______________________

THE MACHINE

♧

REED WONDER , AURORA OLIVIAS _____________________________

THE NIGHT BEFORE had been a spectacle. I'd been swarmed by strippers—something my lovely wife handled by starting a fight with all of them before slapping me. Twice.

Malakai, on the other hand, had managed to get a girl's number, which meant he either left Tulum with a potential girlfriend or an STD. Jury was still out on that one.

The rest of the night had ended faster than usual. After the chaos, we ordered food, finished packing, and crashed. Morning had been quiet, everyone too tired—or too hungover—to bother with conversation as we made it through check-in.

Now, we'd landed. The trip was over, and one by one, everyone was going their separate ways.

I glanced at Celine, who was scrolling through her phone, legs tucked under her in the seat beside me. She looked calm, but I knew better. Her mind was already back on business. Back to reality.

Malakai stretched with a groan. "Well, that was fun. Let's do it again next year."

"Maybe without the brawls this time." Val side-eyed Celine, who didn't even bother looking up.

"No promises."

Koko yawned. "I need a nap and an IV drip."

I checked my watch. "Car's outside. Let's go."

As we made our way through the airport, I felt that familiar shift. Vacation was over. Now, it was back to the world we ruled—the one that didn't give second chances.

Koko and Val took one car while Malakai went off in his own.

"Work," he said, and that was all that needed to be said.

Malakai's family operated like the mafia's own version of the FBI—only dirtier, deadlier, and with more leverage. They had connections everywhere, their hands in intelligence, surveillance, and cleanup. If you needed something found, erased, or buried, Malakai's family made it happen.

"Bye, Cece!" Koko and Val called out, blowing kisses in her direction.

Celine gave them a halfhearted wave before turning toward me. "Open the door."

I sighed but pulled it open, watching as she slid into the seat without another word.

She didn't speak for the entire ride home. Not one sarcastic remark, not one complaint. Just silence.

Her head stayed down, her breathing steady.

By the time I pulled up to the house, she was asleep.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension that had settled there.

Albert, Lottie, and Summer were already unloading the bags from the car, working with quiet efficiency.

"Welcome back, sir," Lottie said softly but steadily.

I gave her a nod. "Thank you, Lottie."

"Shall we get Celi—Mrs. Genovese?"

I turned my head, eyes landing on my wife, still slumped in her seat, her breathing slow and steady. Her lips were slightly parted, the faintest crease between her brows like she was deep in a dream.

"It's fine. I've got it," I said, already reaching for her. "I don't know if she's armed anyway."

Albert huffed, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Wise decision, sir."

I slid my arms beneath her, lifting her easily against my chest. She barely stirred, only a soft sigh against my collarbone before she settled back into sleep.

The house was quiet as I carried her inside, past the grand staircase and toward our bedroom. Every step I took, I felt the warmth of her against me, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

By the time I reached our room, I set her down on the bed carefully, brushing a stray braid away from her face. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn't wake.

I crouched down, easing off her shoes as gently as I could. She had changed into sweatpants and a matching hoodie for the flight, but even in her sleep, she'd probably get too warm.

I pulled back the blanket and slid it over her, then sat on the edge of the bed, just watching her for a moment.

Celine—my wife.

There were still moments when it didn't feel real, like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But then there were nights like this, where she was right here, trusting me enough to sleep so soundly.

I let out a slow breath, reaching for the watch on my wrist to undo the strap.

And that's when I felt it.

Fingers curling around my wrist.

I looked down to find Celine's eyes half-open, groggy but still sharp, her grip firm.

"You're staring," she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

I smirked, bringing her hand to my lips. "Just making sure you're still breathing."

She made a noise—something between a scoff and a hum—before releasing me and turning over, burying her face into the pillow.

I leaned back, watching her for a beat longer before getting up to change.

I'd let her sleep for now.

Tomorrow, she wasn't leaving my sight.

The next morning, I woke up to Celine's leg draped over my waist.

This was new.

I shifted slightly, careful not to wake her—or worse, startle her into instinctively reaching for a gun. My hands hovered, unsure of where to rest. Touching her too much felt like a dangerous game, but moving away felt just as risky.

I adjusted just a little, and that was enough.

Her brows scrunched before her eyes fluttered open, groggy but immediately suspicious. "What the fuck?"

"I'd like to ask you the same question."

She blinked at me, then looked down at herself—just panties and an oversized t-shirt.

Her expression darkened. "Did you—"

"No." I cut her off before she could finish that sentence. "Summer and Lottie helped change you. You were clearly uncomfortable in your dress."

