Bloody Intentions { BL SLOWBURN }

Eleven : Absurd

That evening, Luka left Izzy’s mansion by her side, the quiet click of their footsteps the only sound breaking the evening air as they walked toward the sleek black Cadillac Escalade waiting at the curb. The car gleamed under the dim lights, a vehicle built for the elite with tinted windows and built in TV’s behind the headrests. Luka didn’t consider himself a car guy, but he could appreciate a nice ride when he saw one and let out a low whistle as they approached.

“Don’t.” Izzy hissed lowly. “Matteo insisted we take his car and I’m trying to be sulky about it.”

Luka smiled, his friend’s pettiness endearing. He’d missed it.

The driver stood at attention, holding the door open as they approached. Inside, Luka could see Matteo already seated in the middle, his posture rigid, gaze distant and his silence palpable. Izzy climbed in first, sliding gracefully into the seat beside her husband with an ease that didn’t quite match the underlying tension between them. Which left the backseat for Luka—and Damon. He stepped forward, his movements stiff as he seated himself, the door slamming shut behind him with finality.

The car’s leather seats felt colder than they should, or maybe it was the hyper-awareness of the man seated just inches from him, his presence a tangible weight of its own. Against his better wishes, Luka found himself peeking at Demon from the corner of his eye, taking in the dark tux, slicked back hair and expressionless face. Every nerve in his body seemed to scream at him to notice Damon’s every movement, at the quiet, almost indifferent way he held himself, as if he weren’t affected by anything. Luka wasn’t fooled.

As the car set off, Izzy turned and glanced back with a smile.

“You look nice, Damon.” She remarked casually, though her gaze flickered to Luka.

Damon didn’t respond—didn’t even look at her. His dark eyes remained focused on some distant point outside the window, face an unreadable mask.

“Don’t antagonise him.” Matteo suddenly spoke, his voice low but cutting through the thick silence in the car.

Izzy’s playful smile faded, her expression hardening as she turned to face her husband. “I was making small talk.”

“Well, don’t.”

Luka stiffened as he saw Izzy’s face twist into a scowl. She crossed her arms, her posture rigid.

“Since when do you get to decide who I can talk to?”

“I’m not in the mood for your games tonight.” Matteo muttered, his gaze still focused forward, jaw clenched tightly.

“Games?” Izzy scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Matteo’s eyes narrowed as he finally turning to look at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think I don't know what you’ve been up to?” Her sneer deepened. “Let me guess—it was just a business meeting.”

“It was just a business meeting.”

“Spare me your lies.”

“Oh, you’d know all about lying, wouldn’t you?” Matteo snapped, his voice lowering dangerously.

Luka jerked forward instinctively but a hand shot out and grasped his wrist, holding him in place. Damon. Luka froze, his breath catching in his throat. Without saying a word Damon held Luka’s wrist, his grip like iron but not painful and for a moment, their eyes met. Damon’s expression remained unreadable, but the message was clear—stay out of it. Luka shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were sitting.

The space felt suffocating, and though the car was spacious, it felt as though there wasn’t nearly enough of it between him and Damon. He could feel the warmth of Damon’s skin against his own, a silent pressure as fingers dug into flesh. It unnerved him in ways he couldn’t put into words. He wanted to snatch his wrist back, throw a punch, do something to break the tension crackling between them. But he didn’t. Damon’s grip, though firm, wasn’t aggressive—it was a warning that left Luka torn between fury and something else he didn’t want to name.

And just as suddenly as it was there, the touch was gone. Luka flexed his fingers as he snatched his arm back, eyes narrowing down at the spot. Damon had already turned his attention back to the window, his expression as unreadable as ever, seemingly unaware—or uncaring—of the effect he had on Luka. Izzy and Matteo’s argument raged on in the background, but all Luka could focus on was the weight of that phantom touch. His skin still tingled where Damon’s fingers had been as though they had left behind a brand and no matter how much he tried to push it away, that brief connection lingered, unsettling and confusing him in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.

The car felt too small, the air too thick and Luka’s frustration mounted. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to tune back into Izzy and Matteo’s heated exchange as a distraction just as Matteo’s voice seemed to reach a dangerous level.

“—out of your God damn mind?”

“Oh, come on, you think I wouldn’t find out?” Her bitter scoff rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You should be more careful when you’re whoring around if you don’t want it splashed across every tabloid in the city!”

