The walk back to my dorm feels like floating on razor blades. Every step carries the taste of Enzo's mouth, the memory of his hands fisting in my jacket, the way his eyes went from hurt to dangerous to something that looked like pure, unfiltered hunger.
But it's not the kiss that has my blood singing with sick satisfaction. It's what came after.
The way he looked at me when I pulled back. Like I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life. Like I'd triggered something that had been waiting to be unleashed. Like I'd finally given him permission to stop pretending to be anything other than the beautiful, unhinged thing I've been dying to possess completely.
The laugh. Christ, that laugh. Sharp and dangerous and absolutely predatory. The sound someone makes when they realize their opponent just walked into a trap they didn't even see coming.
And then the way he backed me against the wall. The way his voice dropped to something that promised violence and pain and exactly the kind of brutality I've been craving since the moment I first saw him lose control. The way he looked at me like I was prey instead of predator.
"You have another thing coming, beautiful. Because you just declared war on the wrong person."
Most people would be terrified. Should be running. Should understand that what I just saw wasn't the polished, charming Enzo who manipulates his way through campus social dynamics. That was something rawer. More honest. More dangerous than anything I'd imagined.
And I fucking loved every second of it.
The realization should disturb me. Should make me question what kind of person gets hard watching someone transform from vulnerable to violent. What kind of fucked-up psychology finds instability attractive. What kind of sick bastard gets off on being threatened by someone they're supposed to be controlling.
Instead, it makes me want to go back and push him further. See how much darkness I can provoke before he snaps completely. See what happens when the careful control finally breaks and he becomes the beautiful, unhinged thing I glimpsed in that parking lot. See how much pain I can cause him before he tries to cause me more.
I want to be the reason he loses control. Want to be the obsession that drives him past the point of no return. Want to watch him become as consumed with me as I am with him. Want to own every violent thought in his head until he can't tell where his need ends and mine begins.
The thought of him hating me as much as he wants me makes something dark and satisfied purr in my chest. Because hatred is just another form of obsession. Another way of ensuring that I live in his head the way he lives in mine.
My phone buzzes with a text notification, jolting me out of fantasies about exactly how unhinged I can make him. Then another. And another.
Group chat. The cousins. Fuck.
I pull out my phone to find a string of messages from Mikhail, Luka, and the others. The most recent one makes my blood go cold with anticipation rather than fear:
Mikhail:Check Twitter. Now.
Luka:What the actual fuck, Noah.
Viktor:Link attached. Explain. Immediately.
The link leads to a video that starts playing before I can process what I'm seeing. Campus. The humanities building. Enzo surrounded by those girls, looking relaxed and charming and completely in his element.
Then my voice, cold and cutting. The girls scattering like prey animals. The confrontation that followed.
And the kiss.
Jesus Christ, someone recorded the entire thing.
It's all there. Every word. Every touch. Every moment of our fucked-up dynamic played out in high definition for anyone to see. The way I pinned him against the railing. The way he pushed back. The way we went from fighting to kissing like we were trying to consume each other whole.
The way we both looked completely unhinged. Desperate. Like two people who'd lost all connection to normal human behavior and didn't give a fuck who saw it.
Watching it from the outside is like seeing a car crash in slow motion. Inevitable. Brutal. Impossible to look away from. We look like exactly what we are—two obsessive, damaged people who've found each other and decided that mutual destruction might be preferable to the slow agony of wanting something we can't have.
And now everyone knows.
The thought should terrify me. Should make me want to crawl into a hole and disappear until the attention dies down. Instead, it makes something primitive and satisfied unfurl in my chest. Because now there's no taking it back. No pretending it didn't happen. No careful political maneuvering to make it go away.
Now there's no more weeks of me running while he recovers from injuries he got defending me. No more hiding behind excuses about giving him space when really I was just too much of a coward to face what wanting him means. No more pretending this is anything other than what it is—an obsession so complete that we're willing to destroy ourselves publicly just to have each other.
My phone buzzes again. The group chat is exploding.
Mikhail:Calling emergency family meeting. NOW.
Luka:Do you have any idea what you've done?
Viktor:Half a million views and climbing. #MafiaHeirs is trending.
Dmitri:Uncle Sergei is going to lose his shit.
Luka:Wait, are we not going to talk about the fact that Noah literally grabbed this guy and kissed him in public?
