The inferno isn't just a regular night club,it was Vincent morreti's throne room.
From the shadows of the velvet lined VIP balcony ,Vincent looks down to the crowd moving to the rhythm of the heavy bass below .
To them, this was a place to lose themselves in expensive vodka and strobe lights ,a temporary escape from their mundane lives. To him, it was a counting house. It was a place where he weighed souls, collected debts, and watched the city's pulse beat beneath his thumb. Every bottle popped, every pill sold, every secret whispered in the dark corners of the lounge added another brick to his empire.
He took a slow ,deliberate drag from a black cove cigarette,the smoke curled around his sharp ,scarred jawline like a familiar ghost .the scent was bitter and spicy ,matching the metallic taste of his memories .
Vincent was barely thirty ,
but his eyes were ancient .two shards of flint that had seen too much. They were the eyes of a boy who had watched his whole world burn to ash twenty years ago, a boy who had learned the hard way that love was a luxury for the dead. He remembered the smell of his mother's perfume mixing with the stench of gasoline as their mansion collapsed. He remembered sleeping on freezing concrete, his stomach cramping with a hunger that never truly went away until his heart turned to ice .
His father's enemies thought they could erase the morreti's name .but they couldn't be more mistaken,they had intended to bury his legacy under the rubble.they didn't realize that by taking everything from him,they had removed his fear.
They had built a monster in the dark. Vincent had spent a decade crawling through the gutter, fighting for scraps with his bare knuckles, and eventually, learning how to kill with a surgical, cold efficiency. Now, the very men who had once looked down on him from their high towers were the ones begging for his protection .
"The shipment from the docks is secure, boss,
a low voice spoke behind him. It was Lorenzo, his right hand, a man whose loyalty had been bought with blood. "And the senator's daughter? She's been handled. She won't be talking to the press about the warehouse party. A few photos and a quiet threat were all it took."
Vincent didn't turn. He didn't care for the details of the violence he commanded. It was just business .a repetitive, hollow cycle. "Get out,"he muttered, his voice like grinding stones. "And send a girl. Someone quiet. If she speaks a word, she's fired. I want silence, Lorenzo . Not conversation."
Lorenzo nodded ,his footsteps fading into the thick carpet.vincent leaned back ,his hand instinctively ghosting over the cold steel of the Berretta tucked into his waist band.
He felt nothing. No excitement at the night's profit, no joy in his power. Just a hollow, echoing void that no amount of money or blood seemed to fill.
Down on the floor, Martha adjusted the hem of her skimpy waitress uniform, her fingers trembling slightly. The black fabric was too short, the heels too high, and the air was thick with the suffocating smell of sweat and desperation. Her skin crawled under the predatory stares of the club's patrons, but she kept her face a mask of bored indifference.
In her ear ,a tiny ,invisible peice of tech crackled with static .
"Target is at twelve o' clock ,balcony level",
the voice of her handler, Smith, whispered. He sounded cold,detached, sitting in some air conditioned room miles away from this hellhole. "Focus, Martha. Don't let the noise distract you. Your brother's life depends on the encrypted drive Vincent keeps in his private safe. You have three weeks before the 'Agency' stops paying for his life support. If he dies, it's on your hands."
Martha gripped the silver tray until her knuckles turned white. Three weeks. The weight of her brother's life was a physical burden, heavier than any tray of drinks. She could almost see him in her mind ,pale, hooked up to machines, the only family she had left.To the world,Vincent Moretti was a king. To her, he was the target. He was the man standing between her brother and a grave.
"You're up, new girl!"the floor manager barked,shoving a chilled bottle of vintage Cristal onto her tray."
VIP balcony . Don't look him in the eye, and for God's sake, don't touch anything. If you breathe wrong, you're dead. Move!"
Martha's heart was literally hammering as she climbed the stairs ,Each step she took felt like a march towards a firing squad.
The music became a dull, rhythmic thrum, vibrating in her very marrow. At the top, two men the size of mountains blocked her path. Their eyes were vacant, their expressions murderous. They searched her with a cold, lingering efficiency, their hands checking for wires or weapons. Martha didn't flinch. She had been trained to endure much worse than a wandering hand.
