Page 33

I slam open the heavy oak doors of my aunt's study, my chest heaving. The guards stationed outside barely react—Vittoria likely told them to let me through. Cassian is two steps behind me, tense, hand already hovering over his jacket where his gun rests.

Vittoria sits behind her grand desk like a queen on her throne, her fingers laced together, her sharp eyes watching me like a hawk circling prey. Her lips curl into a smile. It makes my blood boil.

“Where is she?” My voice comes out rough, dangerous.

She raises a perfectly arched brow. “You’re late, Serevin.”

“I won’t ask again.” My fists clench at my sides. My whole body is trembling, fury crawling beneath my skin.

Vittoria sighs dramatically, as if I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “Relax, caro. The girl is quite safe. I've simply proceeded with the next phase of our plan since you decided to grow sentimental.”

I step forward, my voice low and venomous. “I am out. Whatever plan you think you're continuing is dead. I want my wife back.”

Her face hardens. She rises from her chair slowly, deliberately. She circles the desk like a snake stalking its prey.

“You ungrateful bastard,” she hisses, standing inches from me. “Do not forget who you are. You are nothing but the orphan child of your whore of a mother and a dead traitor.”

Her palm flies across my cheek, the slap echoing in the room. The sting doesn’t even register over the rage boiling in my veins.

“You dare betray me? Betray this family?” she spits. “You fool.” She laughs bitterly. “You think they will ever accept her? She's a stain on our bloodline. She was never one of us. But you….” She leans in, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You were useful.”

I step back. “Thirteen hours,” I say. “Return my wife, or I come back with war.”

Her smile returns. She starts clapping softly, mockingly. The doors behind me creak open, and from every corner of the study, her men pour in—ten at least. All armed. All aimed at me.

Cassian shifts immediately, drawing his gun. His stance is firm, but I catch the slight tremor in his breath.

“You really want to do this?” he asks her.

Vittoria's eyes gleam with cold pleasure. “You leave me no choice, Serevin. You are now an enemy of the Accardi Syndicate.”

“Move!” one of her guards shouts, his gun trained directly on my head.

Her men surge forward like a black tide, weapons raised, eyes cold. Cassian doesn’t hesitate—his gun’s already up. The first shot cracks like thunder in the chamber. One of Vittoria’s soldiers jerks back, blood spraying across the polished wood floor.

I dive behind the side table, flipping it on its side as a shield. Bullets thud into the thick oak, splintering the air around me.

“On your left!” Cassian shouts.

I pivot fast, catch movement, fire twice—chest, head. The man drops in a spray of red. My pulse hammers. My breathing sharpens into controlled bursts.

Another man charges in close, trying to flank. I rise halfway, catch him in the throat with a single bullet. He stumbles back, gurgling, clutching his neck, crimson spilling through his fingers as he falls.

“Stay low!” Cassian growls. His voice is steady but tight—I know he’s been grazed, I saw the blood on his sleeve.

The guards don’t break formation. They’re trained for this, for close-quarters combat.

Two of them flank me from either side, forcing me to roll out from cover.

I grab the closest one, slam his wrist, twist until I hear bone crack, and wrench his weapon from his grasp.

I slam the butt of the rifle into his face, feel the nose break under my strike, his scream cut short as I pull the trigger point-blank.

The second is on me before I can fully recover. He rams my ribs with his shoulder, driving me into the wall. My lungs seize, stars burst behind my eyes. His fist comes toward my face and I duck under, twisting and slamming my elbow into his jaw. His head snaps sideways, but not enough.

Another guard barrels toward me—big, brutal, fast. I shoot wildly, but he charges through the spray, shoulder-checks me into the heavy bookcase. My skull bounces off the wood, sharp lightning cracking across my vision.

Cassian downs another man behind him. Three bodies litter the floor now, but more keep coming.

“You’ve got too many, Don!” he yells.

I already know. They were prepared for this. This isn’t a scuffle. This is a trap.

The big guard pins my arm. I drive my knee into his gut, but his hand snakes up—grabbing my throat, squeezing hard. My vision blurs. I slam the barrel of my pistol into his temple and pull the trigger.

The back of his skull bursts open. His grip slackens, and he crashes to the ground.

I stagger, my breath ragged, chest burning, blood hot in my mouth. My body aches, muscles strained, but I force myself forward. I won’t die here.

But more guards pour in.

One catches my side with a baton. I grunt as my ribs crack. Pain sears through me. Another swings his rifle like a club, and I barely raise my arm in time to absorb the impact—but it sends me stumbling.

Cassian fires again, covering me, but even he’s beginning to falter. He’s clipped in the leg and goes down hard.

“Don’t—” I rasp. “Stay down!”

Through the chaos, I spot Vittoria standing behind her desk, untouched. She watches with sharp satisfaction, her private guards standing as a shield wall around her, their rifles steady but still—letting her men handle the blood.

Then I see him—Gustavo.

He steps through the carnage like a vulture picking his moment. The smug look on his face makes my blood boil.

I aim my pistol at him, but I’m too slow. A shadow moves behind me.

Pain explodes in my shoulder—a burning, ripping fire that knocks me forward. My gun clatters to the ground. My legs give out beneath me.

“Fuck—” I hiss, vision blurring.

