Insidious Ocean
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 6: the
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 6: the - Who is the true villain in this story? Luca Moreno has always believed in justice, which is why he became a cop. Now undercover in the Brooks family’s criminal empire, he plans to destroy it from within. But when he meets Raven, the Don’s niece, everything changes. As his morals blur and innocence erodes, Luca must face who he’s becoming—and who the real villain truly is.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Humor Oral Sex
LUCA
When I step into Cain’s office, it’s like the garage—I can immediately sense that something isn’t right. I’m beginning to think I have some sort of intuition when it comes to this shit. I have yet to discover if that’s a good thing or a really fucking terrible thing.
That feeling only intensifies when Cain lifts his head from whatever he was focused on and smiles at the sight of me. Actually smiles. In this horrifically terrorizing way that sends a chill racing down my spine.
“It’s good to see you, Luca.”
I approach, until I’m leaning over the edge of one of the chairs. “Good to see you, too. How have you been, Don Cain?”
“As of two hours ago? Excellent.”
I want to ask so many questions. What happened with the scale incident? Did they find the person or people who stole from him? Why did he have us there that day? Was I correct in assuming that it was because Adiv and I were the ones collecting cars for him and he pondered if it was us? Why am I here? Why isn’t Adiv here? Why did he contact me, and me alone?
I know better than to ask any of them, so I keep quiet.
“We found the man responsible. Since we caught him with your creative insight, I thought it only right you be present as we interrogate him.”
Interrogate him. For some reason, I think his definition of the word is starkly different from mine.
Little does he know, I’m a police officer and I’ve been involved in actual interrogations before.
Despite all the thoughts swirling in my head, I realize that I have to kiss this man’s ass as much as humanely possible. So, I wipe the nerves from my expression and tell him, “Thank you, sir. That’s massively generous of you.”
Fucking tosser.
“Let’s get to it then.” He stands from his desk and with a wave of his hand, he heads towards a different door than the one I entered. It’s on the side of the room and it has my internal warning bells going off. However, I don’t have much choice as he urges, “Follow me.”
I do as he asks. He leads me down a narrow hallway, past an expanse of walls with floor to ceiling glass that overlook the back garden. An area that looks far too empty for a man of this financial status, like it should have flowers or something decorating it. Not just grass and an exterior sheltering of trees that act as a fence.
As we walk, he inquires, “How’d you know I wouldn’t shoot you on the spot for suggesting it? That I wouldn’t automatically assume you had a part in it?”
“I didn’t,” I admit, playing with one of the rings on my fingers. “I know better than to steal from you and I knew you’d figure out who the moron was that did.”
The thing is, when I’d offered the suggestion that it could’ve been the scale that was amiss, I never thought about how that could’ve implicated me. The fact that I saw something that Cain didn’t, he easily could’ve assumed that the only reason I knew was because I had something to do with it. Though that fact didn’t initially occur to me, it did later that night when I was laying in bed.
The only thing I knew for certain was that Cain would do his research. I’m positive he had suspicions about me and my potential involvement, but I also knew he’d look into it. He’d make for certain he knew who stole from him so he could do something about it.
My best bet has been that I don’t have anything to do with it. My hands are clean and I’m sure he saw that when he looked into it.
“And how’d you figure it out?”
I shrug. “Just thought through the process of it. The only thing that wasn’t being looked at was the scale. It was a shot in the dark, really.”
“You have an interesting way of thinking things through, Luca.” He pauses talking as we continue down the hall. “I could use more of that within my organization.”
Did he just give me praise? Is it a joke? A trick to see how I’ll react to it?
Even if it is, I have to bite my tongue. “Thank you, Don Cain. That means a lot to me.” I offer him a grateful expression, doing my best to appear humble and appreciative.
Ultimately, we reach the end of the hall and the door opens for us as we get near. He doesn’t have to say a word, his staff scurrying to make sure he doesn’t have to lift a finger. The doorway reveals another hallway, but this one isn’t straight. In fact, it winds around in a manner that’s rather dizzying.
It leads us to another series of doors, with a guard posted. He opens the one and a staircase greets us. Cain descends in silence and I follow.
Yet another door. However, this one is made of thick steel, like the walls that surround it are tougher, stronger—more soundproof—than other areas of the house. A chill races down my spine, feeling like I’m about to walk into something I’ll never forget.
Stepping into the room, I quickly realize I was right. Firstly, this room is not only entirely soundproof, by the looks of it, but is filled with apparatuses that hang from the ceiling that I happen to believe are used to get people to say or do what Cain wants.
In the middle of the room, surrounded by tables, is a lone chair with a man strapped to it. As we near, he appears unharmed, but I believe that’s only temporary. These are his last lucky moments before he’ll be wishing he’s anywhere but here.
“This—” Cain points to the stranger, “—is Dario. He is the one who was rigging the scales and stealing my money and you’re the one smart enough to figure it out.”
I can’t say I recognize the man. Even though I paid close attention to how each person looked in the garage warehouse and in spite of the fact that I memorized a lot of faces, he still doesn’t look familiar.
He appears possibly Italian—I say that, considering his name is of the same origin—with long, curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and a decent tan to his skin. There really isn’t anything distinctive about him, if I’m honest, but I’d like to believe I’m observant enough to acknowledge a face I’ve seen before.
