Vivian Kane is a ghost in the digital underworld, slipping into Alessandro Costello’s world like she’s always been there. She lifts his wallet with a swipe of her fingers, and just like that, she’s not only hacked his systems—she’s hacked his life.

Alessandro Costello doesn’t do forgiveness. She’s made it personal, and now he’s out for blood. He’s ready to turn her life into a living nightmare, using every dirty trick he knows to make her regret ever crossing him.

What starts as a simple theft quickly spirals into something far darker. They’re trapped in a high-stakes game of cat and mouse, where every touch and taunt turns up the heat until it’s a steamy, no-holds-barred battle of lust and dirty games.

In this twisted mind-fuck, trust is a luxury neither can afford.

PREFACE

DEDICATION!

This one's for all my bad girlies who get off on the dark side—if you’re itching to be chased and fucked senseless by a faceless hunter who doesn’t bother with niceties, you’re about to get your fix.

Buckle up, it's gonna be a wild ride.

Get ready to be hunted, cornered, and seduced by a man who doesn’t ask for permission. Because for Viviane Kane, danger is an aphrodisiac.

So, get ready to let your fantasies run wild. These men play dirty, and they play to win. Are you game?

•───⋅☾ ☽⋅───•

DISCLAIMER!

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental and unintentional.

This book, including all its content, is protected by copyright laws. All rights are reserved by the author, and no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or otherwise utilized in any form or by any means—whether electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the express written permission of the copyright holder. Unauthorized use, reproduction, or distribution of this work is prohibited and may result in legal action.

Copyright © 2024 by Jane Doe Writings. All rights reserved.

•───⋅☾ ☽⋅───•

TRIGGER WARNING!

The following book contains imagery that some readers may find distressing. This book contains multiple explicit scenes that graphically simulate sexual assault, although every encounter is fully consensual.

•Simulated Sexual Assault

•Consensual Non-consent

•Strong Language

•Graphic Violence

•───⋅☾ ☽⋅───•

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thank you so much for choosing to read my story! Your support means the world to me. I would love to hear your thoughts, so please feel free to leave a comment and vote if you enjoyed the book. Your feedback not only fuels my writing but also keeps me from talking to myself in a padded room.

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POINT OF VIEWS - POVs.

This book is written with both the main male character’s (MMC) and main female character’s (FMC) perspectives. However, I’ll include these viewpoints only when they fit the story. I won’t add the MMC’s or FMC’s POV just for the sake of it, especially if it doesn’t match the scene or the mystery of the plot.

I know some readers might want more of the MMC’s POV, and while I understand that, every choice is made with the story’s development in mind. Each perspective is used to help the story flow and keep the suspense. Thank you for understanding and enjoying the ride.

•───⋅☾ ☽⋅───•

UPDATES SCHEDULE

I post one chapter every day (though I might miss a day or two here and there). Please understand that this schedule is the best I can manage with my busy, hectic life as a medical student.

Even though I try my best to stick to a daily schedule, sometimes my schoolwork takes up more time than I expected, which might cause a short delay.

Your understanding means a lot to me, and I’m grateful for your support as I juggle these responsibilities. Thank you for being patient and for following along with my story despite the occasional delays.

•───⋅☾ ☽⋅───•

J A N E D O E W R I T I N G S

Prologue

Viviane

☩═✦═☩

I have always been observant...

Just a glance and I can piece together someone's story. Their clothes, the way their hair is styled, the nuances in their speech, and their mannerisms—all of it tells me something. Most of the time, I'm spot on. It's like reading an open book, only the pages are made up of subtle cues and unspoken words.

Take the guy sitting at the bar, for instance. His suit is expensive but slightly wrinkled, suggesting he's been wearing it all day, probably in a high-pressure job. His hair is perfectly styled, but there's a hint of gray peeking through. He speaks with confidence, but there's an edge to his voice, a tension that reveals more than he intends. He's trying to project power, yet there's a vulnerability in his eyes.

Or the woman across the room. Her designer dress and polished nails scream wealth, but the way she clutches her purse and glances around nervously tells a different story. She's uncomfortable, out of her element, perhaps trying to blend into a world she's not quite a part of.

Reading people is second nature to me. It's not just about what they say, but how they say it, how they move, and what they choose to hide. Every detail is a clue, and I have the ability to put the pieces together.

It's not just a skill—it's an art that I was born with.

The Kanes had always been extraordinary. My father, a sharp lawyer, and my mother, a brilliant doctor, set the bar high. My sister became a therapist, healing minds, while my brother was a man of the law.

Intelligence runs deep in our veins. We Kanes were gifted with sharp minds, and it was up to each of us to decide how to wield that power. Most chose the path of righteousness, upholding the family legacy. But I took a different route.

