---
Chapter One: Sugar & Sin
The scent of warm cinnamon and vanilla curled through the morning air, thick and intoxicating. It drifted from the small corner bakery, slipping past the glass door and out into the damp city streets. It was the kind of smell that made people pause, take a breath, and—just for a moment—forget the weight of their lives.
Matteo De Luca didn't pause. He didn't stop for things like this.
But today, he did.
He stood just outside the shop, hands in the pockets of his tailored black coat, watching through the window. The golden glow of the bakery's interior softened the sharp edges of the world, made everything inside look almost... safe. A man moved behind the counter, delicate fingers piping cream into a row of éclairs. His apron was dusted in flour, his lips pursed in concentration, completely unaware of the shadow watching him from outside.
Matteo wasn't supposed to be here. He had left the warehouse ten minutes ago, blood still drying beneath his fingernails. A job done. A life erased. And yet, instead of returning to the empire he ruled with an iron grip, his feet had carried him here—to this tiny, insignificant bakery. To him.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside.
The pastry chef—smaller than he'd seemed from afar, with black eyes that caught the light like polished obsidian—looked up. He blinked once, twice, as if unsure whether Matteo had actually walked in or if he was some illusion conjured by the scent of sugar and exhaustion.
Matteo didn't believe in fate.
But the moment those black eyes locked onto his, something shifted. A thread pulled tight between them. An unseen force, fragile as spun sugar but unbreakable as steel.
The chef—oblivious to the weight of the moment—offered a polite, practiced smile. "Welcome to Pierre's. What can I get you?"
Matteo didn't answer right away. He was too busy watching the way the man's lips moved, the way his fingers curled around a silver spatula.
He didn't know why he spoke the truth, but he did.
"I don't eat sweets."
The chef tilted his head, amused. "Then you're in the wrong place, aren't you?"
Matteo exhaled a quiet laugh—unexpected, unplanned. Something sharp twisted in his chest.
No one ever spoke to him like that. No one ever challenged him with something as simple as a smile.
And now, Matteo knew one thing for certain.
This would not be the last time he set foot in this bakery.
Because when he wanted something—someone—he took it.
And God help the poor man who had just unknowingly stepped into his web.
---