Luka’s swallowed down the rage building within his chest. He hadn’t realized it had gotten this bad. He thought maybe Matteo had been distant, indifferent, but this? Cheating? He stole a glance at Matteo, expecting some sign of regret, some flicker of an apology. But instead, Matteo looked like a wall of stone, unmoved.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He muttered.

“I’ve been covering for you, Matteo. Do you know how humiliating that is? Having to clean up after you like a damn publicist while you run around f*****g every skirt that comes your way.”

“Why bother? We both know this marriage is a sham. I don’t owe you anything after everything our families put me through.”

“Put you through?” Izzy let out a cold laugh. “So that makes what you’re doing okay, does it?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“Then at least answer this—does all the time we had before mean nothing?”

“I’m not even sure any of that was real.”

Luka almost flinched at the words and the look on Izzy’s face showed they landed about as effectively as a slap would.

“You’re rewriting our history now?” Her voice cracked.

Matteo turned away, staring out the window. “Maybe I’m just finally seeing it all for what it really was.”

She blinked rapidly and Luka felt his heart twist painfully at the look of raw anguish on her face before she masked it, her head turning away sharply.

“And that gives you the right to make me look a fool, does it?”

Matteo didn’t even look at her. “I don’t know what you want from me, Izzy. Pretending we’re a happy couple isn’t going to make it a fact, so why bother?”

“You’re right.” She agreed quietly. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you keep dragging me through the mud.”

The silence that followed was stifling. Staring at the back of Matteo’s head, Luka wished his glare could cause pain, the need to slap some sense into the crime Lord almost overwhelming. Matteo’s indifference, his dismissive, cruel words —Izzy didn’t deserve any of it. He clenched his fists, every muscle in his body coiled tight. He wanted to drag her out of there, pull her away from this wreckage of a marriage before it did any more damage.

Luka shifted forward again, fully intending to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Izzy needed someone, anyone, to ground her and Luka couldn’t stand by and do nothing. But before he could even move, Damon’s hand shot out once more, faster than he anticipated, snatching his wrist back with a grip that was hard and unyielding.

The hold was again firm, but this time it felt different—less like a warning and more like something else entirely. Luka blinked in confusion, his mind racing. Why would Damon stop him now? There was no reason for it. Comforting Izzy wasn’t a threat and was hardly crossing some unspoken line. Why would he care if Luka so much as touched her shoulder? Matteo clearly didn’t give a damn about his wife, so what the hell did Damon? Or was that it? The absurdity of it all was enough to make Luka chuckle, low and humourless.

Did Damon actually believe in something as old-fashioned as respecting the sanctity of marriage? Luka wanted to scoff.

How… Quaint.

“Let me go, or I'll break your f*****g nose.”

His tone was deadly quiet, his eyes flashing with challenge. Damon's eyes glinted, like a wolf watching its prey.

“Try to interfere again and I’ll snap your wrist.” Damon said, his voice so low it barely registered above a whisper.

The two men stared each other down and Luka bared his teeth in a semblance of a grin, his heart pounding in his chest—not from fear, but from the heady rush of adrenaline that always seemed to follow whenever Damon was involved, daring him to make good on his promise. Neither man was willing to back down and Luka felt the quiet menace radiating off Damon in waves, making the tension between them feel like a live wire waiting to snap. His lips curled into a tight grin, teeth bared in a dangerous challenge. He leaned in just a fraction, feeling the heat of Damon’s breath against his forehead, the almost imperceptible tightening of the space between them.

“Go ahead.” He whispered, voice dripping with dark amusement. “Just try it.”

Damon’s eyes flickered and for a split second, Luka caught a glimpse of something almost feral, as though Damon was truly considering it. His pulse thrummed in his ears with a heady mix of excitement and recklessness at the thought. This wasn’t the first time they’d butted heads, but it was the first time things felt this close to exploding. Damon’s grip on Luka’s wrist was bruising and in the taut silence between them, the air seemed to crackle with the possibility of violence. Luka’s heart raced, not out of fear, but from the intoxicating thrill of being on the verge of something neither of them could quite control.

Finally, Damon’s lips curled into the faintest smirk that made Luka’s skin prickle. His own grin widened in response.

“Maybe another time.” Damon said, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur as he released his wrist.

Luka flexed his hand, the skin still tingling where Damon’s had been, the redness where he’d been held promising to bruise. He resisted the urge to rub at it, not wanting to give Damon the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin—literally and figuratively. There was definitely something between them, something wild and raw and visceral, but Luka didn’t have the intention of finding out what it all meant.

Simply acknowledging it was there would have to be enough.