I became a thief, a pickpocket, and I excelled at it.

Growing up, I enjoyed every privilege. But life has a way of throwing curveballs, forcing choices between being good and surviving. When that moment came, I chose survival. I may not have anything to my name now, but that doesn’t mean it will always be this way.

The thrill of the game, the adrenaline rush when slipping a wallet unnoticed, the satisfaction of outsmarting someone—it all called to me. My skills were honed, my instincts sharp. I learned to read people, to understand their vulnerabilities, and to exploit them.

Take the crowded subway, for instance. People pressed together, lost in their own worlds. A perfect setting. I’d spot my mark—a businessman engrossed in his phone, a distracted tourist with a loose grip on her bag. A quick bump, a deft hand, and the prize was mine.

But now it wasn't cutting anymore. From simple pickpocketing, I needed to move on to bigger scores.

The world is full of opportunities, and if you don’t have something, you can always steal it—that was my motto.

The Kanes might have chosen their noble paths, but I forged my own. I thrived in the shadows, where the rules were different, and right now, I had spotted the perfect target.

With one glance, I knew he was the perfect mark.

He exuded power and danger, draped in a suit that whispered wealth—a custom-made masterpiece worth around one-hundred thousand dollars. The Alexander Amosu Vanquish II Bespoke suit fit him perfectly, showing off a lean, muscled build that spoke of both discipline and strength. His hair, thick and dark, was meticulously styled, he likely spent a fortune on maintaining it.

His eyes were a striking blue, so deep they seemed to pull you in, yet they were cold, devoid of any warmth. They held a darkness, an indifference that hinted at a capacity for cruelty. It was the kind of look that pierced right through you, making you feel both exposed and insignificant.

His cheekbones were sharply defined, like the edge of a blade, and his lips twisted into a perpetual sneer that seemed to mock the world around him. He carried himself with an air of superiority, as if he knew he was better than everyone in the room and found it endlessly entertaining.

Every detail about him screamed expense—from the subtle glint of a custom watch on his wrist to the polished leather shoes that gleamed under the lights. He was the epitome of luxury and danger, a lethal combination that made him all the more enticing as a target.

He moved through the crowd with a predatory grace. I could see the way people deferred to him, their smiles strained, their gazes averted. He thrived on their fear and admiration, basking in the power he held over them.

This man wasn't just rich; he was the embodiment of danger wrapped in the finest trappings money could buy. And I was determined to make his wealth mine.

- Baby Costello

Alessandro

☩══♛══☩

Being the hacker for the Cosa Nostra is a job that demands not just skill, but brilliance—a brilliance only I possess.

Long hours, confined to a room, staring at a screen, but it’s a small price to pay for perfection.

Hacking is my art, my science, my lifeblood. The thrill of it all is intoxicating. Every breach, every firewall I tear down, every encrypted message I decode—it's a rush like no other. They depend on me, even if they don't fully understand how much.

Arrogant? Maybe. But when you're as good as I am, you've earned the right to be.

People think Nikolai Costello runs the Costello Crime family, but they're deluded. Even Niko is delusional but I won't say it to his face, well, because, respect.

With a single click, I could bring the entire operation to its knees. I'm the reason the family stays one step ahead, the force driving every success.

I'm their god, their savior, their worst nightmare.

But I was also...

"Baby Costello!"

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh to calm myself. I hated that nickname.

Scott slung his arm over my shoulder, his whiskey sloshing dangerously close to my shirt. I swear to god, if a single drop touched me... He had that twisted grin on his face, the one that usually meant trouble. "Happy birthday! What are you now, twelve? Fourteen?"

I rolled my eyes heaven wards, "Twenty-five, Scott. Try to keep up."

"Twenty-five, huh?" He let out a laugh, "Well, you could've fooled me. You still look like you just graduated kindergarten."

I pushed his arm away, and gave him a shove, "Fuck off!"

"Enjoying the party?" Marco's voice cut through the thumping bass.

I shrugged, a sly smile playing on my lips. "This is nothing. Cindy always knew how to throw a real party," I said, leaning closer to be heard over the music.

Scott raised an eyebrow, shaking his head with a chuckle. "She’s Mrs. Capone now, remember? Put some fucking respect to her name."

I merely lifted a shoulder, "That doesn't change the fact that she threw the best damn parties this family has ever seen."

The nightclub throbbed, the music pounding through the air. Neon lights bathed everything, showing off the sea of bodies dancing and grinding together.

I stood in the VIP area with the men, looking down at the crowd, a drink in hand. The dim lighting couldn't hide the women winking and batting their eyelashes at me.

