ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

06: The Night Before the Havoc

ROMAN

I inhale Mexico.

The air reeks of impending shambles and death. The Devil's Hands — my hands — have finally reached their destination, ready to unleash destruction.

Every step I take drags me closer to the turmoil that will erupt tonight, pulling Hell up to meet the Earth and its rotten inhabitants, swallowing them in flames and dragging them down where they belong.

"Welcome to Mexico, my friend," a voice greets warmly, though there is still something hollow beneath it.

Francisco.

A high-ranking leader in this territory.

He pulls me into a brief embrace, and while the gesture carries no real comfort, it is welcoming enough.

"You look like shit," he says bluntly, his eyes dragging over my face.

Of course I look like Hell.

I spent the entire flight devising a massacre beside the Devil himself, while my exhausted body begged for sleep and my mind refused to surrender to it.

"And you look like you already have one foot in the grave," I mock, patting his back with false sympathy. "Soon to be resting peacefully in Hell."

"Fuck off," he barks with a rough laugh, shoving me away before shaking his head. "Same old Esposito. Nothing changes with you. Though you look a little more... seasoned now."

"Women like their men seasoned," I reply with a crooked smirk, effortlessly twisting his insult into a compliment. "Now let's move. The wedding's today, and time isn't exactly waiting for us."

He gestures toward the waiting car parked nearby.

The second we slide into the seats, he reaches into his pocket for cigarettes before casually asking, "So, what's new with you? Settled down yet? Still single? Got any kids running around?"

The lighter flicks.

A tiny flame glows between us before he hands me a cigarette.

"Why?" I ask while lighting it. "Planning to marry me off to your daughter?"

Smoke leaves my mouth in a slow stream, finally calming the tension clawing beneath my skin after an entire bottle of champagne and several sleepless hours.

Francisco's expression hardens immediately.

"Hands off my little princess, Roman," he warns seriously. "I mean it."

His little princess.

That almost makes me laugh.

If he knew his precious daughter once climbed onto my cock willingly and sinned like she was born for it, he would probably throw himself into the grave with both feet.

"Relax," I tell him with a chuckle. "I'm not interested."

Usually, I enjoy a taste once before moving on.

Yet Gaia still lingers in the back of my mind like a sinful addiction I never properly got over. Even after a year, I can still remember the sweetness of her mouth resting on my tongue.

And that is dangerous.

I lean back against the seat, cigarette balanced between my fingers while nicotine fills my lungs, trying to bury the memory of that forbidden taste before it distracts me again.

I have bigger things to focus on tonight.

Mexico is about to become a battleground.

And by sunrise, parts of it will resemble a graveyard.