The Devil's Dwelling Place

The stranger didn’t blink. “You shouldn't go around messing with people's properties."

Donovan scoffed, confused. “What the hell are you talk–” he tried to speak but the cock of the gun made him shiver, his words stucked at the tip of his tongue as chills ran down his spine.

Move the car.” The voice commanded, pressing the tip of the gun to his head that Donovan trembled, his hands shaky on the wheel as he drove out of the estate.

“Next time…” the voice murmured darkly, his voice cold and heavy with authority.

“...keep your hands off what's mine.”

And before Donovan could counter, beg or even question, the gunshot cracked like thunder, the impact drawing blood that splattered over the headboard.

Donovan’s head slammed onto the steering wheel with blood pooling beneath him.

****

Matteo Silvarro sank into the leather lounge chair, his fingers tapping restlessly against the glass of wine in his hand. This was his seventh visit here and he hoped against all odds that he would be heard.

His eyes drifted to the television mounted in the corner, the news anchor’s voice slicing through the low murmur of the bar.

“Police investigations are still underway concerning the murder of prominent corporate executive, Damian Donovan. Sources say–"

Matteo scoffed quietly, swirling the drink in his hand. Weeks had passed, and they were still chasing shadows. No suspects. No leads. Just recycled headlines and promises that held no water.

Typical.

He is lost in his own thoughts. The doctor’s words wouldn’t stop ringing in his head.

“The cancer’s advanced… it’s pressing on her heart. She needs surgery immediately. Without it… I’m afraid she won’t survive the month.”

She had been his anchor, his calm in every storm – his mother. Now, he could only watch as the light in her eyes dimmed with each passing day.

They’d sold nearly everything: properties, shares, all that was left of the Silvarro name. And still, the cancer continues to devour her, relentlessly. Now, the hospital demanded ten million dollars for the surgery. Money they didn’t have. Money that wasn’t coming, not from the Beckhams, not from anyone.

This was the reason he came here.

The Devil's dwelling place.

He’d heard the stories since he was a boy. Caine Romano. A myth, they said. A whispered legend, the kind of name people threw around when they wanted to scare you straight. A phantom. An enigma. A man who existed only in the spaces where rules died.

But he was no myth.

And tonight, Matteo Silvarro was here, hoping that the Devil would answer his prayers.

“Mr. Silvarro,” a voice cuts through his swirling thoughts. A man in a black suit beckoned. “The Don will see you now.”

Matteo stood up, his legs stiffened for a beat before he forced them forward and followed the man down an aisle.

The man took multiple turns and finally, they stopped at a door.

The Velvet Room. The room’s tag reads.

The man pushed open the door and gestured for Matteo to enter inside. Matteo compelled his legs to move as he gulped down saliva stepping inside.

The air was thick with smoke, a half-naked dancer wearing an oxygen mask, was twisted in a water tank at the center of the room, but Matteo barely spared her a glance. His eyes locked onto the man seated in the shadows, legs crossed with a cigarette burning low between his fingers.

Caine Romano.

His eyes were fixed on the dancing half-naked vixen but they were not focused on her. His focus was on something else, someone else.

“Ahem,” Matteo coughed, trying to alert the man of his presence. His efforts were in vain as the man appeared even more focused in his thoughts.

“Ahem” Matteo coughed again, louder this time.

The man slowly turned his head at the intruder. His head tilted before his eyes landed on Matteo.

His eyes… They were impossible.

Cold, fathomless, ancient like they’d seen a thousand Wars and survived each one.

They cut across the room, slicing through Matteo like glass, reading him, breaking him apart without a word.

It wasn’t curiosity that flashed in those eyes. It wasn’t even amusement. It was recognition.

Caine studied him, unblinking, his attention stripping Matteo down to the bones. He just stared at him, possessing his every being without even trying.

“Matteo Silvarro,” Caine finally spoke, his voice carrying across the room and the corner of his mouth shifting in a way that wasn’t quite a smile. “Funny how life circles back to where it began.”

Matteo’s blood ran cold. “Have we… met?”

***

“You see,” Caine began, dragging the words as if savoring them, “I don’t give out my money like candy.”

Matteo gulped down his saliva. Not at the words he heard, but at the intensity of the eyes gazing at him.

Caine looked, sat and spoke like he owns the world and the worst thing is… he might, after all.

“I don't deny the fact that the money you are asking for is a big one, Mr. Silvarro” He continued, his eyes not leaving the man for one second. “But, it's something I can easily hand out to you.”

Matteo’s shoulders sighed with relief. “Thank you Mr. Romano!” He bowed, “Thank you!”

Caine smirked. People loved free things, things that they didn't work for and, that… that was the trap. Because nothing in this world came without a price. And when something looked free? You are definitely the price.

“However–” Caine started

Matteo’s smile froze. He has never hated the word: “However” more than he did at this moment.

“You have to give me a collateral, something to hold on to; in the event where you default payment, I can collect it.”

“But I have nothing left,” Matteo said softly, the weight of it sinking in. “My family… we’ve lost everything.”

Caine smirked. “You’re right,” He said, swirling his glass of whiskey. “You...” He leaned into Matteo, placing his forefinger on his chest “have nothing,” He smiled. “But sometimes, the most valuable currency isn’t in your pocket, Matteo. It’s walking around… unaware.”

Matteo frowned, but desperation drowned his suspicion. “Will you help me or not?”

A beat passed.

Caine slid a document across the table. “Two weeks. Full repayment.” His mouth twisted into something between amusement and warning. “Fail, and I collect… differently.”

Matteo didn’t move at first. Then, hand shaking, he grabbed the file, nodded, and left with quick, uneven steps, relief and dread twisting tight in his chest.

Caine remained still. The glass touched his lips, but he didn’t drink.

His eyes were distant as the memory clawed at him again.

Thank you for your services.