Getting pussy was the easiest shit ever when you looked as good as I did.

It was surreal, really.

People were always getting blinded by appearances, and mine was perfect. If I hadn’t been born with a diamond-encrusted spoon shoved so far up my ass I could taste it, my looks alone would’ve handed me everything I wanted on a silver platter.

I didn’t have to earn a damn thing—I just had to show up and let my presence do the work.

I knew my exterior was pure power, a weapon that guaranteed I’d get whatever I wanted without breaking a sweat.

I took a sip of my drink, savoring the burn as it went down. All of it was amusing, really. They didn’t even know who I was or what I did; they were just drawn to my looks, power and money that radiated off me.

Pathetic but still amusing.

The countdown to the final ten seconds began, and the entire room joined in, their voices rising in unison.

A waiter approached with a magnum of champagne. He popped the cork with a bang, and as the midnight struck, I grabbed the bottle, shook it vigorously, and threw it into the air, sending a shower of champagne cascading over everyone. The crowd roared, soaking up the liquid gold.

Scott clapped me on the back, "Now that's how you kick off a birthday, Alessandro!"

Niko, Lorenzo, and Marco joined us, raising their glasses in a toast. "To Alessandro!" Niko said, his deep voice cutting through the noise. "I've got you the car you have been eyeing for the past week. It will be in your garage before you get back home."

We clinked glasses, the sound of crystal ringing through the air. The music pumped louder, and the dancing intensified.

The women around me grew bolder, their touches lingering, their whispers more suggestive.

A tall blonde in a tiny sequined dress, slid next to me, her fingers tracing my jaw.

As more women flocked toward us, one of them reached out for Scott, her fingers almost grazing his arm. He pushed her away with a dismissive shove, his irritation barely masked. Scott might have looked the most approachable, but even he had his limits.

Niko, with his brooding presence, scared everyone who dared to look his way. Lorenzo, on the other hand, was a walking nightmare, his reputation alone enough to scare off anyone with half a brain. Marco’s stern expression was a silent warning—if looks could kill, the women would have dropped dead on the spot.

I was the charming one in this family, everyone knew that.

Scott raised his voice over the clamor, “We’re all married here, ladies. Focus on the birthday boy, not us.”

He gestured toward me with a dramatic sweep of his arm, making it clear who the real prize was.

A brunette with curves in all the right places sidled up beside me, her hand sliding over my shoulder and down my chest. She pressed herself against me, her lips brushing my ear as she spoke, her words lost in the loud music.

The music changed, the bass vibrating through the floor and up through us. I stood, holding the champagne bottle high, and the crowd's energy surged. I took a swig and passed it to the blonde, she drank eagerly before passing it around.

I leaned back, pulling the blonde and brunette closer. They giggled and whispered in my ear, their voices a sweet background noise to the pulsating beat.

I took a sip of the champagne and then kissed the blonde deeply, forcing the champagne ointo her mouth. As I pulled back, she giggled again, her eyes half-closed with lust.

Turning to the brunette, I pressed my lips to hers, feeling her melt against me. The blonde took another swig of champagne and then transferred it mouth-to-mouth to the brunette. Then the brunette, did the same, passing the champagne to me through a kiss.

Eventually, the men headed home to their families. Hours passed, but the party didn’t lose its energy.

I leaned in close to the girls on either side of me, "Let's get out of here," I suggested. They looked up at me and eagerly nodding their heads.

We made our way down from the VIP section, leaving the exclusive area behind. The bass from the music was so loud it seemed to shake the floor beneath us. As we went down, the space opened up, and we were hit by the full force of the crowd. The main level of the nightclub was packed, with people dancing and shouting over the booming beats. The air was thick with energy and the smell of sweat and perfume, it was nauseating.

As we walked through the throng of people, a woman suddenly collided with me. The first thing I noticed about her were the freckles on her face. Followed by her hazel eyes staring up at me in panic and the hint of her red hair as light fell on her for a moment in between. She muttered a quick "sorry," before she disappeared back into the sea of bodies.

I barely gave her a second glance. She probably did intentionally, girls like to throw themselves on me. I continued forward, both of the women following closely.

We made our way through the crowd, the girls clinging to me. The club's heavy doors swung open, and we stepped out into the cool night air.

The city lights reflected off the wet pavement, my driver pulled the limo outfront and I led the ladies inside first before following behind.

As we drove through the quiet streets, the girls leaned into me, their hands exploring, their lips brushing against my neck and ears.

We arrived at my place, and I led them inside, shutting the door behind us to cut off the outside world.

