Page 7 of Devour (Blood and Roses #1)

Luca

“ I f you were going to run with my money…” I say, slowly shrugging off my suit jacket and draping it neatly over the back of the chair, “…you shouldn’t have gotten caught.”

I unfasten the button on my sleeve and roll it up my forearms with deliberate calm. “Much less alive.”

My fist connects with his jaw. The crack of bone echoes through the room as he flies backward, landing hard against the floor.

A rush floods my veins. That familiar high. I flex my fingers, my knuckles already stinging and smeared with his blood, I hadn’t meant to hit him that hard, I tell myself it was just me relieving pent-up tension…but who the fuck am I kidding seeing Aria today fucking mess with my head.

“Get the fuck up,” I bark.

Axel, one of my deadliest men—broad-shouldered, cold-blooded, with an eye patch over his left eye, steps closer and crouches beside the bastard. He checks his pulse.

“He’s out cold.”

“Fuck.” The word drips from my mouth like venom. “I wanted to draw out the torture,” I say, pulling a handkerchief from my jacket pocket, I wipe his blood from my knuckles like I couldn’t care less.

“But the bastard’s a fucking pussy, fainted after one hit.” Dominic steps closer, eyes scanning the limp body.

“You seem tense.”

I arch a brow. “You offering to help me work it out?”

He cracks a grin.

“You want to spar?”

We moved to the training room. I strip off my shirt, leaving only suit pants clinging to my wait.

My hands move with practiced ease, wrapping the protective straps around my knuckles as I step through the ropes. Dominic’s already in the ring—shirtless, pacing like a wolf.

The usual cocky grin is gone. Whatever this is, it’s not just a friendly spar. Something’s off.

The crew starts to gather around, forming a loose circle. Nobody wants to miss the show, not when it’s the boss and his right hand squaring off.

“Spill,” I mutter, eyes narrowing as I flex my fingers. Dominic bends his neck to one side and then the other, before moving into an attacking position and shrugging his shoulders.

“I don’t have good news.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“So, I’ll make it up to you first.”

Then he lunges. The first punch flies. I dodge with ease, but I don’t miss the intent behind it—controlled fury.

I know better than to underestimate him. I’ve seen that look on his face before, right before he puts a bullet in someone’s skull.

He throws a combo. One lands low, solid—right in my gut. I absorb the hit with a grunt, stepping into the blow instead of backing away. Pain sharpens my focus.

I press forward, forcing him to fall back, our movements a brutal dance of give and take. He comes when I back off. I close in when he tries to breathe.

Neither of us says a word, not at first. The air between us is thick, the tension palpable.

I hear the crew’s low cheers echo off the walls, a pack of wolves watching their alphas circle. I block the next jab, my voice low and flat.

“I’m not feeling particularly patient today, Dominic.”

A grin cuts across his face—sharp and knowing.

“You never are, Don.”

“Then why the fuck are you so eager to test the patience you know I don’t have?”

I step forward, knowing full well I’m leaving myself wide open. He takes the shot, right to the ribs—sharp, fast but it doesn’t slow me down. Pain only feeds the fire.

I keep pushing until his back hits the ropes, his breath coming in shallow pants. We’re both slick with sweat, adrenaline riding us like a second skin. His arms stay high, guarding his face.

My fist slams into his ribs. One. His stomach. Two. And then square to his chest. Three. Each hit is deliberate. Controlled. A reminder of who’s in charge.

That cocky little smirk he wears shifts no longer amused, no longer tame. It slips into something feral, something unhinged.

With a savage twist of movement, he yanks us off the ropes and drives us both to the floor. Controlled chaos. Just the way we like it.

The next few minutes blur into flesh and fist until he finally decides to open his damn mouth.

“Our men crossed into Romano’s territory to retrieve the runaway debtor without permission,” Dominic says, stepping back and lowering his arms.

I freeze mid-swing. Fist clenched, breath heaving. His willingness to speak signals the end of the fight. But the tension? That doesn’t go anywhere. “Whose fucking orders?” I snarl, eyes narrowing into slits.

“Unofficial,” he answers, voices low. Measured. “Youngblood. Too eager. Trying to prove something, I guess. Words on the street are, "the Italian boss wants their heads.”

“Fuck.”

I pace back, running a hand down my face. The last thing I need right now is a territory war. Not with the Italian. Not over a goddamn idiot who thought he could skip town on what he owed.

“What about the men?”

“In hiding,” he replies. “Smart enough to lay low. Dumb enough to get us into this shit in the first place.”

I nod slowly, grinding my jaw.

“Good. We don’t sacrifice our own, no matter how fucking stupid they might be,” I say, stepping away from the center of the mat and grabbing the towel draped over the ropes. I wipe the sweat from my face and shoulders, then rake my fingers through the damp strands of hair clinging to my forehead.

My mind loops, caught in the weight of the consequences. This could spiral fast; territory feuds aren’t cleaned up with apologies and a bottle of scotch.

Blood spills. Lines get redrawn. “Send words to Romano. Let him know we meant no harm crossing into his territory, it wasn’t sanctioned, and it won’t happen again.”

I lean on the ropes, letting my gaze sweep across the space. The crew is already dispersing, each man returning to his routine.

At least twenty bodies move through the underground gym, training with a silent focus. The basement doubles as one of our hideouts, the pounding bass from the club above drowning out the noise down here.

To an outsider, it could pass for an underground boxing ring if it weren’t for the painting on the walls.

The skull, the rose, and the dagger are painted on the walls the same way they’re tattooed on each circulating the basement including mine

“And keep me updated the second we get a response from them.”

“It’ll be done, boss,” Dominic answers without hesitation.

“Good.” I nod, pushing between the ropes and stepping down from the mat.

“Don.”

I stop in my tracks and look back when the familiar voice calls out to me. Alessio. My cousin. He is older. Nerd of the family.

He gets all the intel that we need. I frown because I didn't expect to see him here. He always has his head stuck in a computer somewhere, this can’t be good, “I step up to him, jaw tightening. “Alessio.”

He adjusts his glasses, anxious energy flickering behind his eyes.

“One of my sources says the FBI started a new operation,” Alessio says, voice low.

“They’re planting moles in every major organization. Ours included.”

My silence is its weight. As if I didn’t already have enough shit piling up, now I’ve got to worry about a fucking rat crawling through my walls. I exhale slowly, my jaw clenched.

“Did your source say if they’ve made contact with anyone in our crew yet?”

“Not confirmed. But they’re close. Real close.”

Perfect. A turf war with the Italian on one end, and the Feds sniffing around on the other. This isn’t pressure. This is a fucking noose tightening.

“Start digging,” I say, voice clipped. “I want names, timelines, wire transfers, dead drops, anything that doesn’t add up.” Alessio nods.

“Already on it.”