Bloody Intentions { BL SLOWBURN }

Three : Negotiations

Luka sat in the dimly lit restaurant, the soft glow from the chandeliers above doing little to cut through the heavy tension filling the room.

The place was up-scale, the kind of establishment where the finest wine glasses gleamed on every table and the delicate china plates were designed to impress the wealthiest patrons. But tonight, the restaurant was eerily empty, save for their two groups. The usual hum of quiet conversation and the clink of silverware was nowhere to be heard, especially not from the long table in the center of the room that had been arranged for them, Luka’s men divided from the Novak’s like some kind of unspoken battlefield.

On one side sat Luka, his men scattered beside him, tense and silent whilst opposite them sat Novak’s men, equally rigid, their eyes scanning the room as though expecting something to explode at any moment. At the head of the table was Izzy’s dad, his presence heavy and commanding as he faced the Novak’s boss, who seemed just as cold and unreadable.

Izzy and Matteo were seated between them and though Luka could see Matteo stealing glances at her, his eyes filled with concern and curiosity, Izzy didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she sat stiffly, staring down at her untouched plate, fingers tracing the rim of her glass without so much as a word. Luka pressed his thigh against hers for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, hoping for some kind of reaction. A glance, a nudge—anything, but she didn’t move, her eyes fixed on her untouched plate almost stubbornly. Luka looked away, frustrated.

The owner of the restaurant, a small, balding man, stood just near the door, hands trembling as he wiped his sweaty forehead with a cloth. The staff moved in stiff, rehearsed motions as they refilled barely touched glasses, but never lingered for too long, their eyes wide with fear as they tried to avoid making eye contact. The table had been set with an array of gourmet dishes; exquisitely prepared steaks, truffle pasta, delicate salads and finely aged wine, yet no one had touched a single bite. Plates remained untouched, silverware unlifted. The only sound in the room was the occasional scrape of a chair or the subtle shifting of bodies trying to make sense of the oppressive atmosphere.

Except for one person.

Opposite Luka sat Damon Salvatore, the Novak family’s most feared hitman who was supposedly as skilled as Luka—or, if one believed the Novaks, better. Luka had scoffed at such claims in the past, brushing them off as exaggerated rumours meant to fuel the fires of their groups animosity. He’d seen pictures of Damon, of course, heard the stories, but seeing him in person now Luka felt uneasy.

Damon was taller than Luka had expected, towering over him at 6'3", his powerful, broad-shouldered frame excluding an aura of intimidation. His features were sharp and angular, with a coldness that seemed to radiate from him His dark hair was short, stylish and slicked back neatly, the tattoos snaking along his arms and up his neck only adding to his menacing appearance. Damon’s exposed skin was etched with years of violence, small scars that crisscrossed his neck and cheeks, but it was his eyes that stood out the most. Piercing black-brown, his gaze flickered between the people at the table with an unsettling disinterest, like a predator surveying his prey as he cut into his rare steak with methodical precision, chewing slowly as if the surrounding tension didn’t exist at all.

Luka didn’t trust that façade for a second.

He took another sip of the wine, hating the bitter taste of it as it burned down his throat. He hated the wine, hated the restaurant, hated everything about this setup. But mostly—he hated how on edge Damon Salvatore made him feel. Luka knew better than to underestimate him, but it was hard not to be unnerved by how completely at ease Damon seemed in a room full of men ready to kill each other. He glanced away, gripping his wine glass a little tighter, trying to shake off the suffocating feeling that the Novak hitman was watching him as closely as he was watching everyone else.

The silence finally broke with the sound of Novak’s boss clearing his throat, his heavy voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a dull blade.

“So...” Novak began, his tone calm. “Our children seem to have done something they shouldn’t.” He leaned back in his chair, fixing a sharp gaze on Izzy and Matteo as though they’d been caught drawing on the walls, before glancing over at Eddie. “What do you suggest we do about it?”

“It complicates things.” Eddie agreed, words dry and measured. “But it’s not unmanageable. It could actually work out in our favour.”

Luka’s stiffened at the familiar tone in Eddie’s voice. He’d heard it before—the sound of a plan being laid out, a strategy forming. Some of Eddie’s most dangerous, violent hits had been arranged using that tone and hearing it now, it made Luka’s heart race.

“Neither of us have any more children.” Eddie continued. “But the ones we do have…” His eyes flickered toward Izzy and Matteo before locking back onto Novak. “They’re capable of producing heirs.”

“Are you suggesting…?” Novak trailed off, voice curious.

