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Luca Moretti's heart hammered against his chest as the car sped through the deserted streets, the city lights flickering past in a blur of gold and shadow. His fingers clenched the steering wheel with an almost desperate grip, the leather warm beneath his palms. He was alive with the rush of it all—the chaos, the thrill, the sweet, intoxicating smell of power.
In the passenger seat, Aleksandr Volkov remained unmoving, his body a dead weight, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he wasn't truly gone. Luca had done it. He had actually done it. The notorious Bratva don—the Ice King—was in his car, unconscious and at his mercy.
The thrill still curled in Luca's gut, but it was quickly replaced by a knot of unease. This wasn't supposed to be easy. It wasn't supposed to work. But it had. And now, he had to make sure it stayed that way.
He reached over to the passenger seat, eyes scanning Aleksandr's still form as he fumbled with the syringe he had prepared earlier. The Bratva leader hadn't been easy to take down, not by any means. But Luca had learned how to think two steps ahead. The right amount of sleep, the perfect angle of the needle—he had been careful.
Careful, yes. But now, Luca needed something more. He needed control.
With a steady hand, Luca took the syringe and carefully inserted it into Aleksandr's arm, pressing the plunger slowly. The cool liquid slid under the skin, and Luca felt a small, savage satisfaction. He had always been underestimated. But not tonight. Tonight, he would show them all.
Aleksandr, even unconscious, exuded an aura of danger that Luca couldn't ignore. The Bratva don was a force of nature—cold, calculating, feared by everyone in the famiglia—and Luca was still trying to grasp that this man, this figure of power, was in his control. Even if it was temporary.
Luca sat back, watching him, eyes never leaving the other man. The drug should keep Aleksandr out for a while. Long enough for Luca to get to where he needed to go, long enough to put his plan into motion.
The sound of the tires rolling over the asphalt was the only noise filling the car. A steady rhythm. A reminder that time was passing. But it was Luca who made the time feel heavy. He could feel his heart rate slow, but his mind never stopped. His thoughts bounced between excitement and fear—familiar companions, ones he knew too well.
Luca glanced over at Aleksandr again. The man's face remained calm, as if nothing had happened. As if he weren't lying there, in Luca's car, at Luca's mercy.
"Wake up, Volkov," Luca muttered to himself, his voice low and rough. "Wake up and see just how far you've fallen."
A faint sound, a soft exhale, made Luca's eyes snap to the passenger seat. The air between them seemed to shift. Aleksandr stirred slightly—just a twitch, just enough to make Luca's pulse spike again.
Luca's grip tightened on the wheel as he forced himself to focus. Not yet. He wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
But Aleksandr, still unconscious, wasn't the only one in the car with thoughts racing.
Luca hadn't planned on this. He hadn't planned on feeling this strange mix of excitement and dread. He had thought it would be just another job—just another opportunity to prove himself to his father, to his famiglia, to everyone who had written him off. But now, with the Bratva don in the passenger seat, it felt different. It felt personal.
Luca wasn't some naïve kid anymore. He had learned how to play the game, how to manipulate the cards, even when it seemed impossible. But with Aleksandr, the rules were different. Aleksandr was a man of power—the man of power. The kind of man who didn't get kidnapped, who didn't fall to others. Yet here he was.
A soft groan from the passenger seat. Luca's pulse leapt again.
This was the part where he had to keep control. If he showed any weakness, any hesitation, Aleksandr would take it. The Bratva don was a predator. Luca had to be the one in control.
But what if Aleksandr woke up? What if he saw through Luca's bravado, through his shaky hands and the frantic energy he could barely contain? Would he laugh? Mock him?
Luca bit his lip, the taste of copper from where his teeth had pressed too hard into his lips.
He couldn't afford to think about that. Not now. Not when everything was so close to falling apart.
He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. One more glance at Aleksandr. Then he turned his attention back to the road, pushing the thoughts away. He didn't need them. Not now.
Luca's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he drove on through the night, the mist thickening around them. It would be another hour before they reached their destination.
And by then, Aleksandr would wake up. But not in control. No. This time, the famiglia would have to answer to him.