When they finally stepped aside she entered the lion's den .
The balcony was quiet ,the heavy glass muffling the roar of the club below .vincent sat alone ,his long legs crossed ,his dark suit fitting him perfectly.He didn't look at her as she approached .
In the dim, amber light, he looked like a statue of a fallen angel .beautiful, terrifying, and utterly unreachable.
"Your drink, sir," she whispered,her voice barely audible over the thrum of the bass.
She leaned over the low mahogany table to set the bottle down. Her pulse was a drum in her ears. This was the moment. Her plan was simple.place a small, adhesive tracker under the rim of the table. But as she reached, a sudden surge of bass from the dance floor below shook the floorboards. Her thin heel slipped on a stray drop of spilled liquor.
For a split second the world tilted.Martha gasped,
her hand flying out to steady herself landing directly on Vincent's broad, suit-clad shoulder.
The air in the room vanished.
In a blur of movement too fast for the human eye to track, vincent's hand clamped around her throat. He didn't squeeze, but the threat was there a promise of iron and ice. He stood up, his massive frame towering over her, pinning her against the gold-trimmed balcony railing.
"I said no touching",he growled. His face was inches from hers, and for the first time,Martha saw the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
Martha looked up at him.she was supposed to be a spy trained to lie ,trained to manipulate the darkest of men
But looking into Vincent's eyes, she didn't see a target. She saw the abyss. She saw a boy who had been broken by the same world that was currently crushing her. There was a haunting loneliness in him that mirrored her own.
"I... I slipped," she managed to choke out, her pulse leaping frantically against his warm,calloused palm.
Vincent narrowed his eyes. Usually,women trembled or begged when he lost his temper. But this girl….her eyes were full of a fierce burning defiance. She didn't look at him with fear ,she looked at him with a strange,haunting recognition.It unnerved him.he didn't let go
Instead,his grip shifted.He slid his hand from her neck to her jaw, his fingers surprisingly gentle for a man who killed for a living.His thumb dragged across her lower lip,a slow, possessive gesture that sent a jolt of pure, unwanted electricity through her body.
"What's your name,little bird?"
" he asked, his voice dropping to a seductive,dangerous velvet.
"Martha,"she breathed,her mission momentarily forgotten in the heat of his gaze.The tracker was still gripped in her other hand, but she couldn't move. She couldn't think.
"Martha," he repeated,testing the name on his tongue as if he were savoring a fine wine. "You have exactly one minute to get out of my sight before I decide to keep you..And trust me,little bird….once I keep something, I never let it go. I break it until it fits my hand."
Martha scrambled back the moment he released her,her heart racing so fast she thought her ribs might crack..She didn't look back as she fled down the stairs,her skin still tingling where he had touched her.
Vincent watched her disappear into the crowd.He sat back down,but the hollow void in his chest felt different now .it felt…occupied.the scent of her, something like vanilla and rain lingered in his space,mocking his solitude .
"Lorenzo,he barked, not looking away from the spot where she had vanished.
The shadow appeared instantly.Yes, boss?
"The new waitress,Martha. I want her file.Everything.Her school,her family,the color of her first blanket. I want to know who she belongs to."
Vincent stared at the spot where her hand had touched his shoulder. He told himself she was a security risk.He told himself he needed to know if she was a spy. But as he felt the ghost of her warmth through his clothes,the King of the Inferno realized he wasn't looking for a threat.He was looking for a reason to own her.
In the locker room,Martha collapsed against a cold metal locker. She pulled the tiny comms piece from her ear, her hands shaking so hard she dropped it.
"He touched me,"she whispered to the empty ,fluorescent-lit room. "He touched me... and he didn't kill me." Oh my God I thought I was in trouble…
"Very Good" smith's voice echoed one last time before she turned the device off .that means the trap is set.you have him exactly where we want him .but becareful Martha,don't fall into it yourself .
Martha looked at her reflection in the broken mirror.Her lips where still flushed from the pressure of his thumb. She was a spy.he was a monster. She knew this could end in blood .but for her brother's sake she is determined to risk it all,she didn't have options.But she was clear about one thing. Vincent moretti wasn't just a target .He was a fire.and she knew she could get burned because she was already starting to feel the heat .