Chapter Seven - Anton

The sound of a clock ticking in the corner was the only noise in the room as I sat at my desk, staring at the map spread out before me. Each pin embedded in the surface represented a step in a larger game, a calculated move in a war that had no clear end. The Morettis had been a thorn in my side for longer than I cared to admit, but this time, I intended to drive the thorn deeper.

The Moretti princess.

Pricilla Moretti was unlike anyone I've ever encountered. Cold, calculating, sharp—dangerous in ways that most people couldn't comprehend. She had a way of looking at someone like she could see their darkest secrets, strip them bare with a single glance. And yet, there was fire beneath that ice. I could see it in the way her eyes flashed whenever I provoked her, the subtle tension in her posture whenever I stood too close.

She hated me. That much was clear.

But hate was a dangerous thing. It had a way of twisting, of morphing into something more primal, more destructive.

And I wasn't immune to it either.

I pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the intel Luka had delivered earlier. He was proving more useful than I'd anticipated, feeding me details about the Morettis' inner workings that only someone on the inside could know. It was almost too easy, watching Pricilla move through her world, unaware that one of her own was playing both sides.

I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking softly as I stared at the photograph pinned to the corner of the map. It was of her, taken from a distance. Her head was tilted slightly, her dark hair catching the light, and her ocean-blue eyes were focused on something just out of frame. Even in a still image, she radiated a sense of purpose, of power.

What was it about her that drew me in?

It wasn't just her defiance or her beauty—though both were undeniable. It was something deeper, something I couldn't quite name. She was a challenge, a riddle I couldn't resist solving.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I called, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my mind.

Luka entered, his expression as neutral as ever. "Everything's in place," he said, stepping forward. "The Morettis won't see it coming."

"Good," I replied, though I didn't look at him. My eyes remained on the map, on the pins that marked our next moves. "Keep it that way."

He hesitated, just for a moment. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but I caught it.

"Is there something else?" I asked, finally turning my gaze to him.

"No," he said quickly, but his tone lacked its usual confidence. "Just wanted to confirm the next steps."

I narrowed my eyes, studying him carefully. Luka had been loyal so far, but loyalty in this world was fragile, bought and sold like any other commodity.

"Stick to the plan," I said after a moment, my tone sharper now. "And remember, any slip-ups will fall on you."

He nodded, retreating without another word.

Once the door closed behind him, I allowed myself a moment to think. Luka was useful, but he was also a risk. Traitors were only valuable until they weren't, and I would make sure he understood that.

As for Pricilla…

I leaned forward, fingers brushing against her photograph. She had no idea what was coming, no idea how far I was willing to go to get what I wanted.

And yet, some part of me couldn't shake the feeling that I was playing with fire.

It wasn't just the danger of the game—it was her.

Pricilla Moretti was a storm I couldn't outrun, a force I couldn't control. And part of me didn't want to.

But that didn't matter.

What mattered was winning.

I wouldn't lose—not to her, not to anyone.

Because in this world, losing meant death.

The city outside was a maze of chaos and opportunity. It reflected everything I had built and everything I intended to control. But as I stood at the window, my thoughts remain tangled in one singular problem: Pricilla Moretti.

She was fire and fury wrapped in elegance, a dangerous contradiction. She was everything I hated about the Moretti family, yet everything I couldn't seem to ignore. Her name alone carried weight, power, and defiance—all the things that had no place in my world unless I controlled them. Unless I controlled her.

I turned away from the window, pacing the room, my mind restless. Luka's report had been thorough, but not satisfying. Pricilla's movements seemed calculated, too careful, even for her. She was holding something back, and that made her unpredictable—a liability.

Luka had done his job well, slipping into her circle with ease. He was a good actor, loyal to me in ways Pricilla would never suspect. The irony wasn't lost on me. Every time she turned to him, thinking he was an ally, she was feeding information directly to me.

And yet, despite my carefully laid plans, she remained a thorn in my side. She had a way of getting under my skin, a way of making every interaction feel like a battle I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to win.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as I swirled it. My fingers tightened around the glass as memories of our last encounter flashed through my mind.

The way she looked at me, like she could see every dark corner of my soul and didn't flinch. The way her voice carried venom and seduction in equal measure, daring me to lose control.

Control.

That was the problem. I had spent years mastering control—over my empire, over my men, over myself. But one conversation with her, one look, and I could feel it slipping through my fingers like sand.

I took a long sip of the whiskey, the burn in my throat grounding me. She was a distraction. A dangerous one. But distractions could be dealt with, contained.

