trying to erase every man I'd ever known. Our bodies collided like war. Hands tangled. Teeth scraped. I rode him. He flipped me over. I cursed. He laughed. I bit him.
And when I came again, harder than I ever had, he pulled me into his chest, still moving, still deep.
It was filthy. Perfect. Violent. Real.
And I didn't even know his name.
*****************************
LUCIANO – POV
2:43 AM – PENTHOUSE OFFICE
The ringtone shattered the silence.
I was still in my office, pacing, reviewing cargo manifests and recent shipments. Something had been off lately — numbers delayed, timelines shifted. I felt it in my gut.
I snatched up the phone.
>"Boss," Hardin's voice came through like gunfire. >"The warehouse. We've been hit."
My hand clenched.
"How bad?"
>"One dead. Four wounded. Explosives on the south bay door. Precision work. Fast in, fast out. They left nothing but bullet holes."
Hardin explained over the phone.
I stood still. Stone-still.
I didn't need to guess.
"Xavier," I muttered.
>"You think it's him?"< Hardin asked.
I didn't answer. Because it was him.
Only Xavier would hit light. Only Xavier would send a whisper, not a bomb. He wanted me to know.
He was here.
I ended the call. Turned to the window. Manhattan glittered below like a field of stars.
"You want war, brother?" I whispered.
Then let's bleed.
[TO BE CONTINUED...]