Cain sizes up Dario and I take the moment to finally glance at the table I walked past to get here. The second I do, my stomach drops.
Because the top of it isn’t empty. In fact, it’s filled with random shit that, when put together equal one thing—he’s about to torture this man.
I see sharp pliers, flat pliers, a battery with jumper cables attached, a rag and can filled with petrol, a few differently sized and shaped knives, and so much more.
To hide the fact that I’m freaking the fuck out over the sight of what lies on that table—as well as the awareness of what’s about to happen and why Cain asked me here—I saunter past the items laid out so that I’m standing at some distance.
As I’m walking towards a safer space, there’s a loud thud and I spin quickly to find that the man is now laying on the ground, his chair having toppled over with him still tied to it. He groans and I can only assume it’s because he likely hit his head because Cain kicked his chair over.
“Luca, help hold him down, would you?”
I hesitate for a moment, that good side of me struggling with the morality of it. Even though I’m unsure what Cain’s plan is, I’m acutely aware of the fact that it isn’t rainbows and sunshine. It’s the complete fucking opposite of that.
As I approach, Cain grabs the rag as Dario struggles on the floor. “Just hold his legs down. Keep him against the floor, he’s going to fight this.”
Cain carefully and precisely places the rag over Dario’s face. It’s almost sickening in the way he delicately pulls at the edges, as if he’s got all the time in the world.
I observe as he saunters over to the chairs at the far side of the room and he shrugs his suit jacket off, removing his cufflinks before he rolls the sleeves up on his expensive black dress shirt. Grabbing the container of petrol, he approaches as Dario begins to struggle—doing his best to attempt to remove the cloth from his face.
“Would you like to tell me who you’re working for? Why you stole from me? Or shall we do this the difficult way?”
“Fuck you, Cain,” he spits, wiggling his shoulders.
“Hard way it is.”
He loosens the cap on the petrol, tossing it over his shoulder. The smell hits my nostrils and I recoil internally as he tips the can and begins pouring it over Dario’s face.
Like Cain said he would, he begins frantically fighting against the fact that he’s being waterboarded—essentially, he feels like he’s drowning in gasoline. He coughs and chokes, sending the liquid flying all over my clothing.
Almost instantly, my head feels dizzy from the fumes.
“You ready to talk yet?”
Dario stays quiet, extending his neck as if he’s trying to angle away from the incoming assault.
Cain does it a second time. This time, he keeps the container tipped for longer. For a period of time that—when he finally pulls it away—has Dario gasping and coughing for air.
“I’m waiting, Dario.” He keeps quiet, so Cain looks towards me, “Lift him up,” and then he tears the rag from his face.
As he places the can of petrol down, I struggle to tip his chair because it’s awkward and I’m bothered by this entire thing so my hands have begun trembling. When I finally get him up, I ball my hands into fists in an attempt to hide my anxiousness.
I then take my place, back where I stood when I first walked in here, where I’ll be able to watch and conceal my reactions from a distance. My pulse is thudding away in my ears, my mouth dry with the urge to swallow. In fact, my throat aches with the knowledge that this situation makes me want to cry, or vomit—perhaps it’s both.
How in the fuck did I get myself into this? Why did I beg and plead Loralei so hard for this job?
I don’t think I can do this.
Cain saunters over to the table filled with torture devices. He pauses there for a moment as he seemingly debates which one to choose. Eventually, he grabs a pair of wire cutters with red on the grips and lifts them up as he admires them.
My stomach plummets. What the fuck is he about to do with those?
He walks to Dario holding up the tool, flipping it back and forth so it gleams underneath the fluorescent lights above us, as if he’s proud of what he’s about to rain down on the man.
He circles Dario where he’s strapped to the chair, eyeing up where he’ll make his first move.
“What do you think he deserves?” Cain twists to face me and it takes me a minute before I finally realize that he’s actually asking me the question.
“I—” I don’t know what to answer. I’m put on the spot about a question that has to do with a man’s life. I’m not naïve enough to believe that Cain isn’t going to injure and likely murder this man. So what am I supposed to say? Please make it quick so that the man doesn’t suffer? So that I don’t have to listen to him beg and plead for his life?
I can’t help but believe that it doesn’t matter what I say—Cain has already made up his mind. It’s why he invited me here to witness. He’s the metaphorical lion, circling around its prey before he finally decides to end its torment.
It’s all a massive fucking game.
But that’s the thing about games—winning doesn’t mean a damn thing unless someone else loses, yeah?
“I’d say a finger for each hundred thousand he stole. How does that sound, Luca? Does it sound fair to you—the man who figured out how he was stealing from me?”
Despite the fact that my throat has gone dry at the sound of that, I manage to inquire, “How much did he steal from you?”
“A little more than four hundred and eighty thousand. However, I’d say we round that up to an even half million. Makes it easier records-wise, don’t you think?” When I meet Cain’s face, he’s finally wearing a smile and it makes my insides twist with unease. “Plus, pain and suffering and all that bullshit.”
Cain starts with a pinky finger, separating it from the others. Dario squirms beneath him, screaming out various offers to save himself, but I reckon even he knows it’s too late. I want to look away as Cain opens the wire cutters and puts the digit between them, but when Cain lifts his chin to meet my eyes, I stay focused on the sight before me.
I have to. He’ll see weakness if I don’t.
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