The safehouse smelled faintly of smoke and wet leather.
Elijah sat on the edge of the bed, still replaying the warehouse explosion in his mind. The flash, the echoing boom—it was proof they could hurt him. The man who had once seemed untouchable now had cracks in his armor.
But cracks weren't enough. They needed to break him completely.
---
Luca was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Elijah like he was studying a puzzle only he could solve.
"The next step is the nightclub," Luca said. "It's where he meets clients—politicians, corporate snakes, the kind of people who'll stab you with a smile."
Elijah glanced up. "And how do we get in without getting shot on sight?"
Luca's mouth curved in a way Elijah didn't trust. "We go in as people he wouldn't suspect… two drunk lovers looking for a good time."
Elijah's heart skipped, though he kept his voice dry. "That's your master plan?"
"It's the only way they'll let us close without questions," Luca replied. "The place runs on appearances. If we look like we belong, we will."
---
An hour later, Elijah was in front of the cracked bathroom mirror, buttoning up a dark shirt Luca had tossed him. It fit tighter than he liked, the fabric clinging to his shoulders and chest.
Behind him, Luca adjusted his own cuffs, the black of his shirt making his eyes seem sharper, more dangerous. He didn't look like a man sneaking into enemy territory—he looked like he owned the place.
"You clean up well," Luca said casually, stepping close enough that Elijah could smell his cologne—sharp, with a hint of something smoky.
Elijah scoffed, though his ears burned. "Focus on the job."
"I am." Luca's eyes met his in the mirror. "You're part of it."
---
The nightclub pulsed with bass the moment they stepped inside. Lights flickered red and gold, painting the crowd in heat and shadows.
Luca's arm slipped around Elijah's waist—not hesitating, not asking—just there, like it belonged. Elijah stiffened, but Luca leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
"Relax," Luca murmured. "They're watching."
Elijah forced himself to melt into the touch, tilting his head slightly toward Luca's. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Maybe," Luca said with a ghost of a smirk, "but so are you."
---
They made their way to the bar, Luca's hand never leaving Elijah's hip. Every movement was deliberate—leaning closer than necessary to speak, brushing fingers over Elijah's back like a silent claim.
It was all for the act.
Elijah told himself that over and over.
From his peripheral vision, he saw a man in a tailored suit watching them from the VIP balcony. The man's smile was cold, calculating.
"That's him," Luca said under his breath. "Don't look directly. Just laugh like I said something filthy."
Elijah shot him a glare—but when Luca whispered something that was definitely filthy in his ear, his startled laugh came naturally.
---
Minutes later, one of the club's bouncers approached them.
"VIP's invited you upstairs," the man said.
Luca and Elijah exchanged a glance—half victory, half warning.
They followed, stepping into a world of polished glass tables, expensive whiskey, and the scent of danger. The man from the balcony greeted them with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"New faces," he said smoothly. "You two are…?"
Luca tightened his arm around Elijah, answering without missing a beat.
"Just a couple looking for excitement."
Elijah felt the weight of the man's gaze sweep over them, assessing. The game had begun.