She narrowed her eyes like she was trying to read me, then yawned, stretching before flopping back onto the pillow. "I need food."

"You need water first."

She waved me off and sat up, rubbing her temples before glancing at me again. "Wait, so you didn't leave last night?"

I smirked. "I thought about it. Then you decided to use me as your personal pillow, so here we are."

Celine gave me a once-over, like she was considering how to respond. Then she shrugged, tossing the covers off her. "Well, if you're gonna be useful, at least make yourself useful. Coffee. Now."

I chuckled under my breath but got up anyway, stretching my arms before heading toward the door. "Demanding as ever."

"You're the one who married me."

I paused at that, glancing back at her. She was already lying back down, arm thrown over her eyes like she hadn't just reminded me of the most chaotic decision of my life.

Yeah. I did marry her. And as much as I wanted to call it a mistake, mornings like this made me question just how much of one it really was.

After I had gotten Celine her breakfast and coffee, I made my way to my office. The sun was barely up, but the house was already alive with movement. The estate had been built for efficiency—security cameras covering every angle, guards stationed at every entrance. But beneath all that, past the elegant facade of marble floors and velvet curtains, was the real heart of our business.

I walked down the long corridor, my polished dress shoes echoing against the stone. My office was at the end of the hall, behind reinforced steel doors disguised as mahogany. I pressed my palm against the scanner, and the locks disengaged with a sharp click.

Inside, the air smelled of leather, cigar smoke, and the faint metallic tang of money. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, but instead of literature, they were filled with ledgers, safes, and stacks of untraceable bills. A sleek black desk sat in the center of the room, papers neatly arranged, a glass decanter of whiskey resting beside them.

But this was only the surface.

I turned towards the bookshelf on the far end, pressed a hidden panel, and stepped into the elevator behind it. It descended smoothly, deeper into the compound where the real work happened.

The doors slid open, revealing a wide underground space bathed in dim overhead lighting. The air was thick with the scent of ink, paper, and something sharper—cocaine, freshly weighed and bagged.

Trainees stood in a row, each one younger than the last, their hands steady as they counted stacks of cash. Some were barely out of their teens, their faces still holding the last traces of innocence. That wouldn't last.

To the left, Matteo oversaw the money counters, his sharp eyes catching the smallest mistake. To the right, Nico leaned against a table, watching as the newest recruits were drilled on how to handle shipments—how to pack, how to move, how to disappear.

Dante sat on a stool, rolling a joint, completely unbothered by the chaos around him.

I stepped forward, rolling up my sleeves. "What do we got?"

Matteo looked up first, sharp and efficient as always. "Shipment came in last night. Five crates. Three of them were exactly what we expected. The other two..." He exhaled sharply. "Short. By about fifteen kilos."

Fifteen kilos.

I clenched my jaw, rolling my shoulders back. That wasn't a miscalculation. That was a fucking problem.

Nico snorted from where he leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Who handled it?"

Matteo didn't hesitate. "Rivera's crew."

Of course.

I exhaled slowly, tilting my head back as I considered my next move.

Rivera was reckless, but he wasn't stupid. He knew what would happen if he crossed me. Which meant either he was feeling bold enough to test me, or someone else had gotten in his ear. Either way, I'd have to remind him why that was a mistake.

I turned to Nico. "Get me everything we have on him. Who he's been talking to, who he's been meeting with."

Nico gave a lazy salute. "On it." He pulled out his phone and was already typing before I even finished speaking.

I turned back to Matteo. "Where are the crates now?"

"Secured. Checked for trackers. The clean ones are already being moved."

I nodded, already thinking ten steps ahead. "And the short ones?"

"Still here."

Good.

I glanced at the trainees, watching them work. Their hands were steady, their focus sharp. But I caught the way a few of them were trying not to look at me too long, the way their movements were a little too precise, like they were waiting to see what I would do.

Smart.

They should be watching.

I grabbed a knife from the nearby table and walked toward the crates. Matteo moved out of my way without needing to be told.

With one quick motion, I sliced through the plastic covering the nearest box, flipping the lid open. White powder, packed neatly into bricks, stared back at me.

I picked one up, rolling it in my palm. Then I tightened my grip and slammed it down on the table.

The powder burst out in a fine cloud, settling on the dark wood. I ran a finger through it, lifting it to my tongue. Pure.

That only pissed me off more.

"Rivera knows better than to steal from me," I said, voice even. Controlled. "So either he's gotten sloppy, or someone's been whispering in his ear." I let my gaze sweep across the room. "Either way, I want to know everything by tonight."

