Montressa was a city that never slept, but it wasn't the neon lights or the crowded bars that kept it awake. It was the sound of bullets ricocheting off crumbling brick walls, the metallic tang of blood soaking into the gutters, and the whispered names of men too dangerous to say aloud.
That night, the air was thick with gunpowder. The back alley of Roderick Street thundered with the crack of rifles, the shrill ring of pistols, and the guttural curses of dying men.
For thirty minutes, the alley was a warzone. The Moretti gang versus the Luca crew—a battle that had been simmering for years, finally boiling over into chaos. Smoke clouded the view, sparks flashed from muzzles, and the asphalt drank greedily from the veins of the fallen.
Then, silence—abrupt and eerie. Only one name lingered in the air like a curse.
"Boss!" A man in a black suit staggered forward, gun still in hand. His face was smeared with dirt and blood, his breathing ragged. "The Razer Luca escaped. The others… they're all dead."
From the shadows, a tall figure emerged. Dressed head to toe in black, his presence alone seemed to command silence. His broad shoulders carried authority like armor, his brown eyes glinted beneath the streetlight, and his hand gripped a pistol as though it were an extension of his body.
Kieran Moretti.
He nodded once, slow and deliberate, the weight of the moment pressing into every movement. His voice, deep and steady, cut through the smoke.
"I'll look after him." "Aiden."
"Yes, Boss," the man in black answered immediately, squaring his stance.
"Follow me. The rest of you—clean the mess."
"Yes, Boss!" the survivors chorused, their voices sharp, loyal, terrified.
And then Kieran moved. Silent, lethal, and certain. Aiden followed close behind, the soles of their shoes slick with blood as they melted into the darkness.
The trail led them to Montressa's red-light district, a place that never asked questions and never gave answers. Neon signs flickered like broken promises, perfume mixed with stale smoke, and laughter that wasn't laughter echoed through the narrow lanes.
Aiden glanced at his boss as they moved.
"Boss… you sure Luca would come here?"
Kieran's jaw flexed. "Maybe. It's the only place he could disappear."
Aiden nodded, saying nothing more. He trusted Kieran's instincts more than his own.
They stopped at a towering building with peeling paint and velvet curtains masking its secrets. As they stepped inside, the heavy door slammed shut behind them with a metallic clank.
Both men stiffened.
Trap?
Aiden's gun twitched in his hand, but Kieran was already still, eyes sharp, pistol raised, scanning every shadow.
And then she appeared.
A woman in her fifties, dressed in a crimson slit gown that clung to her curves, skin glistening under the dim light. Her lipstick was as red as blood, her cleavage deliberately displayed, and a cigarette dangled lazily between two jeweled fingers. She exhaled a cloud of smoke directly toward Kieran, her painted lips curling into a smile.
"Well," she purred, her voice low and syrupy, "what a pleasant day."
She reached out a manicured hand as though to stroke his jaw. Aiden stepped forward, intercepting her touch, his expression like stone.
But Kieran's hand stopped him.
The woman smirked, her eyes glittering with mischief. Her gaze traveled shamelessly over Kieran, her laughter like velvet and knives. She plucked the mask from his face, exposing the sharp cut of his features.
"Damn," she whispered, her smirk widening. "What a beauty."
Kieran's lips curled slightly, a ghost of a smirk, dangerous and unreadable.
The lady's voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Come. I've got something exclusive for you."
Before Aiden could protest, she had already taken Kieran's hand, dragging him further into the perfumed corridors. Kieran motioned with a flick of his eyes for Aiden to stay behind. Reluctantly, the loyal guard obeyed, though his grip on the gun tightened.
The main hall reeked of cheap perfume and secrets. Doors lined the walls, each leading to private rooms. The madam clapped her hands, and one by one, the doors creaked open.
Girls spilled out like broken dolls, dressed in lace bras and skirts that barely clung to their hips. Their hair dripped as if freshly washed, their lips painted crimson, their eyes hollow but trained to seduce. They circled like moths around a flame, hungry, alluring, each one vying for Kieran's attention.
Kieran's gaze swept over them, sharp and detached, as though measuring weapons rather than women. Their eyes lingered on him, pleading, inviting.
And then he saw her.
Among the painted faces and swaying hips stood a figure apart. A girl who didn't move closer, who didn't smile, who didn't even pretend to care. She stood unbothered, her back leaning on the door frame, arms loose at her sides, gaze fixed somewhere past the room.
Her detachment caught him harder than any pair of pleading eyes could.
Kieran's smirk deepened. He pointed directly at her.
"I want her."
The lady faltered, her brows rising. "Her? You've got better options."
