Obruche_Princess

The scent of vanilla and freshly baked bread curled through the morning air, soft and inviting—a stark contrast to the man standing outside the tiny pastry shop. Matteo De Luca didn’t belong in a place like this. Dressed in black, with a presence that swallowed the light around him, he was a jagged piece of the underworld pressed against the softness of something pure.

He hadn’t meant to stop. Hadn’t meant to be drawn in. But there he was, watching the man behind the counter—flour dusting his fingers, lips pursed in concentration as he decorated a delicate éclair. A man who had no idea that with one glance, he had become an obsession.

Luca should walk away. He should forget the warmth, the scent, the man who smelled like sugar and safety.

But he wouldn’t.

Because when a man like him wanted something, he took it.

And right now? He wanted him.


---

The forbidden lust

The moment Matteo handed him the glass of whiskey, he should have put it down, turned around, and walked out of that club.

Instead, he sat across from Matteo in the quiet, dimly lit booth, the glass sweating against his palm as he tried not to feel the weight of those dark eyes on him.

"You don't drink whiskey," Matteo observed, watching as Emilio hesitated before taking a sip.

Emilio swallowed, the burn trailing down his throat. "I don't usually find myself in places like this either."

Matteo smirked, swirling his own glass. "And yet, here you are."

Emilio exhaled through his nose. He had come because he was curious, but now that he was here, he felt like he was sitting across from something far more dangerous than he had anticipated.

There was a power in the way he sat, in the way people in the club glanced toward him and then quickly looked away. It wasn't just confidence—it was control.

And yet, for some reason, he was here, focused on him.

"Why me?" Emilio asked, meeting Matteo's gaze head-on. "Why my shop?"

Matteo was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping slowly against his glass. Then, finally, he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

"I like watching people," he admitted. "Most are predictable."

Matteo's lips tilted in something unreadable. "You're not."

A shiver trailed down Emilio's spine, but he refused to look away. "You barely know me."

The words were simple, but there was a weight to them—one that made Emilio's breath catch.

Something in the air shifted, something thick and suffocating, and Emilio suddenly felt like the whiskey wasn't the real thing making him warm.

He should end this conversation. He should put his glass down, thank Matteo for the drink, and walk away.

Instead, he said, "What exactly do you do, Matteo?"

Matteo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That's not a question you should be asking."

And somehow, that only made Emilio want to ask more.

Chapter 5: A drink with the devil