Viktor:Like full-on claimed him in front of everyone
Dmitri:Bro went from "I don't run" to running his mouth all over some Italian
Mikhail:This is not the time for jokes
Luka:When IS the time? Our cousin just went viral making out with a Moretti
Viktor:The comments are INSANE. People are calling it the "Mafia Romeo and Juliet"
Dmitri:Someone made a TikTok edit with romantic music I'm DYING
Luka:Noah really said "forget politics, I want that one"
Viktor:Man's been WHIPPED and they haven't even been on a date
Mikhail:Can you idiots focus? This is a family crisis
Dmitri:Crisis? This is entertainment. Noah's out here writing fanfiction with his life
Luka:The way he pinned him against that railing though 👀
Viktor:Somebody's been watching too many movies
Dmitri:Or not enough. That was some amateur hour claiming. Where's the finesse?
Luka:What finesse? Man saw his territory being marked by college girls and LOST IT
Viktor:Territorial much? Jesus
Mikhail:Where are you? We need damage control before this gets worse.
Luka:Too late. It's already everywhere. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. Someone tagged it as "forbidden romance" and now everyone knows.
Dmitri:Forbidden romance like they're star-crossed lovers instead of just horny college students
Viktor:Horny college students with family armies
Luka:The dangerous kind of horny
Dmitri:Noah's really out here ready to start World War 3 over some pretty eyes
Viktor:Have you SEEN Enzo Moretti though? I mean...
Luka:Viktor no
Viktor:I'm just SAYING. If you're gonna risk everything might as well be for someone who looks like that
Mikhail:You're all insane
Dmitri:Says the guy who once fought three men over someone looking at his date wrong
Mikhail:That was different
Luka:How?
Mikhail:It was PRIVATE
Viktor:Noah really said "privacy is for cowards" and went full public
Dmitri:The AUDACITY
Luka:The Italian's gonna eat him alive
Viktor:Or the other way around. Did you see how Noah looked at him?
Dmitri:Like he wanted to own him
Luka:Probably does
Mikhail:This is exactly why we need that meeting. NOW.
Forbidden romance. Like we're some tragic star-crossed lovers instead of two fucked-up heirs playing with fire that could burn down both our families. Like what we have is beautiful instead of twisted and destructive and probably unhealthy for everyone involved.
But watching the video, seeing us from the outside, I understand why people would think that. We don't look like calculated political players making strategic moves. We look like two people who've completely lost control of anything resembling normal human behavior.
We look like two people who'd rather destroy everything than let anyone else have what's theirs.
Mikhail:Noah. Where. Are. You.
Me:Walking back to dorm. Will be there in 10.
Viktor:Make it 5. And start thinking about how you're going to explain this to the family.
Luka:Because "temporary insanity" isn't going to cut it when this affects every alliance we have.
Every alliance we have. The political implications hit me like a cold slap of reality. Because this isn't just about me and Enzo anymore. It's about two families, multiple organizations, years of carefully maintained balances that could all get disrupted because I couldn't keep my hands off an Italian heir in public.
But even knowing that, even understanding what this could cost, I can't bring myself to regret it. Can't wish it hadn't happened. Because finally, everyone knows. Finally, there's no denying what we are. No carefully orchestrated political distance. No plausible deniability.
Now both our families will have to confront exactly what we're willing to destroy to have each other. And maybe that's exactly what needs to happen. Maybe public exposure is the only way to force this situation to its logical conclusion.
The thought makes something dark and calculating stir in my chest. Because maybe this wasn't an accident. Maybe some part of me wanted to be caught. Wanted to force both our hands. Wanted to make it impossible for either of us to back down or walk away.
Maybe I'm more manipulative than I give myself credit for.
My phone buzzes with a call from Mikhail. I decline it and text back.
Me:5 minutes. Need to think.
Mikhail:Think faster. This is about to become every family's business.
He's right. By tomorrow, every organization on the island will have seen this video. Will be analyzing what it means for existing power structures. Will be deciding whether this represents opportunity or threat.
Some will see weakness. Evidence that the Russian heir has been compromised by emotion. Others will see alliance potential. A way to leverage the connection between our families.
Most will just see two unstable heirs who can't be trusted to keep personal business separate from family interests.
They're not wrong. But they're also not seeing the bigger picture. They're not understanding that sometimes the most dangerous thing you can do is give someone exactly what they think they want.
I reach my dorm and head straight for the shower, needing the scalding water to wash away the scent of Enzo's cologne and the taste of his mouth. Needing a few minutes to process what just happened and what it means for the game we're playing.