As soon as the door closed, the mood shifted. I turned to the girls and pulled the blonde in for a kiss. She pressed close, her body warm and soft against mine. I felt her hands exploring my chest.

The brunette started kissing my neck and shoulders. She slipped her hands under my shirt. I gently pushed the blonde onto the couch and then kissed the brunette. The blonde began trailing kisses down my chest, her hands moving to my crotch.

I settled back on the couch as both girls took their place between my legs, kneeling on the floor. The blonde unbuckled the belt while the brunette unzipped. They were all over me—hands exploring, mouths working, tongues flicking, and fingers stroking with a satisfying rhythm.

I leaned back against the plush cushions, a groan escaping my lips as I savored the sensation. The heat and pleasure were overwhelming, and a contented smile spread across my face. At that moment, I couldn’t help but think, damn, I really love my life.

•───⋅☾ ☽⋅───•

I woke up to my phone vibrating insistently somewhere nearby. Reaching out, my hand landed instead on the warm, bare skin of the girl beside me.

I cracked my eyes open, squinting against the early morning light, and then reached for the phone on the nightstand.

Thirty-one missed calls from Niko. It was barely seven a.m. What the hell did he want this early?

I answered the call and pressed the phone to my ear, irritation already creeping into my voice. "What?"

"Where's the money?" Niko's voice was a harsh, he sounded pissed and he was rarely pissed at me.

"What money?" I snapped.

"Have you looked at our goddamn accounts, Alessandro? Eleven accounts are fucking drained—eleven! That’s millions of dollars fucking vanished!" He snapped, completely taking my out of my sleep, I blinked, giving my head a shake to clear my head.

I sat up in bed, the movement causing the girls around me to stir. One of them blinked awake, her smile slow and sleepy as she looked at me. I gave her a quick glance and then turned my attention elsewhere, not interested in small talk.

That can't be, no, I felt a sudden jolt of adrenaline as I processed what he had just told me. This couldn't be happening. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, pushing the sheets aside. The blonde beside me gave a startled yelp as I shoved her out of the way, sending her tumbling to the floor. She looked up, bewildered, but I didn't spare her a second glance. There was no time for apologies.

I grabbed my laptop from the nightstand and booted it up, my fingers moving as fast as they could, "I'll call you back," I muttered to Niko before ending the call.

I logged into our accounts. Each one required a password reset. What the fuck?!

My jaw clenched as I saw the timestamps—early this morning, during the hours I had been dead to the world.

"Fuck," I hissed, slamming my fist on the nightstand. The girls around me jolted awake, eyes wide with alarm. The blonde scrambled back onto the bed, her face pale with fear.

"What's going on?" she asked timidly, but I didn't even glance at her.

My passwords had been changed. All of them. The security questions had been altered. I scrolled through the transaction history, my rage building with each new discovery.

"How the hell did this happen?" I muttered to myself, my mind racing with the possibilities.

Whoever did this was no amateur. This was a high-level, premeditated operation. They’d used my credentials to breach the system—there was no other way they could have gotten in. No fucking way.

Could it be the FBI? The thought made me swallow hard. This shit could seriously fuck us over.

"Get out," I growled at the girls. They looked at me, confused, "Now!" I barked, and they scrambled to gather their things and leave, their eyes darting nervously between me and the door.

Once they were gone, I turned my attention back to the laptop. My thoughts were a mess of anger and confusion.

How had this been possible? I had implemented every conceivable precaution, every advanced security measure. Yet here I was, facing a breach that no one had ever achieved before. The FBI had tried and failed to crack my defenses in the past. When they nailed Uncle Luciano for money laundering, I made sure everything disappeared—there wasn’t a trace of the cash they were after.

The thought gnawed at me. I’d always prided myself on having the most unbreakable security in the game. The fact that someone had managed to outwit me was a slap in the face—more infuriating than the prospect of going to prison for life.

Nobody fucking outsmarts Alessandro Costello.

I yanked open a drawer in the nightstand, pulling out a secondary phone. I needed to contact my team, get them on this immediately. I dialed quickly, and waited as the phone rang.

"Frankie," I said when he answered, "we've got a major breach. Eleven accounts drained. Millions gone. I need you on this now."

"I'm on it, boss," Frankie replied, "I'll start tracing the breach and see what we can recover."

"I’ll dig into the breach from my side," I said, "I need a full forensic analysis of how this happened and who’s behind it. If it’s the FBI, obliterate all traces—leave no digital footprint. If it’s not them, gather every bit of intel you can: IP logs, transaction trails, and any metadata they might have left. I need a complete fucking picture."

I ended the call and fixed my gaze on the laptop screen. This wasn’t just a hit on our assets—it was a direct challenge to me and my reputation. Whoever pulled this off thought they could outsmart me, play me for a fool. They were about to learn just how wrong they were.