Dante, still perched on his stool, took a slow drag of his joint. "You want us to handle it?"

I wiped my hands on a cloth, flexing my fingers before cracking my neck.

"No," I said. "I'll handle it myself."

The room fell silent.

Nico let out a low whistle. "Gonna be a fun night."

I smiled. "For me."

I turned on my heel, already planning my next move. Rivera wanted to play games?

Fine.

I'd remind him what it felt like to lose.

♧

The warehouse was dimly lit, the scent of motor oil and metal thick in the air. The moment I stepped out of the car, I could hear the low murmur of voices inside, the unmistakable sound of crates being shifted, weapons being checked. Rivera's men.

I adjusted my cuffs, rolling my shoulders back before stepping in. Two guards by the entrance straightened when they saw me, but they knew better than to ask questions. I walked past them without a word.

Inside, crates were stacked high, some cracked open, revealing the weapons meant for my shipment. Meant to be delivered two weeks ago.

Rivera stood at the center, talking to one of his men. When he saw me, his expression didn't change, but I caught the slight shift in his posture. A tell.

"Genovese," he greeted, nodding. "Didn't expect you tonight."

"Didn't expect to have to show up," I said smoothly, picking up a pistol from an open crate. I inspected it, weighing it in my hand. "I don't like problems, Rivera."

He exhaled, already knowing where this was going. "It's not my fault."

I looked at him then, unimpressed. "Try again."

Rivera licked his lips, glanced at his men, then took a step forward. "Port inspections have been tighter. Some of my guys got pulled for questioning. Had to move carefully."

"Careful is fine. Late isn't."

I set the pistol back down and took a step closer. "I paid for a shipment. You took the money. And now I'm supposed to sit and nod like an idiot while you tell me it's out of your hands?"

His jaw tensed. "I'll get it to you."

I smirked. "You will." I tapped the crate beside me. "Because if you don't, Rivera, I won't be showing up just to talk next time."

The tension in the room sharpened. His men stood a little straighter. He held my gaze, and I could see the calculations running through his mind.

Then he nodded. "Three days."

"Two."

His nostrils flared, but he didn't argue.

I turned, making my way back toward the exit.

"Oh, and Rivera," I called over my shoulder. "Make sure nothing's missing. I'd hate to have to come back."

I didn't wait for his response. I'd made my point.

As I stepped into the cool night air, the sharp scent of fresh rain hit me, but the tension still clung to me like a second skin. My footsteps echoed against the empty street, steady and confident. I knew he'd comply. Rivera wasn't stupid; he understood power and the price of crossing it.

The city seemed quieter than usual as I walked toward my car, the headlights cutting through the foggy gloom. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I didn't need to check to know who it was.

I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Ambrosia.

"You're done with Rivera?"

I smirked, typing back quickly. "Done. But I'll be back in two days to make sure he kept his word."

A moment passed before her response came through. "Sounds like a dangerous game. Be careful."

I chuckled, slipping the phone back into my pocket. Danger was just another day for me.

I slid into the car, starting the engine. The growl of the motor was comforting, familiar. The road stretched ahead, endless. I pressed the pedal down, eager to put the night's dealings behind me. There were always more games to play, more people to control. But tonight, Rivera had learned his lesson.

And he'd remember it.

A flash of fire lit up the rearview mirror. I didn't need to look to know Rivera's car was now a heap of burning metal. My fingers twitched, and I gave a subtle wave of my hand, signaling the sniper on the roof. The job was done. Clean. Efficient. No loose ends.

Although I had hated marrying Celine, the alliance with the Lucianos had been incredibly lucrative for my family. No one dared to fuck with us now—not when they knew we had the Luciano's backing. Especially when they liked to play with fire.

As I pulled away, the flames flickered in the distance, a reminder of the price of defiance. I let out a breath, turning the corner. There was always more to do, always another fight to win. But tonight, I'd let the flames do the talking for me.

The night air was cool as I pulled into the driveway, my mind a little lighter after the day's chaos, ready to escape into the peace of my own home. The headlights of my car cut through the fog, but something caught my eye as I slowed to a stop. Two figures stood near the front door, puffing away on cigarettes, their stances casual but alert.

I rolled the window down, irritation flaring immediately. Dante and Nico. They were always up to something, and if they were standing out here, something was off.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" I barked, looking from one to the other.

Nico flicked his cigarette away, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Celine said we could use some help, Antonio. She's inside."

I frowned, confused but not willing to argue. "Celine said that?"

