The warehouse on the edge of the city smelled of rust and old blood familiar scents, comforting in their honesty. Viktor stood in the shadows, watching as his men prepped the space. A chair. Restraints. Cameras positioned to capture every angle.
Soon, this space would hold something precious. Something Damian would burn the world to get back.
His phone buzzed. Luca.
"We're in position," Luca's voice came through, thin and strained. "I'm at the café near the house. Jace comes here sometimes. Damian's been letting him have more freedom."
"Good." Viktor's voice was warm, encouraging the voice of a friend, a helper, a savior. "Remember, Luca. You're doing this for him. To free him. Damian will never let him go willingly. This is the only way."
A long pause. Then, quieter: "I know. I just... he's going to hate me."
"He'll understand. Eventually. When he's free, when you're together, when Damian can never touch either of you again he'll understand everything you sacrificed for him."
Another pause. Viktor could hear Luca's breathing, quick and shallow, a man on the edge of a breakdown.
"Okay," Luca whispered. "Okay. I'm going in."
The line went dead.
Viktor smiled and tucked his phone away. Such a useful thing, guilt. Such a perfect tool.
Jace:
The café was small and warm, a pocket of normalcy in a life that had become anything but. Jace sat at a corner table, a latte growing cold in front of him, watching the afternoon crowd with the detached awareness of someone who'd learned to always know his exits.
Damian had been... trying. Really trying. The past weeks had been strange and fragile and sometimes terrifying, but also, impossibly, good. They talked now real talks, not commands and responses. Damian asked questions about Jace's childhood, his father, his dreams before everything fell apart. Jace found himself answering, the words coming easier each time.
And at night, they came together differently. Slowly. Carefully. Always checking, always asking. Jace was learning that sex could be something other than performance or punishment. It was terrifying and beautiful and he still didn't fully trust it, but he was trying too.
The door chimed. Jace looked up automatically, a habit born of captivity.
Luca walked in.
For a moment, Jace thought he was hallucinating. Luca in Mexico, free, gone. was standing in the doorway of a café twenty minutes from Damian's house, looking thin and haunted and desperately alive.
"Luca?" Jace was on his feet without remembering standing. "What- how...."
Luca crossed to him in three quick strides and pulled him into a hug so tight it hurt. Jace stood frozen for a heartbeat, then his arms came up, wrapping around his best friend, holding on like he might disappear.
"You're okay," Luca whispered into his hair. "You're okay."
"You're supposed to be in Mexico." Jace pulled back, searching Luca's face. "You're supposed to be safe. Why are you here?"
Luca's eyes were wet. "I couldn't stay away. I couldn't just... leave you. Not after everything." He gripped Jace's shoulders. "I have a plan. A way to get you out. For real this time. No more contracts, no more Damian, no more anything. Just us. Like it should have been."
Jace's heart stuttered. "Luca, I- things are different now. Damian is different. He's trying. He let you go. He burned the contracts. He's-"
"He's manipulating you." Luca's voice was fierce, desperate. "That's what he does, Jace. He breaks you down and then plays nice so you'll be grateful. It's textbook. It's what he's always done."
"No." Jace shook his head, but doubt flickered in his chest. "You didn't see him. You didn't hear him. He was crying, Luca. Damian Moreau, crying. That's not manipulation. That's...."
"That's exactly what he wants you to think." Luca grabbed his hand. "Please. Just come with me. Talk to someone I know. He can explain everything, show you proof of what Damian really is. And if after that you still want to go back, I'll... I'll drive you myself. But please. Just give me an hour. One hour."
Jace looked at Luca his oldest friend, the boy who had loved him in secret, the man who had destroyed him trying to save him. The doubt warred with loyalty, fear with hope.
"One hour," Jace said finally. "And then I'm going home."
Luca's smile was bright and broken. "Okay. One hour."
They took Luca's car a nondescript sedan, probably rented. Jace watched the familiar streets give way to industrial areas, his unease growing.
"Where are we going?"
"Safe house. Friend of a friend. He's been watching Damian for years. He knows things."
The warehouse loomed ahead, grey and anonymous. Jace's instincts screamed at him to run, to call Damian, to do anything but walk through that door.
But Luca was beside him, desperate and loving and so sure. And Jace had trusted Luca for half his life. Even after everything, some part of him still did.
They walked in together.
The door closed behind them with a heavy click. The space was dim, filled with shadows and the smell of rust. And in the center, seated in a chair like a king on a throne, was a man Jace had never seen.
He was beautiful in the way a blade was beautiful sharp, cold, made for cutting. His eyes were pale, almost colorless, and they fixed on Jace with an intensity that made his blood freeze.
"Jace Carter," the man murmured, his voice a velvet caress. "I've heard so much about you."
Jace turned to Luca. "What is this?"
Luca wouldn't meet his eyes. He was staring at the floor, his face crumpled with guilt.
"I'm sorry," Luca whispered. "He said... he said this would free you. He said it was the only way."
The man stood, crossing to them with fluid grace. He stopped in front of Jace, close enough to touch, close enough to kill.
"I am Viktor Volkov," he said softly. "Damian's oldest friend. And you, my dear, are about to become the most valuable bargaining chip in the world."
Jace's heart stopped. Then it started again, hammering against his ribs.
"Luca," he breathed. "What did you do?"
Luca finally looked up, tears streaming down his face. "I love you. I love you so much. And this is the only way to save you from him. You'll understand someday. You'll forgive me."
Viktor gestured, and men emerged from the shadows big men, hard men, with cold eyes and empty faces. They moved toward Jace.
Jace ran.
He made it three steps before they caught him.
Damian:
The call came thirty minutes after Jace left for the café. Damian had been in the study, reviewing the latest reports on his successor's training, when his phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number.
He answered anyway. Instinct.
"Damian Moreau." The voice on the other end was smooth, familiar, utterly chilling. "It's been too long."
Viktor.
Damian's blood went cold. "Viktor. What do you want?"
"I want to catch up, old friend. Reminisce about old times. And discuss the terms of your boy's return."
The world stopped. "What did you do?"
"I borrowed him. Temporarily. He's safe for now. Comfortable, even. Luca is keeping him company." A pause, rich with amusement. "Yes, your pathetic cousin was very helpful. So easy to manipulate. So desperate to play hero."
Damian was already moving, grabbing his coat, signaling to his guards. "If you touch him, Viktor, I swear to God..."
"You'll what? Kill me? We've played that game before. It ends in stalemate every time." Viktor's voice hardened. "No, Damian. This time, we're going to play a new game. You're going to give me what I want your territory, your contacts, your empire. And in exchange, I'll give you back your boy. Maybe."
"And if I refuse?"
Viktor laughed a soft, horrible sound. "Then I'll keep him. And I'll teach him exactly what it means to be owned by someone who doesn't believe in happy endings."
The line went dead.
Damian stood in the middle of his study, the phone clenched in his fist, his world collapsing around him.
Jace was gone. Luca had betrayed them both. And Viktor Volkov the most dangerous man Damian had ever known had just declared war.
For the first time in years, Damian didn't know if he could win,But he knew one thing for certain he would die trying.