Crimson Loyalty

5. Blood and Smoke

Nico didn't flinch when the bullet-ridden car rolled into his lot on cinderblock rims, windshield spiderwebbed, two bodies slumped in the backseat.

"What the f**k is this?" Luca barked as they stepped into the sun, heat thick with exhaust and tension.

"Gift from Vega," Nico muttered, jaw clenched. "He's getting sloppy."

The two dead men were Nico's. Not high-ranking, but loyal. Shot execution-style and dumped in broad daylight. The message wasn't subtle-it never was with Dario. But this? This was reckless.

"He's provoking you," Luca said.

"No." Nico knelt, brushing a gloved hand along the doorframe, spotting the faint burn of accelerant. "He's trying to bait me."

"And what, you're not gonna bite?"

Nico stood, sliding off the glove. His suit was immaculate, as always. Cold. Calculated. But his blood was boiling.

"I bite when it hurts more."

Later, back at his private hideout on the edge of the river docks, Nico stood alone in the warehouse office, watching the gray sky curl over the city like smoke. The chessboard in his mind never stopped moving-Vega was making chaos to cover something else.

And yet... amid all the blood and retaliation, it wasn't the violence gnawing at him.

It was her.

Sienna.

He should've forgotten her by now. Should've purged her from his mind like any other weakness.

But that moment last night-her eyes on his, her lips around his glass of whiskey-played on a loop he couldn't kill.

He still remembered the sound of her laugh once, faint and accidental, at a gala months ago. The way she'd caught herself and looked over her shoulder like she wasn't allowed to enjoy anything too loudly.

A woman in a cage lined with gold.

His phone buzzed. This time, it wasn't a burner number.

Text from Gabriel (his inside man): Art gallery. Tonight. Vega's wife will be there. Alone.

He stared at the screen, something sharp flickering behind his eyes.

She was being sent out again.

As bait.

Or maybe... she was sending a message of her own.

---

The art gallery was quiet, dimly lit, walls bathed in soft amber light that painted everything in sensual shadows. Nico moved through the space like a ghost in a tailored suit, ignoring the champagne offered at the door.

Then he saw her.

Sienna stood in front of a painting-deep reds, dark smears of violence disguised as beauty. Her hair was pinned up, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck, but her back was straight. Composed. Unshaken.

Like she knew he was watching.

He approached slowly.

"Red suits you," he said from behind her.

She didn't startle. She didn't even turn.

"I was wondering how long you'd make me wait."

A heartbeat.

Then she turned-slowly, fully-until they were facing each other again.

Face to face.

Want against want.

Danger against danger.

And neither of them moved.