- Freckles

Alessandro

☩══♛══☩

This wasn’t just a hit on our assets—it was a direct challenge to me and my reputation. Whoever pulled this off thought they could outsmart me, play me for a fool. They were about to learn just how wrong they were.

Even if it’s the FBI, I’ll find them and drag them right to my doorstep. They’ll regret ever thinking they could take me on. This shit is personal now, and trust me, nobody wants to go toe-to-toe with me.

I continued to sift through the data, and then I saw the patterns and a realization hit me. This wasn’t just a random attack. This was someone who knew my name, someone who fucked with my ID. Someone with my full name, address, date of birth, and social security number. Some who had the guts to change my work number, how did they even pull that off and why didn't the company contact me?

The answer sent a chill down my spine—the only ones with this kind of reach and capability were the FBI.

My thoughts turned to recent dealings, enemies, anyone with the motive and the skill to pull this off.

Names and faces flashed through my mind, each one a potential traitor. But who had the means and the access to pull this off?

Suddenly it felt as if it wasn't the FBI because if it were them, they’d already be at our doorstep, slapping handcuffs on everyone for the mess we’ve made.

This stank of an inside job.

Could it be Frankie?

Taking a deep breath, a slow, sinister smile spread across my face. The thought of Frankie being behind this was almost satisfying. If he was the rat, he’d soon wish he’d stayed out of my way. I’d make sure of that.

I turned back to the laptop, my fingers flying over the keyboard. First, I needed to retrace their steps, follow the digital breadcrumbs they had left behind. Every hacker, no matter how skilled, left a trace. It was only a matter of time before I found it.

I accessed the security logs, scanning through the entries. There it was—a series of logins from unfamiliar IP addresses, masked through various VPNs and proxies. Amateurs. I had designed my systems to detect even the slightest anomalies.

I noted the IP addresses and began cross-referencing them with known VPN services and previous attacks. Patterns began to emerge, and I could feel the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

Next, I searched the transaction history. Each account had been drained in rapid succession, the money funneled through a maze of other accounts. But I recognized a few of the routes. They had used techniques I was intimately familiar with—techniques I had developed myself. This was someone who knew my methods.

Frankie was my protegé, only he'd know of my tricks but being my protegé he wouldn't leave a trail for me to find. He knew how important it was for us to cover our tracks. This person had made a fatal mistake. They had left behind traces, echoes of their movements that I could follow.

It wasn’t Frankie—he’d never be sloppy enough to leave a trail. And it wasn’t the FBI; if it were, we’d all be in cuffs by now, and my systems would be locked down. No, this was someone else. Someone stupid enough to think that they could beat me at my own game. It was almost admirable. Almost.

I smiled, the thrill of the hunt coursed through me, a heady mix of anger and excitement.

I’m going to find you, and when I do, I’ll make sure you suffer, you little thief.

I needed a network sniffer, and it was on the flash drive stashed in my wallet. I tossed my laptop onto the bed and stormed into the living room, tearing through the place in a frenzy. I finally spotted my jacket behind the couch. Snatching it up, I fumbled through the inner pocket—empty.

My eyes went wide as the full impact of the situation sank in. My wallet was gone. I scrambled through my house in a frenzy, flipping over furniture and yanking open drawers. I tore through every corner, my frustration mounting with each second.

The more I looked, the more I felt the panic clawing at me. This wasn’t just a minor screw-up—it was a fucking catastrophe.

I raked a hand through my hair as I looked around the place. The girls from last night couldn’t have taken it. They were with me the entire time. The timing of the transactions would have made it impossible for them to execute such a precise theft. If not them, then who?

As I tore through the house, a cold realization hit me—what if the thief had my wallet?

Is that how they got ahold my credentials?

But how the hell would someone swipe my wallet from inside my jacket?

Then it hit me. I recalled that brief moment from the nightclub, just before I left. The girl who brushed past me, bumping into me as she made her way through the crowd. The thought made my blood run cold.

Freckles...

I headed straight to my bedroom and booted up the nightclub’s security footage. I had left the club around 3 a.m., and Freckles had bumped into me just seconds before. I dialed in the timestamp and started sifting through the footage.

I focused intently on the video as it played. Freckles approached casually, but I zoomed in on the moment our bodies connected. Her chest brushed against mine, and I zoomed in further. There it was—her hand slipping subtly between us. It was a slight touch, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

I replayed the footage, analyzing her movements. Her hand brushed against my side where my wallet had been. The touch was practiced, deliberate. It probably wasn't the first time she had done it.

