Sexting the Ruthless Don

5

Azeelia Cole

My heart plummeted into my stomach. The air in my apartment felt instantly thin, cold, and heavy.

I could have sworn I saw you wearing red tonight.

I stared at the screen, my hands trembling so violently I almost dropped the phone. He knows. He knows I'm Scarlet.

Panic clawed at my chest. But then a small, desperate voice of logic forced its way through the noise. If Gabriel Marchetti knew I was Scarlet—if he knew a journalist had tricked him into a flirtatious trap—he wouldn't text a cryptic joke. He would send a squad of hitmen to my front door. He was a Don. He didn't play games with liabilities; he eliminated them.

He was testing me. He saw me at the gala in a red dress, and he was throwing out a line to see if I would flinch.

I forced my breathing to slow down, typing out a reply with stiff fingers.

Scarlet: Red is a popular color for women with good taste, Gabriel. Don't tell me you're starting to hallucinate me in every crowd.

The green light blinked.

Viper_00: Perhaps I am. Or perhaps red just suits you.

Scarlet: You'll have to try harder than that if you want to figure out who I am.

Viper_00: I always get what I want, Scarlet. It's only a matter of time.

He didn't explain what he meant. He just let the threat linger in the quiet space between us.

I set the phone down, pulling my knees up to my chest. He was playing with me, but I couldn't stop now. I was too close. The line between Scarlet and Azeelia was blurring, but Ethan’s face was still fresh in my mind. I had to find out what happened to him.

POV: Azeelia Cole

The afternoon sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of grey smog.

Following a lead from one of Ethan’s old, unlisted phone records, I drove to the industrial district on the edge of the city. The GPS led me down a narrow, cracked road lined with rusted shipping containers and abandoned factories.

At the end of the street sat an old, weathered warehouse. The sign on the side read Marchetti Freight & Logistics, though the paint was peeling and the gates were unlocked.

My pulse raced. I parked two streets over and walked the rest of the way, keeping low against the chain-link fences. The side door of the warehouse was propped open with a rusted brick.

I slipped inside. The air was thick with the smell of old grease, damp concrete, and dust. Light filtered through broken skylights, cutting dusty beams across stacks of wooden crates.

I pulled out a small flashlight, searching the lower offices near the back. The desk drawers were empty, but as I kicked aside a pile of water-damaged files on the floor, a small plastic frame caught my eye.

I knelt down, brushing away the grime.

It was a printed photograph. In it, Ethan was standing in this exact warehouse, looking pale and nervous. Standing right beside him, with an arm thrown over Ethan’s shoulder like an old friend, was Marco—Gabriel’s chief of security.

My throat went completely dry. Ethan hadn't just accidentally stumbled onto Gabriel's business. He knew these people.

"Looking for something, sweetheart?"

The cold, metallic click of a gun c*****g echoed through the empty warehouse.

I froze, dropping the flashlight. Slowly, I raised my hands and turned around.

Two men stood in the doorway of the office. They weren't wearing the slick, expensive suits of Gabriel’s inner circle. They wore scuffed leather jackets, their faces rough and scarred. The man holding a black pistol stepped forward, his eyes narrow and greasy.

"Azeelia Cole," the man spat, sneering. "We wondered when the persistent little sister was going to show up."

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound brave. "If you work for Gabriel—"

"Gabriel?" The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "We don't work for that bastard Marchetti. But your brother did. Now tell us what Ethan gave you before he died."

"He didn't give me anything!" I backed up until my spine hit the cold brick wall. "He was killed in a gang shooting!"

"Ethan stole something that belonged to our boss," the second man growled, stepping closer. "And if you don't tell us where the ledgers are, you're going to join him."

He reached out to grab my arm. I ducked, kicking out with all my weight against his knee. He yelled, stumbling back, and I bolted for the office door.

"Get her!"

