Blinded By The Kindled Fire (Ongoing)

𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖎

DAVINA

The sun in Spain hit differently. It wasn't the unforgiving heat of Sicily or the harsh summers in the States. It was sharp but somehow softened by the coastal breeze that swept through the streets, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and fresh rain. I inhaled deeply as I stepped out of the sleek black car, Stefano by my side, his presence a steady anchor as always.

Spain. Not exactly neutral territory, but not hostile either. At least not yet. Diego Diaz had been civil enough on the surface, but I knew better than to trust appearances. In our world, respect was earned by power, not courtesy. And trust? Well, that was the rarest commodity of all.

We were walking a tightrope with this partnership. A single misstep, and everything could fall apart.

Stefano shot me a look as we approached the large villa where the meeting would take place, "You're thinking too much." He said, his tone light, but the underlying concern clear.

"I have to." I replied, keeping my voice low, "Diego might not hold a grudge about that rejection, but his father? Leandro's not someone to dismiss lightly."

Stefano nodded. He knew I was right. The Diaz family had a reputation, one built on ruthless efficiency and brutal consequences. Diego was pragmatic, all business, but his father was old school—someone who didn't forget an insult. And our refusal to exchange men for partnership, even if it was years ago, could still sting if Leandro had anything to say about it.

As we entered the villa, the atmosphere shifted. It was luxurious without being gaudy, everything clean lines and modern art, but beneath the polished surface, there was an unmistakable tension. Armed guards were stationed at discreet intervals, and their eyes never left us as we were escorted through the halls.

Diego Diaz was waiting in a spacious room lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the rolling hills of the Spanish countryside. He stood as we approached, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—polite, but not warm. He was tall, with dark hair neatly combed back, his sharp suit perfectly tailored. His presence was calm, almost serene, but there was something dangerous lurking just beneath that polished surface.

"Davina D'Atri." He greeted, extending his hand, "Ha pasado demasiado tiempo." It's been too long.

"Diego." I replied, accepting his handshake, "It has. Thank you for seeing us."

Stefano exchanged a nod with Diego, but remained silent. He was my shadow for today, only speaking when necessary, and I appreciated that. It gave me room to control the conversation.

Diego gestured to the large table set in the middle of the room, "Please, sit. I assume your trip was pleasant?" His thick accent seeping through the words.

"As pleasant as one can expect when business is involved." I said, offering a small smile as I sat across from him, "I'm eager to discuss the terms."

Diego leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other in a relaxed manner, "Straight to business, then. I appreciate that." He waved a hand, and one of his men approached, placing a small black binder in front of me.

"The ammunition we're trading—top of the line, as always. I've arranged for an initial shipment of two hundred crates. The delivery will take place over the course of the next month, staggered, to avoid drawing too much attention."

I flipped open the binder, skimming the details. Everything was in order. The types of ammunition, the quantities, the transport routes. It was a clean operation. But nothing was ever that simple.

"We'll hold up our end." I said, looking up to meet his gaze, "You'll have the shipment paid in full on delivery. But I want to make sure this partnership is mutually beneficial. Our families may have been allies before, but clearly as new leadership has emerged from both fronts, new conditions need to be met. What do you need from me in return?"