Freckles—whoever the fuck she was—was a seasoned thief.

A grim smile formed on my face. “Fuck me running... we have our little thief.”

A woman, no less…

It all clicked into place. That casual brush against me, the way she seemed to innocently bump into me—it wasn’t random. She’d used that moment of contact to snatch my wallet. The precision, the timing—it screamed professionalism.

I took a sharp breath, trying to steady myself. Freckles had managed to exploit a fleeting, unsuspecting second to pull off a heist that was as smooth as it was humiliating.

A woman had outwitted me with nothing more than a calculated touch. The realization stung—she’d made a fool out of me with a move I should have seen coming.

Now it was my turn to strike back.

But first, I had to track her down.

I reviewed the security footage from last night again, focusing intently on Freckles. I needed a better view of her face, something more definitive. As the footage played, I zoomed in on her features, as she sat on the barstool, sipping on her drink.

In that frame, I paused the video. Her face was partially obscured, but I could make out enough details—her hairstyle, distinctive features. I took a series of screenshots.

With the images saved, I used specialized software to enhance the screenshots, increasing the resolution and clarity. The clearer images allowed me to start a reverse search. I used facial recognition software to compare her features against publicly available databases and social media profiles.

Within minutes, I had narrowed down potential matches. I cross-referenced her image with local social media accounts and public records. Her unique appearance and the specific details from the footage helped me identify accurately.

Minutes later, I had a hit.

The name was Viviane Kane. And the image of her stared back at me, mascara running down her cheek, she had a slight smirk on her face, her red hair was a mess and she was holding a placard with her name on it. She held it almost casually, as if the arrest were just another notch on her belt.

It was a mugshot...

Fuck, interesting...

I dug deeper, pulling up her profile and background. Viviane Kane wasn’t just a random pickpocket; she had a history. Arrest records showed two previous arrests for theft. Each charge was linked to elaborate heists.

There were articles detailing her heists, including a high-profile gala where she had stolen a valuable necklace, impressively.

She was known for slipping through security systems that stumped even the best. As I read more details I realized that each of her thefts were planned with precision.

I smiled, a cold, calculated smile stretching across my face. "Got you, little thief…"

This wasn’t just about a stolen wallet anymore. It was personal. Viviane Kane had the audacity to target someone like me, and that meant she needed to be dealt with.

Next, I dug into her personal life. She was holed up in a rundown part of Brooklyn, living in a cramped apartment that was crawling with lowlifes thieves just like her.

I gave Frankie the directive to shut down the search and handle the situation myself. No need for anyone else to get their hands dirty, after all, it was just a girl.

Suddenly, the tension lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I had all the time in the world. I freshened up, took a shower, had breakfast with Magnus—a British shorthair cat.

He reclined in his velvet bed as I served him his premium organic kibble, the kind that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. He was the most important thing in my life, the only creature in my world that truly understood the value of finer things.

I selected a tailored suit from my closet. It crafted from the finest Italian wool, fit me like a second skin. I fastened the sleeve garters. My leather gloves, made from the softest lambskin, slid on effortlessly. I wasn’t one for leaving fingerprints, especially when it came to handling delicate matters—like murder.

"Be a good boy," I told Magnus as I stepped out, locking the door behind me.

I preferred solitude. No staff, no guards or drivers. My home was a fortress built on layers of custom security protocols that would make even the slickest hacker sweat.

A cleaning lady comes by every couple of days to clean up, but otherwise, I handled my own. I even cooked my own meals.

The moment I approached the garage, the sensors kicked in with a low buzz and the door slid open. Inside, eight cars shined under the lights. I spared a glance at the Lamborghini Sián Roadster, the newest addition, thanks to Niko. Its sleek design tempting me for a split second. But rolling through Brooklyn in that beast would be like throwing a flare into the night sky.

I opted for a BMW instead. It was the perfect choice—under the radar. It would keep me low-profile as I tracked down Viviane Kane.

- Little Thief

Viviane

☩═✦═☩

I have always been a little fucked up...

Well, not a little but a lot...

From a really young age, I felt it. There was this gnawing sense that something wasn't right with me.

While other kids were dreaming about fairy tales and superheroes, my mind would wander into darker, more forbidden territories. It was unsettling, but it was my reality.

I didn't understand why, and I certainly couldn't talk to anyone about it. So, I kept it buried deep inside, letting it fester and grow.

As I got older, those feelings didn't fade. If anything, they intensified. I tried to ignore them, push them down, and pretend they weren't there. But they always resurfaced, stronger and more insistent.

In everyday life, I come across as assertive, independent, a total spitfire. I don't let any man tell me what to do—I run my own show. If you see me, you'd never guess the darkness lurking beneath my surface. I wear confidence like armor, and people buy the act without question.