I burst into the main warehouse floor, my heart hammering in my ears. I scrambled toward the exit, but the front doors suddenly swung shut with a heavy metallic bang. Two more men stepped out from behind the crates, blocking my path.

I was cornered.

"Wrong turn, girl," the man with the gun sneered, walking up behind me.

Before he could raise the weapon, the metal side door exploded inward.

The sharp, deafening thunder of muffled gunfire shattered the quiet air. Three quick shots echoed through the space. The man holding the gun dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder, as his partner fell flat on the concrete.

Heavy tactical boots crunched over the broken glass. A squad of armed men in dark tactical gear swept through the warehouse with terrifying precision, disarming the attackers in seconds.

At the head of the squad was Marco.

He lowered his weapon, his expression cold as he looked at me. "Miss Cole. You're coming with us."

"No! Get away from me!" I yelled, backing away.

Marco didn't argue. He signaled to two of his men. Before I could scream, they grabbed my arms, pinning them behind my back, and marched me out into the blinding daylight toward a black SUV.

POV: Azeelia Cole

The gates of the Marchetti estate opened like the jaws of a giant beast.

The SUV rolled up a long, winding driveway lined with tall oak trees before stopping in front of a massive stone mansion. I was pushed out of the vehicle and escorted through grand double doors, down a long hallway lined with artwork, and into a vast, shadow-filled study.

The heavy doors clicked shut behind me.

Gabriel sat behind a dark wood desk, a single lamp illuminating his sharp features. He was reading a file, looking completely unbothered.

"What is the meaning of this?!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. I marched up to his desk, slamming my hands onto the wood. "You had your goons kidnap me! You had them tailing me!"

Gabriel set his pen down slowly. He looked up, his grey eyes completely devoid of the playful warmth he had shown in his texts or at the gala. He looked dangerous. He looked like the Don.

"If my men weren't tailing you, Azeelia, you would be dead in an abandoned warehouse right now," he said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.

"They were your men!" I yelled, tears of anger pricking my eyes. "Those men were looking for Ethan! You killed him! You ordered his death because he found out what you were doing!"

Gabriel’s expression hardened. A cold, dark stillness settled over his face.

He stood up slowly, towering over me from across the desk.

"I didn't kill Ethan," Gabriel said, every word clipped and heavy.

"You're lying!"

"Listen to me very carefully," Gabriel growled, leaning down until he was inches from my face. "Your brother wasn't an innocent accountant who asked the wrong questions. Ethan worked for me. He was my auditor."

The world seemed to stop spinning. The room tilted under my feet.

"No..." I whispered, shaking my head. "No, he wasn't. He was a corporate accountant. He didn't... he would never work for the mob."

"He worked for the Marchetti family for two years," Gabriel said flatly. "He was smart, quiet, and good at his job. Until he got greedy and started selling information to my enemies."

Gabriel walked out from behind his desk, stopping directly in front of me. He reached out, his thumb gently catching a stray tear on my cheek before I could pull away. His touch was warm, sending a confusing, electric jolt through my chest.

"I didn't order his death, Azeelia," Gabriel murmured, his voice softening just a fraction. "I was trying to keep him alive when someone else put a bullet in his chest. And right now, you are walking down the exact same path."

"I don't believe you," I choked out, pulling back from his touch.

"You don't have to believe me yet," Gabriel replied calmly. "Marco will drive you home. But your investigation ends today. Next time those men find you, I might not be there to save you."

POV: Azeelia Cole

I didn't sleep.

I sat on my couch in the dark, staring at the wall until my eyes burned. Everything I thought I knew about Ethan’s death was crumbling. Was Gabriel telling the truth? Was Ethan really working for the mob? Or was Gabriel just spinning a masterclass of manipulation to make me stop looking?

My burner phone chimed on the table.

My hands shook as I picked it up. A new message sat in the encrypted app from Viper_00.

I opened it.

Viper_00: You really should stop chasing your brother’s killer, Azeelia. Especially when you have no idea who you’re actually hunting.