ADRIAN'S POV
The prison block hummed with its usual cacophony: distant shouts, clanging metal doors, and the low, electric whine of fluorescent lights dying slowly. None of it touched me. Hell's Watch was a cage for everyone else, not for me. Here, I was the constant apex, and it did not matter if the city thought this place held power. The walls were mine, the prisoners mine, the guards mine, and fucking everything beyond these bars existed on my terms.
I perched on the edge of my cot, elbows braced on my knees, head tilted forward, letting my mind replay the morning's visit. Captain Nathan Cole and his ragtag CSI troupe had stepped into my world with all the confidence of an officer trying to command a battlefield he barely understood. The others were easy reads: shock, fear, restrained fascination, but fleeting, and they hid behind their professionalism like fragile shields.
Cole was the hardest to read and the most dangerous and, therefore, the most interesting. A slow smirk tugged at my lips as he had no idea that he had barged in demanding cooperation, as if his badge carried weight here, as if his rigid discipline could shield him from what I was.
A shadow shifted near the bars, one of the newer guards, nerves bouncing under his uniform. He froze as our eyes met, hands hovering over his keys. "Perfect timing," I said, voice low, deliberate, in control. "Officer," I added, letting the authority thrum through my tone, "summon Bellini."
The guard's spine straightened as though lightning had struck it. "Uh Marco Bellini, sir? Right now?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying the tension that had been building ever since I arrived.
"Yes," I said, and added with razor-sharp edge. "And you will keep your mouth shut about it, won't you?"
He swallowed hard. "Of course, sir."
The guard scuttled down the hall, keys jangling like a nervous xylophone, boots echoing off the concrete. I leaned back against the cold steel bars, folding my arms, anticipating. Marco would bring answers, and I needed them because one man, Captain Nathan Cole, was lodged under my skin in a way no ordinary lawman should ever be allowed. Minutes later, footfalls vibrated through the floor, deliberate and confident, and Marco appeared before me like a shadow stepping into light, and tattoos climbed up his neck, eyes cold and calculating as silent dominance radiated off him.
He stopped in front of my cell and bowed his head, oozing loyalty, not fear, a hint of respect, and not desperation. Only those who knew power understood that subtle distinction. "Boss," he said, voice low, gravelly, perfect for this concrete cathedral. "I came as soon as I got word you called."
"I know," I murmured, letting a slow, satisfied smile curl my lips. "Enter."
The guard unlocked the door, hands trembling slightly under the weight of the command. Marco stepped in, quietly, with a kind of presence that needed no announcement. "Report on the visitors," I said, voice calm, lethal, a predator waking.
Marco smirked, folding his arms. "CSI, no less. Captain Nathan Cole and his little parade of 'professional' minions."
I lifted a brow. "What did you observe?"
"Stood like they were attending a sermon," Marco replied. "Stiff-backed, eyes wide, and mostly like they'd just seen God take human form and lecture them on incompetence."
I chuckled softly, dark and satisfied. "Of course, and Captain Cole," I leaned forward slightly. "The way he held himself was truly fascinating."
Marco's eyes narrowed. "He is trouble, Boss. The kind you can intimidate with a glance and mostly the kind that thinks it is smarter than it is."
"Exactly," I purred, letting the hunger creep into my tone. "A toy with sharp edges and a fucking puzzle that intends to dismantle."
"Should I have someone find out everything about him?" Marco clarified, tilting his head.
"Yes. Observe him, every twitch, every micro-expression, every crack in his armor," I said. "His pattern, weaknesses, and where his pride blinds him and where his discipline falters. I want it all."
Marco nodded slowly, comprehension flashing in his eyes. "A behavioural profile. Understood. Isabella has the resources on the outside, and shall I coordinate?"
"Yes. Complete. Before dawn, and I want everything, down to the rhythm of his breathing and how he reacts under stress, and dont forget to cross-reference his past cases, education, and family structure. Find his fault lines."
Marco inclined his head, voice steady. "It will be done."
I rose from the cot, stretching slightly. My gaze hardened. "Now, tell me who is stupid enough to stir trouble on my streets? Girls are dying. Drugs are moving. Someone is testing the waters while I am here."
Marco's jaw tightened. "Ghost operation, and it looks like new players. No chatter, no known enforcer, and they are being careful."
My eyes darkened. "Find them and anyone killing on my territory, and they die slowly. Their caution will not save them."
He nodded, acknowledging the order. "Understood."
I leaned closer, lowering my voice, teeth just grazing my own words. "And Marco?"
"Yes, Boss?"
"Captain Cole, he is off-limits," I asserted.
Marco's smirk deepened, playful, dangerous. "You usually prefer women or rivals you can crush."
I let a slow, predatory smile curl. "I do but because he believes himself untouchable, and I have a habit of dismantling delusions."
Marco's grin widened. "Ah. The resistant type. Always the most fun."
"One of the best of those," I murmured, voice dropping. "Go."
He bowed and exited silently. The guard slammed the bars shut behind him, and the echo swallowed his steps. Silence descended, thick and suffocating, yet invigorating, and I lay back on the cot, muscles stretching against the dim light. Thoughts of Nathan Cole slithered into my mind like smoke.
A wicked grin played across my lips. The best men to break were always the ones who claimed they would not bend, and oh, how delicious it was to imagine slowly unraveling that control. I pictured him standing before me. Fighting every instinct while I chipped away at his pride. Forcing him to confront what he denied. Every breath laboured, every movement was careful, and every word reluctant, and yet, he could not hide the pull.
The fantasy was not erotic, at least, not yet. It was domination at its purest, Psychological, visceral, intoxicating, and watching him submit not from weakness, but from inevitability.
I let my pulse thrum with the anticipation. "Cole," I whispered to the walls of Hell's Watch, "you really should have stayed away. Prison is not my cage; it is my throne. Captain Nathan Cole just walked into my kingdom wearing armor made of rules and righteousness, and this was armor that I would peel off inch by inch."
I leaned back, letting the words hang in the air like smoke, heavy and sweet. The memory of him, his posture, his jaw, the way he resisted it was intoxicating.
The door rattled, and the guard's shadow appeared. "Boss?"
"Yes?" I growled, letting him feel the weight of my patience.
"The shift is changing. Do you need anything?"
"No, my voice was steel wrapped in velvet.
"Yes, Boss," he stammered, retreating.
Alone again, I stretched across the cot, and I smiled, a slow, dangerous curve. Even behind bars, I was untouchable. And he? Mine to conquer, in every delicious sense of the word.
"I wonder," I whispered, voice low, predatory, "how long it will take before he realizes resistance is pointless."