"The night is drenched in blood."
Dominic Moretti stands in the middle of the warehouse, smoke curling from the barrel of his gun. The scent of gunpowder and death lingers in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of spilled blood. Around him, bodies lie motionless-reminders of why no one crosses the Moretti Mafia and lives to tell the tale.
His men stand by, silent, waiting. Even they know better than to speak when their king is angry.
Dominic steps forward, his leather shoes crushing glass and bone alike. He crouches beside a trembling man-one of the few left alive. The man coughs, blood staining his lips.
"Please... I-It was a mistake-"
Dominic tilts his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "A mistake?" His voice is smooth, controlled. Dangerous.
The man nods frantically, chest heaving. "I swear-"
Bang.
A clean shot between the eyes.
Dominic exhales, standing as the body crumples at his feet. He tucks his gun away, his face completely emotionless.
Vincent, his right-hand man, steps forward, nodding approvingly. "That was the last one."
"Good," Dominic murmurs. "Clean this up." He turns, already walking toward the exit. The night air is crisp against his skin as he steps outside, but the chaos inside him never stills.
Because tonight, despite the bloodshed, his mind isn't on the war.
It's on a reckless, infuriating university student who shouldn't mean anything to him.
And yet, Elijah Sinclair is the only thing he can't stop thinking about.
Elijah Sinclair doesn't belong in this world.
He's carefree, sharp-tongued, and reckless-the kind of guy who should be worrying about exams, not catching the attention of a mafia king.
And yet, somehow, he's found himself in Dominic Moretti's sights.
The night air is thick with tension as Elijah leans against his motorcycle, scrolling through his phone outside a buzzing nightclub. Music pounds from inside, neon lights flashing against the pavement.
"Yo, Eli!" A familiar voice calls out. His friend, Adrian, jogs over, grinning. "You coming in, or are you just here to look pretty?"
Elijah smirks. "Both."
Adrian laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "Let's get wasted."
But before they can head inside, something changes.
The atmosphere shifts. The kind of shift that makes the hairs on the back of Elijah's neck stand up.
He doesn't see him at first. He feels him.
A slow, creeping awareness. Like the air itself is being consumed by something dark and dangerous.
And then-he spots him.
Dominic Moretti.
Sitting in the VIP section of the club, surrounded by his men, but his eyes are locked solely on Elijah.
Elijah swallows. His fingers tighten around his phone. Why the hell is Moretti looking at him like that?
Like a predator who's just found his favorite prey.
Inside the Club
Elijah tries to ignore him.
He dances. Drinks. Smiles at a pretty bartender who's been eyeing him all night.
But every time he looks up, Dominic is still watching.
Unmoving. Unblinking. Like he owns the goddamn place.
Adrian leans in. "That guy's staring at you."
Elijah huffs. "I noticed."
Adrian whistles. "You're either about to get lucky or end up in a body bag."
Elijah smirks. "Maybe both."
Adrian chokes on his drink.
But before he can say anything else, someone approaches.
Not just anyone. One of Moretti's men.
"Mr. Sinclair," the man says smoothly, standing too close. "The boss would like a word."
Elijah raises a brow, pretending he doesn't feel his pulse spike. "Yeah? And what if I don't feel like talking?"
The man smiles. "Then you'll be escorted. Your choice."
Adrian grips his wrist. "Eli-"
But Elijah grins. A little reckless. A little stupid. Exactly the way he is.
"Well," he exhales, tossing back the rest of his drink. "Let's not keep him waiting."
And just like that, he walks straight into the lion's den.
Elijah follows the suited man through the club, weaving past tables and drunken partygoers. His heart beats steadily—not from fear, but curiosity.
Why does a mafia boss want to talk to him?
More importantly, why does he look so damn serious about it?
---
The First Face-Off
The VIP section is roped off, guarded by two men in black. As Elijah approaches, the air feels heavier.
Dominic Moretti sits in the center of a luxurious black leather booth, surrounded by his men. One arm draped over the backrest, his expensive watch catching the dim club lights. He owns this space.
Elijah has seen powerful men before. But none like him.
Dark eyes locked onto Elijah—cold, unreadable.
Elijah raises a brow. Okay, dramatic much?
The suited man gestures. "Sit."
Elijah grins. "Nah, I'm good standing."
Vincent, Dominic's right-hand man, stiffens. Clearly, people don't say no to Moretti.
But Dominic? He just smirks. A slow, knowing curve of his lips.
"Cocky." His voice is smooth, deep. Dangerous.
Elijah shrugs. "So I've been told."
Dominic watches him for a long moment before speaking again.
"You have no idea what you've walked into, do you?"
Elijah tilts his head. "Not really. But hey, life's short."
For a split second, Vincent looks like he wants to grab him by the collar and shake him.
Dominic just exhales. Like Elijah is exhausting.
---
The Warning (That Goes Over Elijah's Head)
Dominic swirls the drink in his hand, watching Elijah like he's studying something unpredictable.
"You're playing a dangerous game."
Elijah leans against the table, smirking. "I didn't realize I was playing."
Vincent mutters, "Unbelievable."
Dominic taps a finger against his glass. "You've caught my attention."
Elijah grins. "Flattered."
A muscle ticks in Dominic's jaw. This guy…
"Elijah." His voice drops lower. "Do you even know who I am?"
Elijah hums. "Rich guy. Probably dangerous. Maybe runs a cult—"
Vincent chokes on his drink.
Dominic just stares at him. What the hell is this guy?
"Elijah," he finally says, voice calm, too calm. "You don't want my attention."
Elijah pouts dramatically. "Damn. And here I thought we were bonding."
Vincent looks like he's about to throw him out himself.
But Dominic? He just leans back, eyes unreadable.
"…You're reckless."
Elijah winks. "You have no idea."
---
The Escape… For Now
Before Dominic can say anything else, someone calls his name—a rival mafia associate waiting to discuss business.
Dominic flicks his gaze back to Elijah. "Leave. Now."
Elijah raises both hands. "Alright, alright. No need to be dramatic."
He turns to leave but pauses, grinning over his shoulder. "Hey, this was fun. Let's do it again sometime."
Vincent looks ready to explode.
Dominic just watches him go, fingers tightening around his glass.
This reckless, playful idiot has no idea what he's just done.
And worse?
Dominic isn't sure he wants him to stop.