But that darkness is always there and it wasn't for the lack of trying.

I tried to push it away, convinced myself it was sick, twisted, wrong. I told myself I shouldn't think about it, that I needed to be normal. But the harder I fought it, the stronger it seemed to get.

Whenever I was with a guy, it was like a cruel joke. I'd go through the motions, play the part, but most of the time, I just couldn't come. It was like my body was rebelling, refusing to give in to the act.

The worst part? I became a master at faking it. I'd arch my back, moan at all the right moments, and they'd never know the difference. It was so frustrating, knowing how good I was at pretending.

I've wrestled with my demons for so long, trying to reconcile this part of myself with the person I show to the world.

It's a constant struggle, a battle that leaves me exhausted and hollow. But slowly I've come to accept that this is who I am—flawed, broken, and deeply, irrevocably fucked up.

And maybe, just maybe, that's okay.

I've come to terms with the fact that everyone has their own sexual fantasies—no matter how weird, twisted, or even downright absurd they might be. I've heard stories of people going to extremes just to get off—eating crap and all that. I might judge a little, but hey, who am I to say what's too far?

Mine didn’t seem that outrageous in comparison.

Except it was. It was deeply shameful and seriously messed up.

But as long as it would have stayed in my head and got me off, there wouldn't have been a problem.

The real danger is when those fantasies start leaking into reality.

And, bit by bit, they did.

I could see it happening, but I was powerless to stop it. It was like a primal urge, something I craved with the same intensity as the next breath. It wasn’t even a choice anymore—it was just automatic, like my body knew what it wanted and didn’t care about the consequences.

That’s why, at two in the morning, I found myself in front of my computer. I was on Erotic Nexus, a subscription-only site buried deep in the dark web. I'd pay for access myself with the money I stole.

Last night, I was flat broke and had to go on a fake date just to get a free meal. Now, thanks to my skills, I was rolling in money.

I scrolled through the website, casually exploring my options. Erotic Nexus was the dark web’s playground for fantasies—absolutely limitless. With a single click, I could arrange for someone to hunt me down in the streets, drag me into his car, and use me like a plaything, treating me like nothing more than an object.

It was all disturbingly simple.

The site had built-in safety measures: safe words and a detailed contract that both parties had to sign before settling on the specifics. You could remain anonymous or choose to reveal your identity. There were profiles for every type of person you might want—each with detailed descriptions and ratings.

You could handpick your ideal “partner,” from the look of the person to the exact way they’d fulfill your desires. It was all laid out in an almost clinical manner: preferences, boundaries, and roles, all neatly cataloged.

I could see ratings and reviews from others who’d acted out their fantasies through this site, their feedback ranging from glowing praise to warnings.

Everything was perfectly crafted to make your darkest desires a reality, all controlled by the click of a button.

"Viviane?" The small, trembling voice made me shut down my computer immediately.

I turned to see Felicity standing in the doorway of my bedroom, shifting from one foot to another. She was anxious and scared, her body language screamed that she needed comfort.

"Hey, Fliss, you had another nightmare?" I asked, softening my voice.

She nodded, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I got up from my chair and walked over to her, gently guiding her back to her room. Once we reached her bed, I helped her sit down and poured a glass of water from the nightstand.

"Here, drink this," I said, handing her the glass. She took it with a shaky hand and drank deeply.

"Was it the same one?" I asked, sitting beside her.

She nodded again, her eyes wide and scared.

"Hey, it's okay," I said, pulling her into a hug. "It's just a bad dream. It can't hurt you. I'm right here."

Felicity clung to me, her small body trembling. "It felt so real," she whispered, "Like it was happening all over again."

"I know, sweetie. Nightmares can be really scary, but remember, they’re just in your head. They don’t have any power over you in real life," I assured her, stroking her hair.

"But what if it happens again?" she asked, her voice small and frightened.

"Even if it does, you'll wake up and I'll be right here to help you through it," I promised. "You're not alone, Fliss. Not ever."

She looked up at me, her eyes still filled with fear but also a flicker of hope. I tucked her into bed, pulling the blankets up around her.

“What if someone comes for you?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

I leaned in, my voice cold but soft just for her, “If they do, they’d better pray for a miracle. They won’t just leave with a few bruises—they’ll be lucky to leave at all.”

Her fear melted into a hesitant smile, and I could see she felt a little safer.

“Are you doing bad jobs again?” she asked, and I shut my eyes, trying to hold it together. “I don’t want you risking yourself for me. If I die, I die. It’s okay. You’ll be free of the burden, and I’ll finally be with Mom and Dad. It’s a win-win.”