"Yeah," Dante chimed in, shrugging with a slight smirk. "She's got a few things going on."

I gave them a sharp look, stepping out of the car and heading toward the door without waiting for another word.

Inside, I was hit by an overwhelming sense of chaos, the kind you could taste in the air. The kitchen was a mess—scattered bags of drugs, bundles of money, and papers everywhere, all piled on the counters like it was some routine operation. The scent of something synthetic hung heavy, a stark contrast to the usual scent of fresh coffee or dinner.

And there she was.

Celine, standing effortlessly on the counter in the midst of it all. Barefoot, her black leather crop top clinging to her curves, and that mini skirt—tight, high, and revealing her smooth, toned legs. She wasn't even fazed by the mess around her. A phone pressed to her ear, she spoke with the kind of casual ease I'd come to expect from her in moments of complete chaos.

Lottie and Summer were nearby, huddled over piles of cash, sorting it with their usual efficiency. But this time, there was something different in their movements. Summer was more eager than usual, flipping through the stacks, while Lottie seemed more tentative, her frail hands shaking slightly as she adjusted the piles of money.

And then I saw them—more of my cousins. Matteo and Ambrosia were inside, clearly busy with their own work. Matteo was pacing in the corner, talking on his phone, while Ambrosia was handling a few bags of something I didn't care to name, carefully inspecting them with a level of precision that would make anyone else nervous.

Albert, as always, stood off to the side, watching it all unfold with a smug, patronizing air. His posture was rigid, almost as if he was enjoying the disarray.

I stood in the doorway, stunned for a moment. "Celine," I finally muttered, my voice rough with the shock. "What the hell is all of this?"

She didn't even flinch, her focus still entirely on the phone. "Hold on," she said into the receiver, her voice cool and collected. She hung up and slid the phone into her pocket, then finally turned her attention to me. "What's up, Antonio?" Her expression was the same—unaffected by the disarray.

My eyes scanned the chaos around me—drugs, money, papers—and then landed back on her, standing on that counter like she belonged in the middle of it all. "What the hell is going on here?" I demanded, my patience thinning.

She slid off the counter with ease, moving toward me in those bare feet, her curves making her look all the more dangerous. "Business," she said nonchalantly, as if the sight of our kitchen turned into a war zone was no big deal. "A little organization, a little protection. Making sure no one forgets who runs things around here."

I looked at Lottie, who was still nervously counting the money, then at Summer, who was more confident but still visibly tense. "And you two?" I asked.

Lottie hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're just making sure everything checks out, sir."

Summer looked up, more upbeat than Lottie, but her expression serious. "Making sure we don't lose track of anything. Keeping it all in line."

I turned back to Celine, a mixture of disbelief and frustration filling me. "You've turned the kitchen into a goddamn drug den."

Celine gave me that lazy smile of hers, the one that said she wasn't worried about anything. "Sometimes, you've got to let things get a little messy to keep control."

Matteo and Ambrosia were both still busy, Matteo muttering something under his breath as he glanced at a screen on his phone, and Ambrosia carefully packing the drugs into neat piles. Albert remained silent but close, an observant figure in the corner.

I walked farther into the room, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. This wasn't just business. It was her empire—one that I was now a part of. And I didn't know if I was ready for everything it entailed.

Celine's eyes flicked to me, the familiar intensity in them. "You have a problem with it?" she asked, her voice low, challenging.

I stood there for a moment, considering. "No," I finally said, letting out a breath. "But I don't want this spilling out of our kitchen."

"Don't worry, Antonio," she replied with a smirk. "We've got it under control."

Her words rang in the air as I glanced at my cousins, my staff, and my wife. It was clear that control was exactly what she had—and I was just along for the ride.

I turned toward the door, my mind still racing with everything that had just happened. As I walked out of the kitchen, I heard Celine call after me. "Oh, and Antonio?"

I turned back, raising an eyebrow.

"Make sure you get some rest," she said, that same smirk on her lips. "We've got a lot more to deal with tomorrow."

I didn't reply. I just walked out of the room, but I couldn't shake the feeling that everything had shifted. She had control. And for the first time, I wasn't sure whether I was playing the game or if I was just another pawn.

The door slammed shut behind me, and I let the weight of the night settle over me. I knew Celine wasn't someone to take lightly. But I had my own ways of keeping control.

Sleeping wasn't going to happen.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was a control freak. I needed to know what was happening under my roof, who was touching what, and whether everything was running the way it should be. Twenty minutes of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, had me right back on my feet, heading downstairs.

