Chapter 3:
Aiden's POV
The night wrapped around Blackridge like a velvet cloak, hiding the things that slithered beneath. In this city, shadows had teeth, and I had spent years learning how to move among them—unseen, unheard, until it was too late.
I was standing in the heart of the Moretti estate, waiting for a woman who had the power to shape my fate, Elena Moretti.
Her name carried weight, but I wasn't a man easily crushed.
Footsteps echoed from the grand hallway. A few seconds later, she appeared, stepping into the dimly lit study. She was dressed in black, her silk blouse tucked into tailored slacks, a contrast to the lethal energy humming beneath her composed exterior.
Her gaze flicked over me like a blade against skin. "You came." "Didn't realize I had a choice," I said.
"You always have a choice, Aiden. The question is whether you're willing to live with the consequences."
She walked to a wooden cabinet, pouring herself a drink. I watched the way her fingers wrapped around the crystal glass, steady, calculated.
"Drink?" she asked. "No," I said. She smirked. "Smart."
Setting her glass down, she turned back to me. "I have a job for you." "Of course you do."
Her brow arched. "Something amusing about that?" "Not at all," I said, stepping closer. "Just wondering how deep into your world you plan to drag me."
She tilted her head. "You stepped into this world willingly. I'm just offering you a direction." I leaned against the desk. "And what direction would that be?"
She reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a folder, sliding it toward me. "Nikolai Petrov. Does the name sound familiar?"
I picked up the file and flipped it open. The face staring back at me was one I recognized.
Petrov was a brutal enforcer, a man who didn't scare easily. He had built his reputation on violence, clawing his way up the ranks with sheer force and unpredictability.
"You want him dead?" I asked.
"Not yet," Elena said smoothly. "I want him humbled. I want him to know that Blackridge belongs to the Morettis, and he is trespassing."
I closed the file. "And if he refuses to back down?" "Then," she said, "you make sure he doesn't get the chance to refuse again."
I didn't need to be told twice.
By midnight, I was already closing in on Petrov. He operated out of an underground club in the west end, the kind of place where men gambled their fortunes and lives in the same breath.
I didn't walk through the front doors.
Instead, I found a back entrance—less guarded, but not unprotected.
A man stood by the door, smoking a cigarette, oblivious to the fact that his night was about to go to hell.
I moved fast, gripping his wrist before he could reach for his gun. A sharp twist, a muffled grunt, and the weapon clattered to the ground.
One punch to the ribs, another to the jaw, and he crumpled. I stepped over his unconscious body and pushed the door open.
Inside, the club pulsed with low music and hushed voices.
Petrov was at the far end of the room, laughing too loudly, his presence suffocating the space around him. A woman perched on his lap, bored and detached, while his men surrounded him like a human shield.
I had seen men like him before. Men who thought power came from how many bodies they stacked. Petrov hadn't met me yet.
I wove through the room, moving like a shadow, my eyes locked on my target, then, his gaze flicked up, recognition sets in.
His smile didn't falter, but I saw the flicker of something beneath it—uncertainty.
"Well, well," Petrov drawled, his accent thick. "You're new." I reached for a chair and sat across from him. "You could say that."
His fingers tapped against the wooden table. "You are here for business or pleasure?"
"Business," I said. "Elena Moretti sends her regards." Silence filled the room, his men tensed, their hands shifting toward concealed weapons. In all of this, I didn't move, didn't blink. Petrov chuckled, low and amused. "Moretti sends a boy to do her work?"
I smiled. Then, before he could react, I grabbed his drink and poured it over his lap. The room went deadly still. Petrov's amusement vanished.
"You have five seconds," I murmured, "to decide whether you're walking out of here alive." Petrov's jaw clenched, his pride warred with his survival instinct. Then, slowly, he leaned back, his lips curling.
"You're bold," he said. I stood. "I'm efficient."
A flick of my wrist, and I pulled out a small blade, barely visible in the dim light. I dragged it across the table, leaving a thin, deep groove in the wood. "That's what happens to men who think they can carve out a piece of Moretti's empire," I said.
Petrov exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing, then, he nodded once. "Message received." I turned and walked away.
Never run. Never show weakness.
Only when I was outside did I allow myself a slow breath. I had just picked a fight with one of the most dangerous men in Blackridge, and I had won.
Back at the Moretti estate, Elena was waiting.
She sat in her study, the scent of whiskey and burnt wood lingering in the air. Her gaze flicked to me as I entered. "Petrov?" she asked. I reached into my pocket, pulling out a damp, expensive handkerchief—the same one Petrov had used to wipe his lap before I left. I tossed it onto her desk.
Her lips parted slightly. Then, something unexpected happened: She smiled.
Not the calculated smirk I had come to expect. A real, fleeting smile. "You did well," she said. I ignored the strange feeling in my chest and met her gaze. She studied me for a long moment. Then, she leaned back in her chair, swirling her drink. "What's next?" I asked. "You tell me, Aiden", she responded.
There was something in her voice. Something that wasn't just business, a challenge, an invitation, a test, and for the first time, I wasn't sure who was really in control.