I locked eyes with her and gently cupped her face. “I’d take on every bad job in the world if it meant keeping you with me. Do you hear me? You’re not a burden; you’re my best friend and a piece of my sister—the one I miss every damn day. I won’t let you slip away like I did with her. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Fliss.”

She shook her head, her hand trembling. She was so weak now, with both kidneys failing. If I didn’t act quickly, I’d lose her for good.

Last year, my sister and her husband were murdered in a brutal home invasion, leaving Felicity all alone. My sister had always made it clear that if anything ever happened, she wanted me to take care of her. She knew I'd step up and treat Felicity as if she were my own.

Our parents were always wrapped up in their careers, so my sister practically raised me. Now, it's my turn to return the favor and be there for her daughter. There's no way in hell I'm letting anything happen to Felicity.

Felicity saw her parents getting shot, and ever since, she’s been plagued by these awful nightmares. I wanted to get her therapy, but with the transplant for her kidney, there was never any money left over.

But now, with the money we had, we finally have enough for both the transplant and the therapy. She deserves this chance to heal, and I’m not letting anything stop me from giving it to her.

"Try to think of something nice," I suggested. "Like that beach trip we’re planning. Imagine the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun."

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Okay," she whispered.

I stayed with her until her breathing evened out and I was sure she had fallen back to sleep. Before leaving, I kissed her forehead and whispered, "Sweet dreams, Fliss."

I quietly left her room, closing the door softly behind me. I lingered for a moment, listening to the silence, making sure she was truly asleep.

I turned toward my bedroom, but a loud thud from the living room made me stop dead in my tracks. My senses went into overdrive as I zeroed in on every tiny sound in the apartment.

Felicity and I were holed up in a two-bedroom place in Brooklyn—nothing fancy, just a cramped living room, a tiny kitchen, and a whole lot of windows. It wasn’t exactly fortified, which meant it was a perfect target for anyone looking to break in.

I stepped into my room and yanked open a drawer, grabbing my SIG Sauer P365. Its cold metal was a reassuring weight in my hand. From the corner of the room, I grabbed a baseball bat and made my way out, shutting the door with a firm click behind me.

I slid the SIG into the waistband of my pants, the grip tucked against my lower back, then gripped the bat tightly and headed for the living room. The space was little, no place for an intruder to slip through unnoticed.

My eyes scanned the shadows, every sense on high alert. If someone was here, they’d better start praying, because they were about to find out that stepping into my home was a one-way ticket to meeting their maker.

When I stepped into the living room, time seemed to freeze. A man lounged casually in my armchair by the window. Our eyes locked in the dim light, and he slowly flicked on the lamp beside him. The soft glow made me swallow hard.

“Hello, little thief,” he drawled, his voice dripping with a dangerous charm.

It was him—the rich bastard whose wallet I’d lifted. Alessandro Fucking Costello, according to his ID.

At first, my plan was to drain his credit and move on, but he turned out to be an even bigger target than I’d thought. All that money was too tempting, and I couldn’t resist taking everything.

I decided to play it cool, lowering the bat and tilting my head with a feigned innocence. “Thief? What exactly did I steal?”

His smile stretched slowly, almost serpentine, darkening as it grew, “My money,” he said, his voice a dark, velvety whisper.

I could feel the heat of his gaze as he let his eyes roam over me. I tilted my chin upwards, staring right back at him.

“Ten million fucking dollars?” he stated, his voice a dangerous whisper.

He leaned forward slightly, the light casting shadows that danced across his face, accentuating the predatory glint in his eyes.

I tightened my grip on the bat, “I didn’t think you’d notice. You’re rich enough.”

His smile morphed into something darker, almost sadistic, “Oh, I noticed. And while my wealth might be vast, I don’t let anyone think they can cross me and walk away unscathed. I have a reputation for a reason.”

I clenched my jaw, “How did you find me?”

He stood up, and in an instant, he was towering over me. God, the bastard was tall.

“You don’t get to play games with someone who thrives on them..." he answered, “We can do this the easy way. You transfer every penny you stole back into my accounts, and I’ll let you walk away with just a few broken bones. Or we can do it the hard way,” his eyes roamed over me with a mix of utter disgust and dark amusement. “You don’t look like you can handle the hard way.”

I let a smile curve my lips, my gaze meeting his with a challenging glint. He had no fucking idea just how much I could handle.

I tightened my grip on the bat, a confident smile spreading across my face. “Or we can do it my way, where you get nothing back and end up bleeding to death in my living room.”

With that, I swung the bat at his face. He barely had time to react, jerking back as the bat whooshed past, missing by a hair.