Luca stepped out of the dark room, wiping his bloody hands on a towel. The screams had finally become silence behind the walls. He handed the towel to his lieutenant without looking at him. "Dump him," he said calmly. "And send a message to his partner."
"No one goes back on a deal with the devil," he added.
Then he walked up the stairs, past the false wall, shedding blood and brutality with every step, re-entering the world where music played, glasses clinked, and people laughed.
"Send a message to Scalese. His debt is due. Unless he wants his head hanging on a pike in front of that damned pizza parlour, he will offer payment." Luca said it casually.
"You haven't exactly told him what his payment should be."
Luca stopped walking. Slowly, he turned his head, one brow lifting. "Someone come up with something," he snapped, irritation flashing. "I can't think of everything!" The audacity of it—running an empire of blood and money and still being expected to micromanage the small stuff—honestly offended him. The devil had limits.
He waved the issue away with a flick of his hand and continued walking. By the time he reached his office and opened the door.
"Someone ordered entertainment?" The voice was sultry, slow, perfectly pitched. Luca's mouth went dry instantly. The woman was seated on his desk, legs crossed, body draped in a dangerously minimal number. Luca licked his lips before he could stop himself, his irritation evaporating.
He turned his head slightly. "Marco," he said, not taking his eyes off her. "Have them bring my lunch straight in. You go deal with that stuff."
"Of course, Luca." The door shut quietly behind him, sealing the room away from the rest of the world.
Luca turned back to the woman, unbuckling his pants. "Where in the world did Dante find you, you magnificent thing?" he smirked, stepping closer. Dante had a talent for sourcing things, but this? This was inspired.
Luca reached out, gripping her hips, roughly turning her to face the desk.
"Heaven." The lady replied sultrily. She tilted her head just enough to be provocative, lashes low, mouth soft and inviting.
"Ooooh… that's creative," he drawled. "Seeing as I am never going there." He flipped her back once more to face him, fingers digging into her breasts with a rough squeeze that drew a sharp gasp before he shoved her down to her knees.
*****
Veronica bounced lightly as she stepped into Commissioned's administrative section, pizza box warm in her hands and the faint smell of garlic and cheese trailing behind her. It was her first time delivering here.
Normally, she only handled deliveries close to the Scalese pizza parlour. That was her comfort zone. Her streets. Her people. Plus, she had other things to do—like manage a pizza shop her father was running straight into the ground with his stubbornness and terrible accounting skills. If loving your family was a full-time job, Veronica was doing overtime without pay.
But today, Valentina was helping at the shop, the delivery drivers were all on other routes. Veronica had climbed onto one of the available bikes and decided to make a few deliveries herself. Just a few. In and out. No big deal.
Except Commissioned was very much a big deal.
She adjusted her grip on the box and headed toward the reception desk. "Delivery," she said brightly.
The secretary looked up slowly. "For who?"
Veronica glanced down at the details taped to the box, brow furrowing slightly. "Marco."
"He is not in. Hang on." The secretary lifted the phone. Veronica shifted the pizza box in her hands, the warmth seeping into her palms.
"There is pizza delivery for Marco?" the secretary said into the phone. She listened, lips thinning slightly. "Alright… I'll send her in then." Another pause. "You sure this is cleared?"
Veronica's brows knitted. Cleared? It was a fucking pizza, not a nuclear launch code.
"…Okay." The secretary hung up and finally looked at her again, eyes flat. "Take the back entrance."
Vee frowned instantly. The back? What the hell was wrong with the front? The front had light. People. Exit signs. "Are you sure you can't just take these off my hands and I'll be gone?" she asked, hopeful. In and out. Five minutes.
"No one touches the boss's food," the secretary replied coolly.
"I'm touching it," Vee shot back, glancing down at the box.
"And if something is wrong with it," the secretary continued, unfazed, "you get to die alone." She jabbed a perfectly manicured finger toward a dim corridor marked Authorised Personnel Only.
Vee stared at her. "Hang on. When you say something is wrong with it… do you mean like the wrong crust, or—"
The secretary lifted an irritated brow and turned away, already done with her existence.
"Why would I die alone over a box of pizza?" Vee muttered, rolling her eyes. She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and headed toward the back. The hallway swallowed her whole.
She turned a corner and nearly walked straight into a wall of muscle.