Eddie’s lips twisted into a thin smile, the calculating businessman fully on display. “I’m suggesting that this could benefit us both. Not only do we get an heir for each of our empires, but this union creates something much bigger—a merger, of sorts. De Luca and Novak, united. With that kind of legacy, we would be unstoppable.”

“You’re suggesting a full union, then? A marriage that binds the two families permanently?”

“Of course. I can’t see why this can’t work to our mutual benefit. We both secure heirs, we merge our empires and we eliminate any opposition that might come our way. Together, no one could touch us.”

Novak leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp as he considered the proposition whilst Luka’s hand tightened around his wine glass, a cold knot of dread forming in his chest. Disgust simmered just beneath his skin as the two men spoke about their children like prized horses, bred for success rather than the people they were. He had always known Eddie didn’t love Izzy the way a father should—not the way Luka thought a parent should, anyway—but he had never realized it ran this deep. The cold, businesslike way Eddie spoke of her now, as if her sole purpose was to produce an heir and secure their legacy, turned Luka’s stomach.

Izzy loved Matteo, or at least that’s what she had told him, but had she ever wanted children? She had never mentioned it before, never once brought it up in all their years of friendship. Was this the reason for her silence now? Was she trapped between the love she felt for Matteo and the grim reality of what this union would truly mean for her future?

Luka’s thoughts raced as he turned his gaze toward Matteo, trying to gauge his reaction. Matteo sat rigid, his entire body coiled with barely contained rage. His fists were balled so tightly that the knuckles had turned white, and his jaw was clenched so hard that the muscles twitched beneath his skin. The fury radiating off him was palpable, an electric tension that seemed to pulse in the air between them. He tracked Matteo's hand as it inched toward the steak knife beside his untouched plate, his fingers sliding slowly toward the glinting silver. The intent was clear—too clear, and his body tensed instinctively, ready to intervene, but before Matteo could grip the blade, something else stopped him.

Damon, seated next to Matteo with that unsettling, unshakable calm, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, as if completely indifferent to the rising storm at the table as he placed the napkin over Matteo’s hand, casually covering the knife. Matteo’s eyes snapped to Damon’s, fury flashing in them, but Damon’s steady, cold gaze didn’t waver. For a moment, Luka thought Matteo might still act, the fury rolling off him in waves, but slowly, reluctantly, Matteo’s fingers retreated from the knife, his clenched jaw still tight with restrained anger.

“Three months should be plenty of time. We’ll hold the wedding then, once everything is in place.” Eddie spoke, drawing Luka’s attention back to the two men.

He'd missed whatever they had said as he'd watched Matteo and struggled to catch up with the conversation.

Novak nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “Agreed. In the meantime, we’ll trial this… Union of ours. See if our men can get along, work together.”

Not once did they ask Izzy or Matteo if this was what they wanted. Then again, it didn’t matter. The decision had already been made as though Izzy and Matteo were bystanders in their own futures, pawns to be maneuverered into position. The quiet scrape of Demon’s knife against the plate cut through the silence and grated on Luka’s nerves, making him want to reach across the table and rip it out of his hand. He imagined, just for a moment, sinking the blade into Damon’s smug expression. Shaking off the thought, he glanced over at Izzy again, hoping for some flicker of resistance, some sign that she would fight this. But she remained as motionless as ever, her eyes still fixed on the untouched food in front of her.

She hadn’t spoken a word throughout the entire conversation and her silence was unnerving. It gnawed at Luka, making him wonder how much of this she had already resigned herself to. Had she known all along this was where things would lead? Or was she, like Matteo, quietly seething beneath the surface? His eyes returned back to Matteo. His hands had pulled away from the steak knife, but his fury hadn’t faded. He was barely holding it together, the muscles in his jaw still twitching with unspoken rage that Luka couldn’t wholly fault.

“The wedding will be grand.” Eddie declared, a triumphant smile creeping across his face as though he’d already won. “We’ll invite all the families. Make it a spectacle they won’t forget.”

Novak nodded, satisfied. “Of course. This needs to be as public as possible. A show of strength that De Luca and Novak are united.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

The deal was done. Luka wanted to scream, to break the thick, suffocating silence between them, to yell that they couldn’t just decide these things as if Izzy’s opinion didn’t matter. But what could he say? Eddie had already made his decision and Luka’s place in the gang meant he couldn’t challenge it. The room grew eerily quiet again with the deal hanging heavy in the air. The bosses exchanged nods as if they had just made the greatest business decision of their lives whilst the staff looked like they might faint from the tension.

Luka drained the rest of his wine, numb.