The kitchen was even more organized than before—neater stacks of cash, drugs sealed into smaller packages—but the chaos was still undeniable. My cousins worked efficiently at the table, their movements practiced. Lottie counted bills with quick, nervous fingers, while Summer worked with an eager bounce, stuffing cash into duffel bags. Albert stood stiffly in the corner, watching over everything with an air of disapproval, like he was assessing the competence of lowly street dealers rather than my own family.

But my eyes locked onto Celine immediately.

She was standing at the counter, a knife in one hand, neatly dividing bricks of product into precise measurements. She wasn't just overseeing—she was working directly with it.

My stomach tightened.

She had one foot propped on the counter stool, her tiny skirt riding high up her thigh, her body fully relaxed as if she wasn't handling something that could get her killed if it ended up in the wrong hands. She was focused, completely unbothered, her long braids falling forward as she worked.

She wasn't just playing in my world. She was owning it.

"Celine," I snapped.

She barely acknowledged me, her knife cutting through the last brick with smooth efficiency. "Mmm?"

"You don't touch the product."

Her lips curved, but she didn't stop. She wrapped the freshly cut pieces, sealing them up without missing a beat.

"I said—" I stepped forward, reaching for the package she was handling, but before I could grab it, the tip of the knife was suddenly pressed lightly against my wrist.

"Relax, papi," she murmured, finally meeting my eyes. "I know what I'm doing."

I clenched my jaw.

"Let her cook," Dante muttered from the side.

"Antonio, we're making progress," Nico added, barely looking up.

Albert let out a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, by all means, let's all pretend the lady of the house hasn't turned the kitchen into a cartel headquarters."

Celine smirked but finally set the knife down, dusting off her hands before walking past me toward the bathroom.

I followed, my patience wearing thin. "You don't run things, Celine."

She hummed, flicking on the faucet. "I do tonight."

My eye twitched.

She rinsed her hands, running them under the water like nothing about this was serious.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "This isn't a game."

She turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror. "You're worried about me, aren't you, papi?"

I exhaled sharply. "I'm worried about this entire situation."

She turned off the water, shaking her hands before reaching for a towel. "You don't have to be."

"That's not how this works, Celine."

She dried her hands slowly, her lips curving in that way that always meant trouble. "I know it's hard for you," she cooed, turning to face me. "Not being in control."

"I am in control," I bit out.

She smiled, stepping forward, closing the space between us. "Are you?"

I held my ground, but when she reached up, running her fingers down my chest, my body tensed. Her nails dragged lightly over the fabric of my shirt, tracing slow, teasing lines down to my stomach.

"You don't have to be," she murmured, tilting her head up. "Not with me."

My breathing slowed, my focus narrowing entirely to the way her body pressed into mine, the way her scent wrapped around me like a vice.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Her fingers slipped behind my neck, pulling me down just slightly, just enough for her lips to brush against mine—soft, teasing, but with intent.

I didn't mean to kiss her back.

But I did.

Her mouth molded against mine, warm and addictive, and for a second—just a second—I let myself get lost in it. The way she tasted, the way her nails scraped lightly against my scalp, the way she made it feel like I wasn't just standing in a war zone of my own making.

Then, just as easily as she started it, she pulled away.

I exhaled, my self-control hanging by a thread.

She smirked, her fingers trailing over my collar before sliding down my arm.

"You trust me, don't you?" she murmured, her voice like silk.

I didn't answer.

Her fingers moved, this time cupping my jaw, forcing my gaze to stay locked with hers. "Papi," she purred, her thumb brushing over my cheek. "You trust me, don't you?"

I swallowed hard, the warmth of her touch making it impossible to think clearly.

And then—God help me—I nodded.

She bit her lip, satisfied.

Her hand slid down my chest as she leaned up one last time, lips brushing my ear.

"Good talk, baby."

And just like that, she walked out, leaving me standing there, pulse hammering, my thoughts tangled in knots.

She'd won.

And what was worse—I let her.

___________________________________

ermm so let's all go look for Antonio's balls because I think Celine stolen them and hid them some where far FARR away 😭 like my man's 39 YEARS OLD AND 6 Feet tall and he's nodding like a little puppy at his 24 year old 5'2 wife like go off my king

making CRO4L's aesthetics are lowkey so hard because none of the pictures I can find are matching how I imagine them in my brain ughhh but what do you guys think they look like?? I might take and use y'all's descriptions

let me know what y'all thought !! how was this chapter???

remember to eat today !!

- zio 🍸