SPARKS AND PLEASURE
1250 Words
SPARKS AND PLEASURE
The room erupted into murmurs. Don Bernardo leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with greed, while Dante smiled openly, crossing his arms. His plan was working perfectly.
"So, the great Aaron D’Luca doesn't have the control he bragged about?" Dante taunted, savoring every second of his enemy's crumbling facade. "He’s been parading an asset around, thinking he held the key, and it turns out the asset has a mind of her own."
Dante’s words were a venomous hiss, directed not just at Aaron, but toward the other bosses of the Commission, who locked their eyes on him.
Aaron took a step toward me, completely ignoring the leaders. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin with an intensity that promised terrible retribution once we were alone.
"What game are you playing, Sofia?" he hissed close to my face, his breath laced with the fury coursing through his veins. "I gave you everything. I taught you how to be strong. Do not betray me now. Do not make the mistake of thinking I won't destroy you right here."
I held his gaze, ignoring the pain. I brought my face closer to his, so close that the black diamond around my neck brushed against the fabric of his tie.
"You taught me that betrayal is an art, Aaron," I whispered in his ear, using the exact same pedagogical tone he had used with me in the safehouse. "And a good artist never shows her work until it’s finished. The key is in my mind, and my intellect belongs only to the one who guarantees me the absolute truth about my mother’s death. If you kill me here, your Vatican empire dies with me."
For the first time since I met him, I saw a shadow of doubt in Aaron D’Luca’s eyes. It wasn't fear of the Commission; it was the sharp pang of realizing that the creature he had molded in his own image had just sunk her fangs into his hand.
"This meeting is over," Aaron declared, letting go of me abruptly and turning back to the table with stone-cold rigidity. "The key will be delivered under my terms in forty-two hours. Anyone who attempts to approach my wife before then can consider their family in a state of total war with the D’Lucas… Franco, get us out of here."
We walked toward the exit under the predatory gaze of the Commission. Dante Moretti gave me a slight nod of his head before the double doors shut behind us. The pact was sealed. The poison was running.
Except I wasn't entirely on Dante’s side. Nor was I on Aaron’s. My loyalty was to myself, and to the truth about my mother.
The ride back to the mansion was a straight descent into the fires of hell. Aaron didn't sit across from me; he positioned himself at the far end of the backseat, staring at me with a gaze that would have frozen anyone else's blood. The silence inside the car was no longer electric; it was the vacuum left right after a bomb explodes.
Upon arriving at the estate, he walked ahead of me, his firm footsteps echoing on the marble like hammer strikes. We went up to the suite, and the moment the deadbolt clicked into place, Aaron spun around and shoved me against the wood of the wall with a brute force that ripped a groan from my throat. His right hand closed around my neck—not to choke me, but to immobilize me, forcing me to look into the abyss of his eyes.
"Who gave you that information, Sofia?" His voice was a lion's roar, a savage whisper that promised c*****e. "Was it your father? Or was it that dog, Dante? Tell me the truth before I decide I don't care about losing the key just to see your submission again."
"The truth, Aaron?" I said, my voice choked but steady, as my hands lowered slowly toward the slit of my dress, searching for the hilt of the dagger. "The truth is that your family drowned my mother in a bathtub to get the damn papers I hold now. You made me your wife to guard the container of the key. You used me, Aaron."
Aaron clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing with a mixture of fury and aching desperation.
"I made you my wife because you are the only woman who didn't kneel before me, Sofia," he replied, bringing his face so close our breaths mingled. "Your mother was a necessary casualty in a war you don't understand. But what you and I have... this isn't business. I gave you wings to fly in this hell, and you pay me back by pecking at my eyes?"
"I pay you with the currency you taught me to use," I retorted, drawing the poisoned dagger in one swift motion and pressing the sharp tip directly against his vest, right over his heart. "One more step, Aaron, and we will taste the laboratory's poison together."
Aaron looked down at the blade against his chest and then looked up at me. A slow, twisted, and deeply sick smile spread across his lips. He wasn't afraid; he was aroused by the danger, by the realization that his little viper was finally capable of killing him.
"Do it," he challenged, pressing his body against the tip of the weapon, forcing me to keep my grip steady so as not to pierce his skin. "Drive it in, Sofia. Show me you're the demon I raised. But remember one thing: if I burn, you burn with me. Because your blood already belongs to me, and there is no heaven that will accept you after sharing a bed with the devil."
Our bodies trembled, bound by hatred, distrust, and a dark desire that fed on the risk of death. The paintbrush of power was in my hand, but the canvas was still his.
Fear was not invited to our dispute; desire burned against our skin. A twisted, pleasurable emotion was faithfully mirrored in our eyes.
The dagger slipped from my hand as Aaron’s arms imprisoned me against his body. Within minutes, our war of wills transformed into a brutal, erotic clash. Two animals thirsting for the same pleasure.
Aaron had managed to dominate my desires, and I had become the source of his.
After submerging ourselves in the intensity, drenched in sweat, we lay there exhausted. As much as my reason opposed it, my arms sought his as a refuge.
Midnight was approaching, and with it, my final rendezvous with Dante at Santa Maria Church. I had to decide whether I would use the poison to destroy the man who possessed me, or if my destiny was to become the absolute queen of a dynasty written with my own mother’s blood.
The truth was, she hadn't been an innocent victim in this war. She had been wrong—not just in choosing a mobster like my father, but in being a participant in a game of death.
The Italian mafia game had just found its most lethal player, one who knew no fear. A woman with the power to elevate or send anyone she pleased into the depths of hell.
That was my choice now. To become a Queen... or a demon.
- Writer
