Page 3 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

A fluorescent lamp buzzed overhead in the storage room, casting sharp shadows across the concrete walls. The smell of blood and sweat was familiar enough not to faze me. Just another day, another idiot tied to a chair.

Paul looked like shit. Blond hair damp with sweat, blood dripping from his broken nose, and his lip split open. Dark and deep bruises bloomed on his face like flowers—only these were damn ugly ones.

The room was silent except for the faint thump of bass leaking through the walls and Paul’s ragged breathing.

“Luca.” Enzo glanced at me and flexed his hand. The smudge of red streaking across his cheekbone ruined the usual ‘respectable businessman’ look he somehow managed to pull off even in situations like this.

“I left his hands alone. Figured you might need those. You’re welcome,” he said before I even opened my mouth.

I rolled up my sleeves further on my forearms and squinted at him.

“I didn’t say thank you.”

He grinned. “Didn’t have to. I could see it in your eyes. Well, one of them. The other just looks pissed. Which is,” he turned toward Paul with a dramatic sigh, “very unfortunate for you, buddy.”

Enzo was the same as when we were kids—he still solved problems personally, still put on a show while doing it, and looked way too fucking pleased afterward. But he wasn’t wrong. I was pissed.

Paul was a regular at my gambling tables. I didn’t know him personally, but I knew his reputation—everyone did. A predator with a sick routine. He was a problem, sure, but not my problem. At least, not until now.

Because now? He’d brought that filth into my club.

“Paul, before my consigliere ruins another expensive outfit, tell me—what the fuck were you thinking?”

Enzo glanced at his shirt. He stared at it for a second.

“This is tailored,” he said, almost thoughtful. “Custom.”

His gaze lifted, flat and cold. “You owe me eight-hundred bucks, asshole.”

Enzo punched Paul in the gut with a force so brutal it made my own ribs ache just watching.

“Luca, I didn’t…” Paul coughed out a little blood, his words barely coherent. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You really thought you could spike someone’s drink in my club?”

“I-I didn’t…”

“Paul,” I cut him off. “I don’t know what’s worse, a rapist or a fucking idiot who thinks he can bullshit me.”

“I didn’t want to harm her. I-I just wanted her loosen up… She liked it.”

“Oh, yeah, I get it.” I smiled, my voice low, taunting.

“That tight little dress barely covering anything, and it’s a green light.

She looked too good, right? Like she wanted you to notice her.

Begging for it. Spike her drink, get her fucked up.

The power trip of knowing you can take her any way you want.

She wouldn’t say no, so that’s basically a yes, right? ”

He nodded, his relief almost laughable. “Exactly! Luca, I knew you’d get it.”

I glared at him. What the fuck ?

Either he was joking, or I was having a stroke. Or worse, he actually believed I might be on his side. Like I was giving him some kind of sick validation. Had reality ever even brushed past this man?

I leaned down and looked him dead in the eye. “People talk, you know. So, just out of curiosity. Have you always been this fucked up? Or did you realize at some point that you’re too much of a pussy to get a woman going?”

My words hung in the air.

The moment they registered, the color drained from his face. Paul swallowed hard. He was gaping, trying to form a response, but nothing came out.

“Let me tell you something about power. It’s not about forcing someone to give in. Real power is when they crave giving you what you want—when they’re desperate for you to take it. And you? You’ll never be man enough to feel that.”

His breathing was shallow. He looked like he might vomit or cry—but nothing could save him from what came next.

I pulled the trigger before he could even think of an answer.

Paul’s body jerked against the chair. His face twisted in pure agony, eyes wide. He howled like a wounded animal, but for anyone outside, the music thumped louder.

Blood soaked through his beige pants at his knee and drained down his leg. It hit the floor in slow, rhythmic drops, pooling beneath him in a dark, spreading stain.

I let him scream until his voice cracked. Until he started sobbing.

“Now, back to the topic.” I wiped a drop of blood off my hand and crouched in front of him. “You knew this club was mine. You knew the rules. So, who the fuck told you to pull this shit? Because you sure as hell didn’t think it up on your own.”

“Please, Luca… you don’t have to do this… I will never do it again. I promise. ”

A dark stain was growing across his crotch as his eyes searched my face for mercy he couldn’t find.

Paul was pathetic and annoying. He was right about one thing, though: I didn’t have to do this. But there’s a colossal difference between having to kill someone and wanting to kill someone. And in this case, it was undeniably the latter.

I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to feel it—that helplessness, gut-wrenching realization that no amount of begging or crying was going to save his ass.

A psychologist might say it was trauma. That I was still carrying what happened to my sister-in-law, still trying to make things right.

As if there was still something left to fix.

They’d be wrong, though. This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t about old wounds or revenge or any of that sentimental bullshit. This was business. My business. Because if he’d drugged her—if he’d fucked her—it wouldn’t just be a mess to mop up. It would’ve turned into a real problem.

By some miracle, the club manager recognized her and put her at the safest table in the room. Otherwise, no one would’ve noticed what was happening.

I leaned in closer, my voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Who the fuck told you to pick her?”

“No one. She… she is a nobody and… and an easy target.”

My patience snapped. I raised my gun and shot both his feet.

His scream filled the air.

I smirked, but the satisfaction didn’t last long.

The asshole slumped forward in the chair. Passed out cold.

“He was being difficult.” Enzo gave me a sideways glance. “Now he’s embracing silence. I think it’s a growth moment for him.”

He stepped forward and slapped Paul across the face—hard. Not a casual slap, not something to send a message. No, this one rattled teeth, the kind of hit that made your ears ring .

Paul’s head snapped up. He coughed hard, shoulders jerking, breath caught somewhere between terror and air.

