Chapter 5 Taste of Ashes

The rain hadn't stopped.

By the time Kieran got back to his safe house, the cold had sunk deep into his bones. But it wasn't the weather that unsettled him it was the taste of Isandro Moretti still burning on his lips.

He dropped his coat onto the floor, barely noticing, and pressed his palms into his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" he muttered to himself.

He could still feel the brutal heat of the kiss. Still feel Isandro's fingers gripping his wrist. The worst part the part he hated was that he wanted it again.

And that was a death sentence.

The Irish and the Italians had burned each other for decades. There was no room for whatever the hell this was. No room for mistakes, weakness, or... whatever fever had crawled under his skin the second Moretti's mouth touched his.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

Kieran yanked it up.

A text from Liam:

Another name. Luca Barone. He's moving through the docks. Orders?

Kieran exhaled sharply, focusing.

Track him. No engagement until I say. I'll handle it.

Because if there was one thing he still had control over it was the war.

His heart?

That was another story entirely.

Across the city, Isandro Moretti sat in darkness.

The whiskey glass on the table was untouched.

Matteo stood near the window, the only sound in the room the quiet rustle of rain against the glass.

"Sir?" Matteo asked carefully.

Isandro's jaw clenched. "What is it?"

"We traced the name Marco gave us. Grey is real. Offshore accounts tied to shell companies out of London. We're digging deeper."

Isandro nodded without looking at him.

Matteo hesitated, then added, "And... Walsh?"

The name twisted something sharp in Isandro's chest.

"Walsh is an asset," he said flatly.

But the lie tasted bitter.

Because when Kieran's mouth had crushed against his, it hadn't felt like strategy. It had felt... alive. Brutal. Honest in a way nothing else in Isandro's world ever was.

Matteo gave a quiet nod, but his eyes were sharp.

He knew. He always knew.

The next night found them side by side again.

The docks.

Milan's underbelly stretched in shadows and concrete, cold metal containers stacked like tombstones. Kieran adjusted the holster beneath his coat as Isandro briefed him in a low, clipped voice.

"Luca Barone. De Luca loyalist. Word is he's running guns."

"Lovely," Kieran muttered. "And we're walking straight into it?"

"Unless you're afraid."

Kieran shot him a sharp look. "You wish."

The tension between them crackled sharp as live wire. Neither spoke of the kiss. Neither acknowledged the way their gazes caught and held just a second too long.

They moved through the shadows in silence, twin predators on the hunt.

The ambush came fast.

Three men. Armed. Faces half covered.

Kieran ducked low as bullets shattered the air, diving behind a rusted crate. Isandro was already returning fire with ruthless precision, cold and efficient.

"Could've warned me!" Kieran shouted over the gunfire.

Isandro smirked actually smirked as he reloaded. "Where's the fun in that?"

Kieran laughed despite himself sharp, breathless and vaulted over the crate, firing twice. One of the attackers dropped.

Moments later, it was over.

Three bodies. One still alive, moaning on the wet ground.

Kieran grabbed the survivor by the collar, shoving him against a container. "Name," he growled. "Now."

The man coughed, blood bubbling on his lips. "Grey... everything for Grey... the war's already started"

He slumped before he could finish.

Dead.

Kieran's fists tightened until his knuckles whitened. "Son of a ....."

Isandro stepped beside him, voice cold as steel. "We're too late."

Kieran's eyes burned. "No. We're not."

But even he heard the lie in his own voice.

They returned to Isandro's penthouse because it was closer because the city was still dangerous because neither of them said no.

The air was electric the moment the door shut behind them.

Kieran shrugged off his blood smeared coat, his chest still heaving from the chase. Isandro poured whiskey without speaking.

For a moment, neither looked at the other.

Then....

"About the other night," Kieran said hoarsely, shoving his fingers through his hair. "We should... we can't "

"Agreed," Isandro interrupted quietly.

But when their eyes met, something cracked.

It was too much. Too close. Too far gone.

Kieran's voice dropped to a whisper. "But I can't stop thinking about it."

The glass in Isandro's hand trembled barely but Kieran caught it.

Isandro's voice was little more than breath: "Neither can I."

They crashed together.

Harder this time. More desperate. Teeth clashed. Hands gripped. There was nothing gentle in it only hunger, frustration, the taste of blood and whiskey and betrayal.

Isandro's fingers fisted in Kieran's shirt, pulling him closer as Kieran shoved him back against the wall.

The kiss seared them both alive.

Clothes fell away in frantic touches. The floor, the walls none of it mattered. Only the heat, the hands, the fire beneath their skin.

Kieran gasped as Isandro bit down on his throat, sharp teeth grazing skin, and something in him shattered completely.

When they finally collapsed together on the sleek black sheets, breathless and shaking, the world outside felt like it had stopped.

For a moment, there was only this.

Only them.

Kieran lay awake long after.

Isandro's breathing was steady beside him. The storm outside still rattled the windows.

Everything should've felt wrong.

Instead, it felt terrifyingly right.

And that, Kieran knew, would be the thing that destroyed them both.