But even under the burning spray, I can't stop thinking about the way he looked at me. The shift from vulnerable to predatory. The promise in his voice when he told me I'd declared war. The way his eyes went dark with something that looked like genuine threat instead of just wounded pride.
That wasn't someone who was intimidated by my claiming him. That was someone who was ready to fight back. Someone who was done being controlled or managed or handled with careful political precision.
Someone who might be as dangerous as I am. Someone who might actually be capable of hurting me in ways that matter.
The thought makes me hard despite everything. Despite the family crisis brewing. Despite the political implications. Despite the knowledge that this could destroy everything we've both built.
Because that's what I want. Not the polished, charming version of Enzo that everyone else sees. The real one. The one who looks at me like he wants to hurt me as much as he wants to fuck me. The one who's just as twisted and obsessed and willing to burn down the world as I am.
I want him to be dangerous. Want him to be a threat. Want him to be exactly as unhinged as I'm becoming, so that when we finally destroy each other, it'll be mutual annihilation instead of just me consuming him whole.
I finish in the shower and get dressed, already planning my next move. Because this isn't over. This is just the beginning. The video was just the opening salvo in whatever war we're about to fight.
And I intend to win. Even if winning means mutual destruction.
By the time I reach the family meeting, I know exactly what I'm going to do.
The conference room in the estate is full when I arrive. Viktor at the head of the table, Mikhail beside him, Luka across from them. Dmitri and the others arranged around the edges like a tribunal. All of them looking at me like I've just brought a bomb into their carefully ordered world.
Which, in a way, I have.
"Sit," Mikhail says, his voice carrying that edge of authority that means this is serious family business. The kind that could get people killed if handled wrong.
I sit, meeting each of their gazes without flinching. Let them see that I'm not ashamed. Not apologetic. Not planning to grovel or make excuses or pretend this was anything other than exactly what it looked like.
"Explain," Viktor says, sliding his phone across the table. The video is cued up and ready to play. "All of it."
"What do you want me to explain? You saw what happened."
"We saw you publicly kissing an Italian heir," Luka snaps. "What we want to know is why. What the strategy is. What the endgame is."
Strategy. Endgame. Like everything in our world has to be calculated and planned instead of just happening because two people want each other in ways that probably aren't healthy for anyone involved.
But the truth is, there was strategy. There was calculation. Just not the kind they're expecting.
"There is no strategy," I lie smoothly. "There is no endgame. There's just him."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can see them processing this, trying to decide if I'm being honest or if this is some elaborate political maneuvering they don't understand yet.
"Just him," Mikhail repeats slowly. "Noah, do you understand what you've done? Do you comprehend the political implications of this video?"
"I understand perfectly. And I don't care."
"You don't care." Viktor's voice is deadly quiet. The tone that usually precedes someone getting hurt. "You don't care that this could destabilize every alliance we have? You don't care that this gives our enemies ammunition? You don't care that this makes you look weak?"
"Weak?" I lean forward, letting them see something dark flicker in my eyes. "Did that look weak to you? Did any of what you saw in that video suggest weakness?"
Because it didn't. It suggested obsession. Possession. The kind of twisted need that makes people do insane things. But not weakness. Never weakness.
"It suggested someone who's lost control," Dmitri says quietly. "Someone who's been compromised."
"Maybe I have. Maybe that's exactly what this is."
"And that doesn't concern you?" Mikhail asks.
"Should it?"
The question hangs in the air between us. Because the truth is, it should concern me. Should terrify me. Should make me want to do damage control and find ways to minimize the fallout.
Instead, it makes me want to escalate. Makes me want to push further. Makes me want to show everyone exactly how far I'm willing to go for something I want.
Makes me want to prove that sometimes losing control is the most strategic thing you can do.
"Look," Viktor says, leaning forward. "If this is something you really want to pursue - him, I mean - then you need to talk to Uncle Sergei before he hears about this some other way. The videos are out there now. It's going viral. He's going to find out."
"What do you want me to tell them?"
"The truth," Mikhail says. "Whatever that is."
The truth. The truth is that I'm obsessed with Enzo Moretti in ways that probably aren't healthy for either of us. The truth is that I want to own him completely, want to be the only person who can make him lose control the way he makes me lose control. The truth is that I'd rather burn down everything I've built than pretend this doesn't exist.
The truth is that I'm exactly as dangerous as they think I am, just not in the way they expect.
"The truth is that I want him. And I'm going to have him. Regardless of what it costs."
"Even if it costs the family?" Luka asks.