Luka had mentioned her interest in expanding Moretti territory, her attempts to secure alliances with smaller families. She was playing a risky game, one that I could use to my advantage. If she thought she could outmaneuver me, she was sorely mistaken.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in," I said, my voice steady, though my mind was still racing.

Luka stepped in, his expression calm but alert. "We've received confirmation about the shipment Pricilla is trying to secure. She's meeting with the Cortez family tomorrow night."

The Cortez family. Small-time players, desperate to cling to whatever power they could scrape together. If she was aligning with them, it meant she was running out of options—or she was bolder than I gave her credit for.

"Does she suspect anything?" I asked, setting the glass down.

"Not a thing," Luka replied, a faint smirk on his lips. "She thinks I'm one of hers."

Good. That was how it needed to stay. Luka was my eyes and ears in her world, a silent thread tying her actions back to me.

"Keep it that way," I said, my tone sharp. "I want every detail. And when the time comes, I want to be the one who pulls the rug out from under her."

Luka nodded, his smirk fading as he left the room.

I leaned back against the desk, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.

This wasn't just about control. It wasn't just about power.

It was about her.

And the desire I refused to acknowledge, the fire that burned whenever she was near—it was becoming harder to ignore.

But desire was dangerous. And if there was one thing I had learned in this business, it was how to weaponize danger.

Pricilla Moretti would fall.

And if I burned in the process, so be it.

The room fell silent once Luka left, the only sound being the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. My hand hovered over the glass of whiskey, but I didn't drink. My mind was too sharp, too restless. Pricilla's name lingered in my thoughts like a toxin I couldn't purge.

I strode to the map pinned on the wall, a detailed layout of territories, alliances, and weak points. My fingers traced the edges of Moretti's claimed area, narrowing on the sectors she had recently tried to infiltrate. The Cortez family wasn't just a desperate grab—it was a message.

She was challenging me.

A quiet laugh escaped me, humorless and dark. Pricilla had always been bold, but this was reckless. Did she truly think she could win against me?

Still, I couldn't ignore the gnawing at the back of my mind. Her moves weren't the random chaos of desperation; they were calculated. She was testing boundaries, poking at weaknesses. I had to admit, begrudgingly, that she was good.

But she wasn't invincible.

A knock came at the door again, this time softer. I didn't bother turning around.

"Enter."

This time, Matteo, my second-in-command, stepped inside. His presence always carried a sense of tension, a silent understanding of the weight he bore for the family.

"Anton," he began, his voice steady, "we've received intel that Pricilla's meeting with the Cortez family tomorrow might not be what it seems."

I turned to face him, my eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"There's chatter that she's using the meeting as a decoy. The real deal is happening somewhere else. Luka hasn't caught wind of it yet, but—"

"Stop," I cut him off, the sharpness in my tone silencing him. "You're saying she's playing two moves at once?"

"Exactly."

A flicker of respect coursed through me, though I masked it with a scowl. If this was true, then she wasn't just bold—she was dangerous. It also meant that Luka, despite his loyalty, might not be as deeply embedded in her operations as I'd hoped.

"Find out where the real meeting is," I ordered, my voice firm. "And I want eyes on every move she makes tomorrow. If Luka misses this, I need a backup in place."

Matteo nodded, but there was hesitation in his eyes.

"What?" I asked sharply.

"Anton, are you sure about Luka?" he asked, his tone careful. "He's been with her for a while now. If she catches wind of his betrayal…"

"She won't," I said, cutting him off again. "Luka knows what's at stake. He won't slip."

Matteo didn't look convinced, but he nodded and left without another word.

Once the door closed, I leaned back against the desk, my thoughts spiraling again. Matteo's doubt lingered, feeding into my own. Luka was a good soldier, but everyone had a breaking point. And Pricilla had a way of pushing people to theirs.

The image of her face came unbidden, the defiance in her eyes the last time we spoke. There was a fire in her, something unyielding and wild. It wasn't just a challenge—it was a warning.

My hand clenched into a fist at the thought.

This wasn't just business anymore. It was personal.

Because no matter how much I tried to ignore it, she had gotten under my skin. And that, more than anything, made her a threat I couldn't afford to leave unchecked.

I straightened, my resolve hardening. Tomorrow, I'd be one step ahead of her.

I'd unravel every lie, every move she made.

And when the time came, I'd be the one to end this game.

Because one way or another, Pricilla Moretti was going to lose.

Even if it killed me to see her fall.