Enzo grinned. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

“A nobody, huh?” I stepped closer and planted my foot on Paul’s.

His scream was instant, but I barely noticed. The red rage had taken over, clouding everything but the sick satisfaction of his pain.

“Imagine my fucking surprise…” I pressed down harder, “when one of my men reported a small inconvenience. Just a tiny one—that you were trying to spike the drink of the fucking Deputy DA… in my fucking club.”

He didn’t just pick the wrong woman—he picked the worst one.

The kind who had reporters, politicians, and federal prosecutors on speed dial.

That wasn’t an accident. That was a fucking setup.

If he’d gone through with it, I wouldn’t just have cops knocking down my door—I’d have every ambitious politician in the city using me as their campaign promise.

I twisted my foot; his scream echoed off the walls.

“Who picked her ?”

His lungs were working overtime. “I don’t know his name. He had a Russian accent!”

“Of course, it’s always a fucking Russian.” I snapped and shot Paul in the face.

He didn’t get time to react. One moment, he was sitting there, whining like a baby; the next, his head snapped back violently, and a burst of blood sprayed the wall behind him.

It soaked into the concrete like a grotesque work of modern art.

Only a gaping hole remained where his terrified, pleading face had been just moments before.

The room fell silent, with only the faint music coming from outside.

I stared at the mess I’d made.

There’s a certain finality to blowing someone’s brains out.

A kind of brutal simplicity that, if you could stomach it, was almost beautiful.

One moment they’re there, and the next, nothing.

No more games, no more bullshit. Just silence.

But it’s also messy. Chaotic. Blood, bone, brain matter splattered everywhere.

That kind of chaos never sat right with me. I preferred precision, control—cleaner ways to end things. But sometimes it was the only way to get the job done without dragging it out. This time, though, I lost my temper. I should have taken my time, made him feel every second of it.

“I’ve already called the cleanup crew.” Enzo pushed off from the wall and strolled over. “Figured you might go for the dramatic finish.”

“Such a shame having a husband like this.” I pointed at Paul’s limp, still-twitching body with my gun.

A man like him had no right to the family he left behind.

Had he saved the worst of himself for the shadows, or had it seeped into his home, tainting the life he shared with his wife?

A part of me wanted to believe he’d treated her differently—though I knew better.

Monsters rarely kept their masks on once they felt safe enough to show their true faces.

“Yeah, real Prince Charming. I’m sure he had a killer personality.” The sarcasm in Enzo’s voice was expected, almost comforting in its predictability. But it didn’t ease the growing knot in my stomach.

“Visit his wife and give her enough money to cover her son’s education.”

There it was—my attempt to do something good in a world that had little room for it.

His eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity.

I could see the question forming in his mind—why would I care about a man I had just brutally executed?

The truth was, I didn’t care about Paul. But his wife… she was different .

“His wife works at one of our factories. She’s a genuinely nice lady and a hard worker. I remember she sent me biscotti di mandorla once—none of that dry, overbaked American crap. They were just like the ones in Sicily.”

I paused, savoring the memory of the sweet taste.

In a life filled with violence and betrayal, these small things mattered.

She knew who I was, of course—in our world, everyone did.

But knowing and truly understanding are two very different things.

She might’ve heard the whispers, the rumors that swirled around my name like a storm, but she probably had no idea of the cruelty I was capable of.

That gesture, though—a small package of biscotti made without ulterior motive—meant something to me.

Now, in this twisted way, I wanted to repay that gesture.

Not out of guilt—guilt was a luxury I couldn’t afford and had long since buried beneath layers of calculated coldness.

This was about balance, about keeping the scales from tipping too far.

And if I was honest, it was about proving I wasn’t my father.

He never cared who got caught in the crossfire, never gave a second thought to the innocent lives wrecked along the way.

As long as he got what he wanted, the damage didn’t matter.

But I couldn’t be that kind of man. I had to keep myself from falling into that same darkness, to hold on to whatever shred of decency I had left.

“Don’t let her know it’s from me,” I told him firmly.

The last thing I needed was someone connecting the dots between her husband’s death and my generosity.

“Say this piece of shit got lucky, came across some extra cash, or sold a kidney. I don’t care. Get creative. I don’t want anyone knowing about it.” I paused. “What do we know about the attorney?”

“Isabelle Ellis, blond hair, long legs… and I’d put money on a cup C, but don’t quote me on that.”

“What the fuck? That’s where your brain went? ”

He shrugged, completely unbothered.

“What? Just giving you the full picture. Anyway, she’s working on the Parker case. Chief Deputy District Attorney. Impressive conviction rate. The best in the city, actually.”

His tone made her sound like nothing more than a pretty face standing in our way, just another obstacle to bulldoze through.

It sounded fine, yet something about her felt off.

She looked familiar—familiar in a way that made my skin itch.

But it wasn’t just that. She argued with me and had the nerve to call me a jerk, straight to my face, with no fear.

That boldness? That was new. Most people trembled in my presence, but not her.

And if I was being honest, it was fucking thrilling.

It’s not every day someone stands toe-to-toe with me like that.

“Send over her background check. ASAP.”

Enzo gave a sharp nod and turned toward the door.

“You’ll get it tonight,” he said over his shoulder.

I stared down at Paul’s lifeless body.

The room stank of blood and death. I knew that smell, no matter how much I wished I didn’t. It clung to everything, heavy and stale, but I didn’t react.

I let out a breath and followed Enzo out, already shoving the scene into the back of my mind with the rest.

The door shut behind me with a dull thud, locking the mess inside. By the time the cleanup crew was done, no one would know what went down in there. Just another ghost added to my collection.