I meet his gaze without flinching. "Enzo brings out the person I kept caged for years. The son my father didn't want to see emerge because even at an early age, he knew I would be worse than him. More ruthless. More willing to burn everything down for what I want." I lean forward, letting them see the truth in my eyes. "My father spent decades teaching me control because he recognized what I really am underneath. What I'm capable of when I stop pretending to be the perfect heir."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can see them processing this, trying to decide if I'm being honest or if this is some elaborate justification for losing my mind over a boy.
"I want to explore this side of me - something I never got to do. Enzo enjoys the thrill of living on the edge, and now I want to feel the thrill of taking all that away from him. Of being the one thing he can't control or predict or manipulate." My smile turns sharp. "Enzo doesn't make me weak. He makes me honest. And an honest version of me is something this world should be afraid of."
"Even then," I say finally, answering Luka's original question.
Another silence. Longer this time. More loaded. I can see them exchanging glances, trying to decide if I'm bluffing or if I've actually lost my mind completely.
The answer is both. And neither.
"Then you'd better make sure he's worth it," Viktor says finally. "Because this isn't just about you anymore. This is about all of us."
He's right. It is about all of us now. The video made sure of that. Made this everyone's business instead of just ours.
But maybe that's better. Maybe having it be public means we stop pretending this is something that can be contained or controlled. Maybe it forces both our families to confront exactly what we are and what we're willing to destroy to have each other.
Maybe it forces the issue in ways that careful political maneuvering never could.
"Are we done?" I ask.
"For now," Mikhail says. "But Noah? Whatever you're planning next, think carefully. Because the entire island is watching now."
The entire island is watching. Perfect. Let them watch. Let them see exactly what happens when two monsters stop pretending to be human and start being honest about what they want.
I leave the meeting and head straight for my car. There's something I need to do. Something that will make it clear that I'm not backing down. That the video didn't scare me into retreat.
That I'm ready to escalate this as far as it needs to go.
The apartment listing I found earlier is still available. High-end. Private. Neutral territory—not in Russian-controlled areas like the dorms near The Dojo, not in Italian territory near The Pit. Isolated enough that no one will interrupt us. Perfect for what I have in mind.
It's in the Heights district, technically Middle Eastern territory, which means the Al-Fayeeds control access but don't actively patrol. Omar's family maintains neutrality, which makes it the perfect place for an off-the-books meeting between enemies.
I make the call and wire the money. Purchase it outright. No financing. No paper trail that can be traced back to family accounts. No way for my father or the cousins to interfere or shut this down before I'm ready.
A private space that's ours alone. Somewhere we can have this out without cameras or witnesses or family members analyzing every word. Somewhere neutral where neither of our families can claim territorial advantage. Somewhere I can finally have him exactly the way I want him—trapped, isolated, with nowhere to run and no one to save him from whatever I decide to do.
The thought makes something dark and hungry unfurl in my chest. Because this isn't just about having a conversation. This is about establishing dominance. About proving once and for all who's really in control here.
About showing him what happens when you threaten someone who's already decided you're worth destroying everything for.
By the time I'm done with the paperwork, it's been two hours since I left Enzo standing on those campus steps. Two hours since he told me I'd declared war. Two hours for him to think about what that means. What I might be planning. How far I might be willing to take this.
Time to make my next move.
I pull out my phone and send him the address. No explanation. No context. Just a location dropped like a gauntlet. Like a trap he'll walk into because he won't be able to resist the challenge.
Then I send the door code. Six digits that will give him access to what I've prepared. The apartment came fully furnished - expensive, modern, isolated. Everything we need for a private conversation without interruptions.
And below it, four words that make my intentions crystal clear:
You have 30 minutes.
Not a request. A command. An ultimatum that makes it clear I'm done with games and ready to escalate this as far as it needs to go. That I'm not intimidated by his threats or impressed by his show of violence.
That I'm ready to call his bluff and see if he's actually as dangerous as he thinks he is.
If he wants war, I'll give him war. But it's going to be on my terms. In a space I control. Under conditions I set.
Where no one can hear him scream if things get out of hand.
The message sends, and I lean back in my car seat, already imagining his reaction. The way his eyes will flash when he realizes what I've done. The way his hands will shake with rage or anticipation or both.
The way he'll look at me when he walks into that apartment and realizes this just became real in ways neither of us can take back.
Thirty minutes.
Let's see if he shows up.
Let's see if he's actually as unhinged as I need him to be.
Let's see who's really the monster here.