Chapter 5 I Came To Burn The Devil's Rulebook

POV: Fiore

I didn't sleep.

Not really.

I ranted.

Cursed him under my breath until my throat burned and my fists ached from gripping the sheets.

Called him every name I could think of like devil, monster, sick bastard, narcissistic executioner....

Then finally, somewhere between fury and exhaustion, I passed out.

But peace didn't last.

The dream came first.

Not a dream. A nightmare.

The sound of flesh splitting. The smell of smoke. The scream. That scream.

I woke up choking, and fucking drenched in sweat. Sheets strangling my legs. Heart hammering against bone.

Then....

Knock knock knock.

Three soft taps. Not urgent. Not hesitant.

Emilia.

I already knew.

I didn't answer. Just rolled to the side and threw my arm over my face.

"He wants to see you," she said through the door. "In the study. Two minutes."

I didn't think. Just snapped back:

"Tell him to fuck himself."

Silence.

Then her voice again. Lower. quieter now. Almost... trembled.

"My life depends on you obeying that order."

That made me sit up.

Heart still pounding.

I stared at the door. Chest rising too fast. Brain doing the math: me, her, him.

I swung my legs over the bed and muttered, "Fine."

But not for him.

"Only if you agree to be my friend."

Another beat of silence. Longer this time

Then....

"Fine, Ma."

A smile curved my lips. Not sweet. Not nice. Just... necessary.

I stood, dragged a hoodie over my tank top, and stepped out.

"This way, friend," I said, pointing down the hallway. "Your favorite lunatic is going to see the Devil."

The study was dim. Quiet.

Heavy curtains drawn. Wood panels. That same faint scent of cigar smoke and blood money.

He stood with his back to me.

Facing the fireplace like a villain rehearsing his monologue. like some mafia Shakespeare villain, holding a paper in his hand.

So I gave him my entrance.

"The devil sent for me," I said, stepping into the room.

He turned.

Calm. Collected. Holding that paper like it was scripture.

"Good morning to you too," he said.

I scoffed.

"What's good about it?" I asked. "How do you fucking feel after killing that innocent man last night?"

His eyes didn't twitch. Didn't flicker. Just stared.

Then....

"How can I be the damn devil if I have fucking feelings?" He said, stepping forward. "Don't tell me you're scared now, Rav."

I didn't move back. I walked closer, one step.

"I'm no coward, monster."

He tilted his head slightly, and I don't give a fuck. Looks like I'd just called him by his birth name. I swear you, it could be.

"You sure?"

I caved a smile on my lips that of course didn't reach my eyes.

"Is that why you called me here? To test my pulse?"

He lifted the paper. Unfolding it. "Here are the rules."

I raised a brow. "Like this is a prison?"

He didn't blink. He stepped forward.

"More than a prison," he said, very low. "More like a cage."

"Oh, fun," I said. "Let's have it then, monster."

Before he could start reading out, I snatched it out of his hand.

He didn't stop me.

Didn't flinch.

I scanned the list:

No leaving. No phones. No contact with the outside. Restricted areas. Behavior expectations. Curfews. Dress code.

Every word written like it owned me.

I read it all.

Then looked up.

"What the hell is this?"

He stepped in closer again.

"It's a fucking rulebook," he said, voice rising. "And you'll obey it if you want to survive in this house."

My grip on the page tightened.

"All right," I said, venom sugarcoating my tone. "Accepted... controller."

"Then again, am I meant to really obey all these?"

His jaw twitched.

"It's a rule for a reason," he snapped.

"A fucking reason, Rav."

"Easy, monster," I said, brushing past him.

Calm. Poised.

I walked straight to the side table and picked up the ashtray. Felt heavy, polished, and definitely very expensive shit.

Behind me, his voice cracked like a loaded gun.

"Drop it."

So I dropped it.

But not on the table.

On the floor.

The ashtray rocked once. Twice.

Then settled with a dull thud.

He still hadn't moved.

Still hadn't blinked.

CRASH!

The sound echoed like a threat. A warning. Or a fucking declaration of war.

"Oops," I said without looking at him. "Didn't know you meant the table."

He still hadn't moved.

Still hadn't blinked.

But his fists were clenched now. Bone-white.

So were mine.

We stood there,

like wolves in a ring.

One wrong move and someone would bleed.

"I gave you rules," he said. Slowly. Like he was talking himself down from something darker.

"And you broke one."

"Did I?" I said, tilting my head. "Did it say 'don't drop an ashtray' in your little manifesto?"

He stared at me, His eyes didn't leave mine.

There was heat now. Dangerous. Brewing. But not the fire that screams.

The fire that waits. Shit!

"You think this..." he paused. "You think this house...I...am something you can toy with?"

I stepped forward, breath to breath with him.

"I think you're a control freak who gets off on making people kneel."

A twitch at his mouth.

Not quite a smile.

Not quite rage.

Worse.

"I could make you kneel," he said, His voice was low now.

Thick.

Like a gun being cocked inside velvet.

I didn't back down.

"Try it."

Another step.

We were close now.

Too close.

I could feel the heat from his body. The anger that had built under his skin. The gravity of what he could do. What he wanted to do.

But I didn't flinch.

Wouldn't give him that.

For just a second.

Then his hand moved

Fast.

Not to hit me.

To grip the back of my neck.

Firm.

Too firm.

Too rough to be affection. Too controlled to be violence.

"You should be scared of me," he said, close enough I could feel the weight of his breath.

I stared at him. Breathing hard.

"I'm not," I whispered. "You should be scared of me."

And for a blink, just one.

I saw it... in those dark...devilish but somehow cute eyes.

It was....confusion.

He didn't know what to do with me, just yet.

Didn't know if he wanted to break me.

Or burn with me.

He let go.

Turned away.

Not in defeat,

but in retreat.

And that was worse.

He picked up the goddam rule book, folded it cleanly, and slid it into a drawer.

Then spoke without looking at me.

"You'll follow the rules," he said.

"No."

He glanced over his shoulder. "No?"

"I'll follow some of them."

He turned fully this time.

And smiled.

But it wasn't warm.

It was war.

"We'll see," he said.

Then walked past me. Like the conversation was over.

But it wasn't.

Not even close.

Because I'd seen something.

In his grip.

In his eyes.

In the way his voice cracked when he said what he said.

And now I knew one thing for sure.

He wanted to see if I'd burn with him.