A Content Warning: (This is the introduction chapter featuring the male lead of this novel. It contains violence and mature themes.)
Somewhere in the heart of New York
chaos reigns as intoxicated revelers dance wildly in a smoky club. The air is thick with laughter and perfume, swirling like mist. The VIP lounge feels like an entirely different universe. Heavy basslines shake the walls, but here, in this exclusive bubble of power and secrecy, silence holds sway. A massive, muscular figure sits cloaked in shadows, puffing leisurely on an expensive cigar. Ice clinks in his glass as he swirls whiskey with a quiet confidence.
"One more," he murmurs in a deep, commanding voice, not bothering to glance at the alluring bartender rushing to refill his drink. She tries to tempt him with her sultry gestures and seductive tone, but his eyes remain fixed on the tumult below, his mind clearly elsewhere—perhaps calculating his next move or plotting revenge.
One of his suited men seizes a struggling figure, dragging him mercilessly before hurling him at the feet of the commanding presence. The latter casually sips his whiskey, his calm demeanor intensifying the palpable fear in the air. He fixes his icy gaze on the trembling man and flicks ash from his cigarette before speaking, each word dripping with menace: "You've got balls, I'll give you that," he says, leaning back and swirling his drink slowly, a cold smirk on his lips. "But apparently, you've got no brains to match them."
Suddenly, his grip tightens on the glass. His smirk vanishes, replaced by a deadly glare. "Leaking my secrets to my rival? Bold. Stupid, but bold." He sets his glass down with deliberate care. Bang! The room erupts with the terrifying crack of gunfire, echoing loudly in the confined space, bouncing off walls and striking fear into everyone present.
The trembling figure on the floor is silent now—dead, marked by three precise bullet holes. He stands smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks with nonchalance. As silence settles and gunpowder lingers heavily in the air, he steps over the lifeless body without a second glance, his cold, calculating stare sweeping the dim club until it lands on a bartender serving drinks. Her delicate frame stiffens at his gaze.
She was the same woman who earlier tried to flirt with him, flashing her voluptuous cleavage while serving drinks. But now, she freezes under his intense eyes, her breath hitching as he approaches. With a low, amused murmur, he says, "You wanted my attention? Well, now you've got it."
"Darling," he drawls with a predatory smile that fails to reach his eyes, "you've been throwing yourself at me all night. But let's get one thing straight—I don't care for your tits, your cunt, or your ass." His gaze trails down to her mouth, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "What I want is your big mouth—perfect size for my cock." Her eyes widen in shock before he swiftly wraps an arm around her waist and yanks her over his muscular shoulder.
He strides toward the staircase leading to his luxurious VIP suite, the girl in his grasp now trembling with nervous anticipation.
Inside, he effortlessly lifts her onto the plush king-sized bed, his eyes glinting menacingly in the dim light. Minutes pass amid muffled groans and the sounds of rough pleasure. Her head is trapped between his muscular thighs, pinned to the mattress as he slams into her throat repeatedly, the bed creaking beneath him. Finally, he pushes her away in frustration.
His phone rings, breaking his concentration. He groans inwardly, annoyed by the interruption, and finally extracts it from his low-hanging pants.
Without bothering to look at her, or her drenched, disheveled face, he snarls, "Marco, this better be important or I'm shooting your toes when I get home." As he zips up his pants, Marco's voice crackles through the line, teasing, "Always the impatient one, brother."
"Spit it out or I'll hang up," Luca snaps. The caller, sensing his brother's mood, drops the bomb: "She's back. Sofia's back," Marco announces with excitement.
Luca's face hardens. He ends the call abruptly and curses under his breath. "Fuck."
Turning to the room, he sees the bartender still there. "Get out," he orders coldly. She swiftly leaves, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
He's torn—Sofia's return unsettles him, though he couldn't recall exactly why he hated her in the first place.