Kieran's stare sliced through her words. Unyielding. Commanding.
The lady raised her hands in surrender, her lipstick smile returning. "Fine. Ten dollars an hour."
Kieran handed her the bill without blinking. She slid it into her cleavage with a smirk. "She's yours for an hour."
The other girls pouted, disappointed, but Kieran didn't glance at them. His eyes were already fixed on her.
She finally looked up at him, once, briefly, then turned to walk into her room.
He followed.
The room was small, the air heavy with perfume and sweat. She stood near the bed, unhooking her bra with practiced indifference. Her voice was flat, mechanical.
"No lip kissing. No experiments. Just intercourse."
The bra slid to the floor. She lifted her skirt, slid off her panties, and lay on the bed. No seduction, no theatrics, just the numbness of routine. She spread her legs, her face blank. She looked at him.
"You've got one hour," she said. "What are you waiting for?"
Kieran didn't move. His eyes traced her body slowly, from her lips to the hollow of her throat, across her chest, her stomach, her thighs. He noticed the faint bruises, the marks along her collarbone, the fading imprints of hands.
She raised her brows faintly. "Hello? What are you thinking?"
Instead of undressing, Kieran asked, "What's your name?"
Her heart jolted, but her face stayed still.
"You paid for my body, not my name. Don't waste your time, I have another client after you."
"How many clients per day?" he pressed.
She frowned. "Why?"
"Just asking."
She looked at him for a long pause.
"Four, maybe five. Sometimes six."
"Each for an hour?" he asked again.
She sat up slightly on her elbows, suspicious. "You came here to ask about my work schedule? Who are you?"
Kieran's smile flickered, dangerously genuine. It startled her more than any threat would have.
"Well? Answer me," he pushed.
"Well, most of the time," she finally admitted.
His brows lowered. "How much do you earn a day?"
"Two dollars an hour," she answered.
Kieran's jaw clenched. "Only two?"
"Yes."
"I paid her ten."
"That's hers. I get two." She said unbothered.
Something in his chest tightened. He stepped closer, shrugged off his jacket, and placed it over her bare chest.
She blinked at him, startled. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not here to touch you."
Her eyes narrowed, confused. "Then why are you here?"
"I came for something else. Ended up here."
She scoffed. "Look, you paid for me. If I don't do my work, I don't get paid. Keep your nonsense aside and get on with it."
Kieran's smirk returned, soft but cutting. "How would they know whether I touched you or not?"
"What if you tell them?"
"I won't."
She studied him for a long pause, trying to read what he was. "Who are you?"
"You don't need to know. But I won't harm you." He answered.
She huffed. "So you'll sit here for an hour talking nonsense?"
He leaned closer, his eyes sharp but amused. "You think it's nonsense?"
"Well, kind of. Men come here for pleasure, not conversation."
"But I want to talk." He said, leaning further.
Her body tensed, pulling back instinctively. He chuckled, low and warm. "Relax. I won't kiss you."
She rolled her eyes, but his words unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
"By the way, why no lip kissing?" he asked suddenly. "What if I wanted to kiss you on the lips?"
"I wouldn't allow it. I don't share my lips." She said firmly.
He tilted his head. "You give your body, but you save your lips?"
"That's none of your business." She said unbothered.
"For how long have you been here?" He asked again.
Her voice hardened. "If you keep talking like this, they'll get suspicious. We need to make at least some sounds or else I won't get paid."
Kieran opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp knock at the door cut him off.
Her eyes widened. Panic. "See? I told you. It's them."
"Who?"
"The ones who own this place. They check if it's too quiet."
The knock came again, louder.
Before Kieran could react, she shoved his jacket aside and yanked him on top of her. His chest pressed against hers, his face buried against her neck.
The door opened, and a man peeked in.
Kieran snapped his head toward the intruder, eyes blazing. "Don't you have manners? Get out."
The bouncer flinched. "Sorry. Please continue." The door slammed shut.
Kieran pushed himself off her, his jaw tight. He pulled the jacket back over her chest. "Who was that?"
"The bouncer. They check if we're… silent."
Kieran's gaze stayed on her, unreadable. Then he pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and set it in her hand.
"Take it."
She frowned. "But I didn't give you anything."
"Your time is enough."
She shook her head, refusing.
He leaned closer, smirking. "Will you take it, or should I tell them nothing happened?"
She glared at him sharply, and then she snatched the money.
"Good." Kieran stood, adjusting his suit. He looked down at her one last time, his voice low, final.
"I'll be coming tomorrow. To you."
He left, the door clicking shut behind him.
She sat frozen, the bill crumpled in her hand, her mind repeating his words.
Tomorrow?.