The Mercato del Muerte was quieting down. Traders counted profits in whispered numbers, caged animals rustled softly, and the lingering smell of smoke and iron clung to the air like a permanent signature. The night outside promised rain, but inside, the black market pulsed like a living beast, still alive, still dangerous, still Matthew DelaCroix's kingdom.
Vinny Rossi leaned casually against the office railing, sipping a glass of amber liquid. His crimson silk shirt shimmered faintly under the flickering lights, and the faint curl of a smirk tugged at his lips. He had survived his first real encounter with Matthew DelaCroix—and had lived to tease him further.
Matthew, seated behind his mahogany desk, was watching him with sharp, calculating eyes. Those pale green eyes—cold, piercing, unyielding—tracked Vinny's every move, and every flicker of movement made the air between them thrum with tension.
"You shouldn't be here," Matthew said, voice low, deliberate. Each word cut like a scalpel. "This place… it's not for men like you."
Vinny tilted his head, smile lazy but sharp. "Men like me? Dangerous? Bold? Or just… irresistible?"
Matthew's jaw tightened. He stood slowly, tall, imposing, a predator circling a very clever prey. "I should have you locked in my estate," he said, stepping closer. His voice dropped another octave, velvety and dangerous. "Kept there until you learned your place. Until you understand exactly… who controls this world."
Vinny's pulse quickened—not with fear, but excitement. That dominance, that threat, sent adrenaline curling through him. "Locked in? Sounds… cozy," he said, voice teasing, smooth. "I could get used to it… as long as the company's good."
Matthew's lips curved slightly—but it wasn't a smile. It was a promise. "I'm very good company. And once I decide to keep you… you won't want to leave."
Vinny leaned against the desk edge, eyes glinting with mischief and danger. He had to play the game carefully. Matthew didn't know it yet—but Vinny had a plan. A plan that had been years in the making. Mercato del Muerte wasn't just a market to him tonight—it was the stage for revenge.
The market had stolen his brother from him. His family had paid in blood for a trade that Matthew's network facilitated. And Vinny—Vinny had waited, watched, calculated. Tonight, he was a guest. Tomorrow, he would be a ghost, and the fire he'd set would consume the very empire Matthew thought he controlled.
"Interesting," Matthew murmured, studying him, oblivious to the storm beneath Vinny's calm exterior. "I wonder… how much trouble can one man really handle before he breaks?"
Vinny's grin widened. "Depends on the man, doesn't it? And the trouble."
Matthew moved closer, his presence suffocating, commanding. Vinny could feel it—every inch of Matthew radiating control, authority, and danger. And yet, Vinny didn't move away. He let himself bask in the predator heat, because to flee would be boring. And Vinny was never boring.
"Do you think you could survive in my estate?" Matthew asked, voice low, almost a growl. "Even for a week?"
Vinny's laugh was soft, teasing, dangerous. "Maybe. Maybe not. But the question… is, would you survive having me there?"
Matthew froze for just the briefest moment. Then he smiled—cold, deliberate, full of the unspoken challenge that Vinny craved. "I always survive."
"You always do, huh?" Vinny whispered, eyes darkening with secrets Matthew would never guess. "Even when the fire's inches from your face?"
Matthew tilted his head, intrigued. "Fire?"
Vinny's smirk deepened. He leaned closer, just enough to let the faintest brush of his shoulder press against Matthew's. "I like fire," he said softly. "I thrive on it. Sometimes… it's necessary to burn everything to build something better."
Matthew's green eyes sharpened, scanning him as though he could see through flesh and bone, into the dangerous heart beneath. "You're… tempting," he said, almost as if admitting it to himself. "You think you could handle me? All of me?"
Vinny's lips twitched, dangerously amused. "I think… I could handle a lot," he said, voice low, teasing. "But maybe… I'd like to see exactly how far you'll go to control me."
Matthew's hand twitched near the edge of the desk, near where his dagger rested. Every instinct screamed that this man, Vinny, was trouble. A spark in the dark, reckless and alive. But a spark that—if tamed—could be… exquisite.
"You have no idea what's coming for you," Matthew said, voice dangerous. "Stay here long enough, and you'll see."
Vinny let that tension hang. He let the predator in Matthew inch closer, inch closer, circling him like he was prey. And he smiled. Yes, Matthew had no idea—but Vinny loved that. Loved that he was the hidden storm, waiting to strike.
"Maybe I like that," Vinny murmured, letting a trace of danger lace his words. "The part where I'm underestimated. Where everyone thinks they control the fire… but really… the fire's me."
Matthew froze, but only for a heartbeat. That confidence, that brazen audacity—it was maddening. And in a rare moment, Matthew's carefully measured patience wavered. He wanted this man. He needed to claim him, dominate him, bend him to his world.
But Matthew didn't know the most dangerous thing yet: Vinny was here for blood. Not just metaphorical fire, but literal vengeance. The Mercato had taken more than money—it had taken family, stolen bloodlines, traded his brother like merchandise. And Vinny would see this market burn before he let Matthew's kingdom survive unchallenged.
Vinny's hand brushed against a small vial on the desk—a subtle move, unnoticed by Matthew, but a tiny hint of his plan. The liquid inside wasn't just rare. It wasn't just dangerous. It was symbolic. The first thread of chaos he would weave, unnoticed until the world below the market felt it in flames.
"Matthew," Vinny said softly, eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "Lock me up, if you want. But remember… I always have a way out."
Matthew studied him, unreadable, yet a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest flicker of irritation… and interest.
Vinny smirked, stepping back slightly, already pulling the threads of the game in his mind. This wasn't just flirtation. This wasn't just a challenge. This was war. A slow, seductive, deadly war. And he had already won half the battle: Matthew didn't even know he was fighting it.
Kieran Hale, watching from the doorway with his usual smirk, murmured under his breath: "Oh… they have no idea what's coming."
And the reader did.
Vinny had a plan. A secret. A fire waiting to ignite. And Matthew… Matthew thought he controlled the game.
But in the Mercato del Muerte, control was an illusion. And the game? It was only just beginning.