Sexting the Ruthless Don

2

Azeelia Cole

I stared at the screen, my blood running cold.

I was wondering when you would finally contact me.

The words seemed to dance on the monitor, mocking me. I leaned closer, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. Did he know? Had I made a mistake? Was my VPN not strong enough?

I took a deep, shuddering breath and forced myself to sit back.

No. That was impossible. My dark web contact swore this encrypted app was untraceable if routed through proxy servers. Gabriel didn't know who I was. He was a Don, a man accustomed to absolute control. He was just being arrogant. He probably got messages from random women all the time, or maybe he just liked playing mind games with strangers who dared to text his private account.

He thought he was the hunter. He had no idea he was about to become the prey.

I rested my fingers on the keyboard, letting a slow, deliberate smile form on my lips. If he wanted to play confident, I would match his energy.

Arrogant, I typed, keeping Scarlet's voice smooth and playful. I like that. But don't assume you know what I want, Don Marchetti.

I hit send and waited.

A few seconds later, the small green light lit up.

Viper_00: I don't assume, Scarlet. I observe. And right now, I'm observing a woman who took a very dangerous step by messaging me.

Scarlet: Dangerous? Or just bored of ordinary men?

Viper_00: Careful. Ordinary men are safe. I am not.

A shiver ran down my spine, but it wasn't entirely fear. It was the thrill of the gamble. I needed him to stay interested. If I could play the mysterious, alluring stranger, he would eventually let his guard down. Men with immense power always believed they were untouchable, and untouchable men made mistakes.

Scarlet: I’ve never cared much for safe. Tell me, Gabriel... do you always warn people before you corrupt them?

Viper_00: Only the ones who look like they might enjoy it.

I blinked at the screen. The press described Gabriel Marchetti as a ruthless, unfeeling monster. They called him the Ice Don. They wrote about his cold grey eyes and his total lack of emotion. But the man texting me was quick, playful, and undeniably smooth. It was a strange contrast that made him feel even more dangerous.

Scarlet: You seem very confident for a man hiding behind a screen. What makes you think I enjoy corruption?

Viper_00: You messaged me first, little shadow. Now, tell me about yourself. Who is Scarlet when she isn't texting monsters in the dark?

This was the trap. I had to build a lie so thick and consistent he could never pierce it.

Scarlet: I'm just a girl with expensive taste and a soft spot for powerful men. I travel. I collect quiet moments in loud cities. And I don't give away my secrets for free.

Viper_00: A businesswoman. I respect that. Everything has a price in my world.

Scarlet: Then what's your price, Gabriel?

Viper_00: Keep talking to me. We'll see what you can afford.

I smiled darkly at the monitor. He was taking the bait. Step by step, I was drawing him into the dark.

POV: Gabriel Marchetti

The grand study of the Marchetti estate was quiet, save for the muffled, agonizing moans coming from the floor.

Rain lashed against the tall stained-glass windows. I sat behind my heavy mahogany desk, swirling a glass of dark amber scotch. My bespoke suit was pristine, untouched by the mess currently unfolding on the Persian rug three feet away.

My chief of security, Marco, stood over a kneeling man whose face was bruised beyond recognition. It was Julian, one of my mid-level logistics managers.

"I... I swear, Don Marchetti," Julian sobbed, spit and blood dripping onto the carpet. "I didn't steal from the harbor shipments! It was the Irish! They paid me off, I had no choice!"

I didn't answer right away. I took a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn settle in my throat. The quiet in the room was heavier than any shout.

"You always have a choice, Julian," I said, my voice low and calm. "You chose ten thousand dollars over loyalty. You placed a price on my name."

"Please! I have a family!"

I gestured lightly with two fingers.

Marco stepped forward, drew a suppressed pistol, and fired once.

The soft thwack echoed in the large room. Julian slumped forward, silent at last.

"Clean this up," I instructed, not even glancing at the body. "Have the rug replaced by morning. And make sure his family is paid his standard pension. They shouldn't starve because he was an idiot."

"Yes, Boss," Marco said cleanly. He signaled for two lower-level guards to drag the weight away.

Within minutes, the blood was wiped, the room was empty, and the double doors were shut. Silence returned to the sanctuary.

I picked up my phone from the desk. The screen was still glowing with the encrypted chat interface.

Scarlet: Then what's your price, Gabriel?

Viper_00: Keep talking to me. We'll see what you can afford.

A faint, amused smirk pulled at the corner of my lips.

I tapped a command on the side of my desk. A secondary monitor lifted smoothly from the wooden surface, lighting up the dark corner of the office.

On the screen was a detailed police file, a journalism press badge, and dozens of high-resolution surveillance photos.

The face in the photos was striking. Sharp brown eyes, dark hair tied back, and a fierce, stubborn jawline.

Azeelia Cole.

The sister of Ethan Cole, the foolish little accountant who tried to copy my offshore bank records three years ago.

Marco re-entered the room, wiping his hands with a cloth. He walked up beside my desk and looked at the second monitor, then at my phone.

"Our tech team traced the proxy node within four minutes of her first text, Boss," Marco said, his tone tone-deaf to the game I was playing. "She's using a basic onion router out of her apartment on 4th Street. She thinks she's a ghost."

"She's trying very hard," I murmured, staring at her photograph.

"Do you want me to lock down her network? Or I can have the boys pick her up tonight. We can make her disappear just like her brother."

"No," I said instantly. My voice left no room for argument.

Marco frowned, surprised. "Boss? She's an investigative reporter digging into the family business. She's explicitly targetting you. If she publishes anything—"

"She has nothing to publish," I interrupted smoothly, setting my glass down. "She has grief, anger, and a desperate desire for revenge. But she has no proof."

"Then why let her play this game? She’s a risk."

I leaned back in my leather chair, staring at the message thread on my phone. Scarlet. A ridiculous alias, yet there was something undeniably entertaining about the way she typed. She was trying so hard to be dangerous, entirely unaware that she was sitting in the mouth of the wolf.

"Because she amuses me," I said softly. "It has been a very long time since anyone dared to lie to my face with such passion."

"She's trying to entrap you, Don Marchetti."

"Let her try." I looked up at Marco, my eyes narrowing just enough to make him step back. "Leave her alone. No surveillance teams outside her window, no phone taps, no threats. If she wants to play with fire, I will give her the match."

Marco bowed his head. "As you wish, Boss."

He turned and exited the room, leaving me alone with the ghost of Ethan Cole's sister.

I leaned forward, my eyes fixed on the photograph of Azeelia. She looked so determined in her press badge photo, so sure of her own righteousness. She thought she was going to tear down my empire with a fake profile and a few clever texts.

I touched the screen, my thumb tracing the outline of her jawline on the monitor.

"Seduce me, little journalist," I whispered to the empty room. "Let's see how far you're willing to go."