Chapter 4: The Devil's Offer
1186 Words
Vierra's POV
“Get to the point, Enzo Salamanca. What do you really want from me?”
My arms are crossed, my voice sharp. I can feel it, this isn’t just about lust. There's something else brewing under his smooth smirks and velvet words, and I want it out in the open.
He takes a drag from his cigarette, exhales slowly.
“$100,000 a month,” he says flatly. “You quit El Rita. You work for me.”
My eyes widened. Shock hit first—then interest, sharp and dangerous. I masked it as best I could.
“What… kind of work?” I asked, careful, my voice steady even as my heart slammed against my ribs.
That kind of money could put my dad in the best hospital in the country. Private room. Top doctors. Actual hope. But nothing in this world came without a price. Especially not from a man like him.
Enzo tosses his cigarette into a glass tray and lights another.
“You want one?”
I nod, almost on autopilot, and take it. One inhale burns my lungs.
“I don’t believe anyone dreams of doing that kind of job,” he says finally. “You don’t enjoy it.”
Then he starts dressing—shirt buttoned, belt buckled, movements slow and precise like everything he does.
I sit in silence, waiting. Finally, he speaks—dead serious.
“The job I’m offering requires you to f**k me, carry a gun, and maybe kill a few assholes. Easy, right?”
I freeze.
His eyes are dark, unreadable. “Can you handle that?”
My stomach knots. Before I can answer, he leans back, grinning.
“Relax. I’m joking.” A beat. “Well… about the killing part.”
That sideways smirk made me want to slap him—or kiss him.
“f*****g me? That part’s non-negotiable. But you’ve already proven you’re good at that.”
He winked.
The silence stretches. He leans down to put on his shoes. Then stands, towering.
“I’ll give you two days to decide.”
Just like that, he walks to the door.
I panic. Am I a prisoner now? Is this one of those offers you can’t say no to?
He turns, notices my expression.
“You can stay here if you want,” he says, shrugging toward the guard outside. “Or ask Big Mikey to take you home.”
I stare at him, stunned. “You’re letting me leave?”
He grins at me, “I could always pull you straight from your bed. Right?” And just like that, I get goosebumps all over my f*****g body.
But as he opens the door, his voice drops cold.
“Don’t come back to El Rita if you say no. That door stays closed.”
I scramble for something to say, something to hide how rattled I feel. “Wow. What—you gonna buy the whole club now, Mr. Salamanca?”
He looks at me, blank. Unbothered. “Don’t have to.” Then, a beat.
“I was your boss. That club is mine.”
He shuts the door behind him.
As he left, my mind was too stunned to function.
I can’t go back to El Rita.
He owned it..
And if I take his offer…
He’s still my f*****g boss.
Why did he even help me? What’s in it for him?
I dressed quickly, grabbing my things. His coat lay on the floor. I hesitated, then picked it up and slipped it on. It smelled like him. Leather and smoke and something I couldn’t name. It shouldn’t have made me feel warm, but it did.
That scared me more than anything else.
I glanced around the room and spotted a photo on the nightstand. It was him—Enzo, standing in front of a wide stretch of land. A farm. No… a hacienda. And for some reason, it looked familiar.
My gut twisted. Something wasn’t adding up. Something about all this felt too close, too connected.
But I wasn’t ready to dig deeper. I was scared—too scared to get tangled in whatever web he was really spinning.
So I walked out the door.
Big Mikey followed close behind.
I spun around, heart pounding. “Don’t you dare follow me,” I snapped, voice trembling but sharp. “I can take care of myself.”
He didn’t say anything,
but I saw him pull out his phone. I could bet my last damn dollar he was calling Enzo.
Panic clawed at my throat. I walked faster, nearly running. I could still feel Mikey’s footsteps behind me. Every part of me screamed that if Enzo didn’t want me to leave, he’d stop me. Grab me. Lock me in.
But he didn’t.
Big Mikey turned around and walked back.
Only then did I let out a long, shaky breath. I was free—for now.
Enzo’s POV
Ah, if only I didn’t have business to take care of.
I wouldn’t have left her there.
I’ve got a thousand plans in my head—ways to finally make time for her.
Vierra.
There’s something about her presence that reminds me of who I used to be.
Before the blood. Before the killings.
Before I learned that innocence gets you killed.
She’s only five years younger than me. But when I was thirteen, I already had blood on my hands.
My father and Ramon taught me everything.
How to shoot. How to kill.
How to smile while doing it.
“Let them feel the pain, Enzo,” my father once said,
“Let them remember you even in hell.”
Ramon looked at me with pity in his eyes—but he never stopped it.
He couldn’t.
So he did what he could: made the kills easier. Cleaner. Quicker.
One day, I asked him,
“Ramon, what’s the point of killing someone slowly? They won’t remember it. They’re gonna die anyway.”
He smirked and replied,
“You’re right, señorito. It’s not the dead who need to fear you. It’s the ones still breathing.”
I didn’t understand it.
Not until my father showed me.
I remember the day clearly.
We stood behind the hacienda—dry soil under our boots.
Ramon beside me.
My father in front of us, holding one of his men by the hair, punching him again and again.
“How dare you talk to my f*****g wife, you stupid f**k!”
Each punch cracked louder than the last.
Then he reached for the barbed wire.
Wrapped it slowly around the man’s neck.
And pulled.
The man screamed. Blood ran down his chest, dripping into the dirt.
Gurgling. Thrashing.
Everyone around us froze.
Not a soul dared breathe.
Their legs shook. Hands trembled.
Each sound from the dying man sank into their bones like a curse.
Ramon leaned toward me and whispered,
“Now, señorito… if you were one of your father’s men—would you betray him?”
That’s when I understood.
My father didn’t kill to punish. He killed to teach. And the lesson was fear.
- Writer
