S*X Contract With Invalid Mafia Boss

Chapter 7

Luca’s POV

The cold, biting air of Russia did little to cool the storm brewing inside me. The private jet touched down smoothly, but the moment I set foot on the tarmac, a sense of unease crept in. Russia wasn’t a place where trust came easily, especially not with Ivan Zolotov—a man as infamous for his iron-clad loyalty as he was for his brutality against those who broke it.

The dark SUVs waiting by the airstrip were a clear indication that this wasn’t going to be a friendly meeting. As I approached, two men flanked me on either side, ushering me toward the vehicle in silence. One look in their cold, calculating eyes, and I knew they weren’t just drivers—they were sentries, watchdogs, loyal to the ruthless man waiting inside.

Inside the vehicle, the silence hung thick and tense, broken only by the hum of the engine as we sped toward an unknown destination. I kept my expression neutral, but my mind raced, sifting through every interaction, every recent deal, every face. What could have set Zolotov off?

After what felt like hours, we arrived at a secluded warehouse on the outskirts of Moscow. The windows were dark, the air dense with the scent of metal and cold stone. As I entered, I felt the weight of every eye in the room, all watching, waiting. And at the far end, seated behind a steel table, was Zolotov himself.

“Ferrante,” he greeted me, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the room.

“Zolotov.” I inclined my head, keeping my tone steady. Whatever this was, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my unease.

He didn’t return the courtesy. Instead, he motioned with a flick of his wrist, and one of his men approached, holding out a thin file. I took it, glancing down at the photos, the grainy images showing my associate—Viktor—a man I’d trusted for five years, in meetings with one of Zolotov’s rivals. A man who’d been feeding them information. Rage bubbled in my chest, but I forced myself to remain calm.

“You care to explain, Ferrante?” Zolotov’s tone was as icy as the wind outside. He leaned back in his chair, a pistol in his hand, lazily tapping it against the table’s edge. “Loyalty is a word I value. I don’t take betrayal lightly.”

“You’ve been betrayed,” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching, “but not by me. Viktor betrayed us both. Give me the chance to prove it to you, and I’ll personally ensure he pays for it.”

Zolotov’s eyes narrowed, suspicion still etched in his cold gaze. “And why shouldn’t I end this here? I don’t leave loose ends, Ferrante.”

He pointed the gun at my head, his finger resting on the trigger, steady and unblinking. The room seemed to tighten, the air around us suffocating. I forced myself to breathe slowly, steadily.

“If you want to kill the wrong man, then pull the trigger,” I said, my voice low but unyielding. “But you’ll be wasting an ally and letting the real traitor walk free.”

For a tense moment, the gun remained trained on me. Then, with a sharp exhale, Zolotov lowered his weapon, his gaze never leaving mine.

“You have until midnight,” he growled. “After that, if I don’t have Viktor in front of me, our arrangement ends.”

We tracked Viktor to a dingy bar on the outskirts of the city, a place reeking of stale smoke and desperation. Zolotov’s men flanked me as we entered, their silent but deadly presence amplifying the tension in the room.

Viktor was huddled in a booth at the back, his face paling as he caught sight of me. He tried to bolt, but Zolotov’s men blocked his path. I approached him slowly, savoring the terror in his eyes as he realized he had nowhere to run.

“Five years, Viktor,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Five years of loyalty, of trust. And this is how you repay me?”

His mouth opened and closed, his voice trembling as he stammered, “Luca, please. It... it wasn’t what you think.”

“Then enlighten me,” I replied, my tone laced with venom, “before I put a bullet in your skull.”

He began to sputter, his hands shaking as he babbled excuses, but I didn’t want to hear them. I gestured to Zolotov, who nodded to one of his men. They grabbed Viktor, dragging him to a nearby chair, binding his wrists with rough rope. I watched as he struggled, his pleas falling on deaf ears.

Zolotov turned to me, his eyes glinting with approval. “You’re a ruthless man, Ferrante.”

“Only to those who betray me,” I replied coldly, my gaze locked on Viktor. I pulled my gun from its holster, the weight of it grounding me as I aimed it at him.

“Please, Luca,” Viktor whimpered, his voice thick with desperation. “It wasn’t like that. I was... I was trying to protect us.”

“Protect us?” I laughed, the sound hollow and cold. “By selling me out to our enemies?”

He shook his head, his eyes wide with terror. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

Zolotov watched with grim satisfaction, his own pistol hanging loosely by his side. He nodded to me, giving silent approval, but this was my kill to make. I stepped forward, my grip tightening on the gun.

“You made your choice, Viktor,” I said, my voice steady, each word carrying the weight of finality. “And this is the price for betrayal.”

His eyes pleaded for mercy, but I felt none. I pulled the trigger, the gunshot echoing through the warehouse. Viktor’s body slumped forward, lifeless, his blood pooling beneath him. I stared down at him, a hollow sense of satisfaction settling in my chest. Five years of trust, shattered in an instant, and I’d ended it with one pull of the trigger.

Zolotov patted my back, a rare grin splitting his face. “Ruthless, Ferrante. Ruthless indeed. I respect that in a man. It shows you understand the value of loyalty.”

I met his gaze, my expression unyielding. “The feeling is mutual, Zolotov. Betrayal has its price.” I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I’d do the same to anyone who crossed me.”

The flicker of unease in Zolotov’s eyes was unmistakable, though he tried to hide it behind a stiff nod. In this world, respect was earned, but trust... trust was scarce. And I’d just shown Zolotov that I was as ruthless as he was, a man who wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate a threat, friend or foe.

As he offered me a room for the night, I declined. “Our business here is done, Zolotov. I’m heading back. I’ve got other matters to attend to.”

He inclined his head, trying to mask his wariness. “Very well, Ferrante. Safe travels.”

I patted his shoulder, the gesture carrying a silent warning. “I don’t tolerate disloyalty, Zolotov. Remember that.”

He gave a curt nod, the message clear. I’d passed my own brand of justice, and he knew better than to challenge it.

Hours later, I boarded my private jet, slumping back in the leather seat, my body still taut with tension. Blood still stained my hands, the faint metallic scent lingering. The exhaustion from days of negotiation and hours of gunfights weighed on me, but I welcomed it. I hadn’t slept more than an hour a night during the last week, haunted by insomnia and the need to stay alert. The only thought pulling me through was a vision of Christine.

I glanced at my reflection in the window, the bruises and cuts etched into my skin a stark reminder of the hell I’d just walked through. And yet, all I could think about was feeling her against me, finding a semblance of control in the chaos that constantly threatened to consume me.

The jet engines roared to life, and as we lifted into the air, I allowed myself a single moment of vulnerability. This world was brutal, unforgiving, and all I wanted was one night of peace, one night where I could bury myself in her warmth, shut out the world, and find the calm I’d been denied.

As we soared through the night sky, a grim satisfaction settled over me. Loyalty had been served its due, and Christine… she’d be mine tonight, whether she wanted it or not.