The door to *Le Soleil De Plomb* clicked shut behind Rody as he stepped into the dimly lit office. It was the kind of place that whispered secrets and breathed menace. A thick haze of cigarette smoke clung to the ceiling, and the sharp, metallic scent of power lingered in the air. Rody ran a hand through his auburn hair, his jaw set with the weight of his deception. Every movement, every word, every breath he took in this place was carefully curated. It had to be.
He’d spent months clawing his way into the heart of the Charbonneau family’s organization, slowly earning the trust of Vincent’s father, Étienne Charbonneau, a notorious kingpin in France’s underground. His mission was clear: expose the human trafficking ring that Étienne had built over decades and bring him down. The kind of case that would ruin Étienne, shake the underground world, and cement Rody’s career. But it was a dangerous game, and Rody had learned early on that no one got close to Étienne unless they could offer something more than loyalty.
That’s where Vincent came in. Vincent Charbonneau was his way in.
Rody had met him several months ago, during one of those high-society parties his father held, where criminals dressed in tuxedos pretended to be respectable. Rody, operating under his alias, had been keeping an eye on the party, watching for anything that could lead to incriminating evidence. But then, Vincent had appeared, striking in his tailored suit, dark eyes catching the light just right, with a kind of softness that made Rody pause. He was different from his father. There was something vulnerable about him, something untouched by the blood on the family’s hands.
That vulnerability had been Rody’s opportunity.
He played the long game. At first, he made himself known—just enough to catch Vincent’s eye, to let him wonder who Rody was, why someone so rugged, so rough around the edges, was mingling with criminals in suits. Rody could feel Vincent’s eyes on him from across the room that night, curiosity twisting in the air between them. That’s all it took. Rody had planted the seed, and now, months later, Vincent was in love with him. Hopelessly, pathetically in love.
Rody knew it was wrong. But this was a game, and Vincent was his pawn.
---
Vincent sat by Rody's side in the dim glow of the small apartment they shared—*Vincent’s* apartment, though Rody had been spending more time there than anywhere else. He liked the control it gave him. Vincent, his quiet demeanor hiding a storm of emotions, watched Rody with those soft, dark eyes. He was always watching, always waiting for Rody’s attention, for a scrap of affection. It made him so easy to manipulate.
"You're quiet tonight," Vincent murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain tapping against the window. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, something he did when he was nervous.
Rody smiled, soft but distant, the kind of smile that would keep Vincent guessing. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"About us," Rody said, leaning forward, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. He reached out and tucked a strand of Vincent’s dark hair behind his ear, letting his fingers linger just long enough to make Vincent’s breath hitch.
Vincent flushed under the touch, eyes flickering with uncertainty, but also with desire. “You don’t… talk about us much.”
Rody knew. He didn’t need to. Vincent was always hungry for validation, for confirmation that whatever was growing between them was real. It was a hunger Rody fed in small, careful doses—enough to keep Vincent addicted, never enough to satisfy him.
“I don’t need to,” Rody whispered, moving closer, his hand sliding down to Vincent’s cheek. “You know how I feel.”
Vincent closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, his lips parting as if he was on the verge of saying something important, something that would expose the depths of his need. But Rody didn’t let him. Instead, he leaned in and kissed him. Hard.