A boot slams into my back, driving me flat onto the floor. Blood pools under me, warm and sticky.

I try to lift my head, but another kick crushes my ribs. My breath rattles as I choke on the copper flooding my mouth.

Gustavo crouches in front of me now, his face close. His breath smells like expensive scotch. “Should’ve stayed in line, cousin.”

He presses the cold barrel of his gun against my chest, right where my heart struggles to beat.

Vittoria’s voice floats above me. “You see, Serevin? Loyalty is a choice. You made yours.”

I grit my teeth as my vision fades into hot, stinging darkness.

^^^^

The first thing I feel is the throbbing in my skull.

It pulses like a drumbeat behind my eyes, sharp and constant.

My body aches in ways I can’t even track yet.

The second thing I feel is the pull—metal cutting into my wrists.

My arms are hoisted above my head, chained to rusted iron hooks hammered into the damp concrete wall behind me.

The cuffs bite into my skin, slick with dried blood and sweat.

My feet barely graze the floor, the full weight of my body dragging against the restraints.

My vision adjusts to the dim basement light—bare bulbs swinging from the low ceiling, flickering every few seconds. The air is heavy with mildew and old iron, thick enough to taste.

Then I see him—Cassian.

He’s strung up across from me, hanging completely upside down from thick chains bolted to the ceiling beam. His hands are bound behind his back, his shirt soaked in blood from a gash on his temple. His face is puffed and bruised, but his eyes crack open weakly when he senses me waking.

“Don….” His voice is hoarse, raw. “You’re awake.”

I try to answer, but my throat feels like sandpaper. All that comes out is a rasp.

The door creaks open.

Heavy boots scrape against concrete as Gustavo steps into the room. His silhouette is tall, casual. A predator enjoying his prize. He carries the coiled leather whip in his hand like a cherished toy, trailing it along the ground as he moves closer.

“Well, well,” he sings, voice dripping with mockery. “Look at you, cousin. You’ve been so…untouchable for so long. But here we are. Just like I always imagined.”

He stops in front of me, looking me up and down with that nauseating grin. He clicks his tongue and lifts my chin with the tip of the whip handle.

“Honestly, I thought I’d have to wait years for this. But you made it so easy. Love does make men stupid, doesn’t it?” His eyes glitter. “You picked the wrong side, Serevin.”

Without warning, he steps back and unfurls the whip with a snap. The crack echoes through the stone chamber.

I brace for it.

The first lash lands across my chest with a burning sting. The leather bites through my torn shirt, slicing into skin. My muscles tighten instinctively, but there’s nowhere to move, nowhere to hide.

Gustavo laughs as he circles me, landing the second blow across my stomach. My breath seizes, sharp and shallow.

“How’s it feel, Don Accardi? Or should I say…former Don Accardi?”

He strikes again, this time across my ribs. My skin opens, hot blood mixing with sweat as it drips down my side. Every nerve screams, but I grit my teeth and hold back the groan trying to crawl out of my throat.

Cassian struggles against his chains, his voice breaking. “You coward—”

Gustavo spins and lashes Cassian once across the legs, making him flinch violently.

“Shh. Don’t interrupt my moment.”

The door creaks again.

Vittoria steps in, calm as ever, dressed in her pristine dark suit, her hands gloved, her eyes sharp with satisfaction. She walks like a queen entering her court.

“That’s enough, Gustavo.”

He lowers the whip reluctantly but smiles as he looks at her. “I was just getting started, zia.”

She ignores him, her gaze landing on me.

“I expected better of you, Serevin,” she says softly. “But I suppose, like your mother, you were always ruled by foolish emotion. And emotion makes men weak.”

I breathe through the pain, my chest heaving. My voice cracks as I force the words out. “You’ll regret this.”

Vittoria steps closer, her expression turning almost motherly as she cups my chin.

“No, dear boy. You will. You and your wife will die together tomorrow,” she says softly, as though she’s delivering a bedtime story.

Her lips curl into something sickeningly sweet.

“Isn’t it cinematic? The two of you, both rejected by your birth parents, both nothing but pawns in a game you never understood. ”

I lift my head as far as my aching neck allows, the metal chains groaning against my movement. My throat feels like sandpaper, but the words crawl out anyway.

“Take me,” I rasp. “Do anything you want. Just…not her.”

The amusement on her face sharpens into a cruel grin. She steps closer, and I can smell her perfume—jasmine and something sharp beneath it, something poisonous. Her gloved hand reaches up and lightly pats my cheek like I’m a child who spoke out of turn.

“Oh, Serevin.” She sighs, voice dripping with mockery. “You think you still have a choice in any of this?”

I feel the sting of helpless rage tighten my chest. My fists clench uselessly against the metal cuffs cutting into my wrists.

“You’re only alive because I need your blood to seal some very important arrangements,” she continues, voice light as silk. “The rest is just…theatrics.”

She flicks her wrist toward Gustavo, who steps forward eagerly like a dog waiting for a command. In his hand, gleaming under the dim light, is a thin ceremonial knife—one of the old family relics.

“Don’t worry, cousin,” Gustavo purrs as he approaches. “It won’t hurt. Well—not much.”

He grips my hand roughly, forcing my thumb outward. The metal cuffs clink as I struggle, but there’s no leverage. He presses the cold blade against the pad of my thumb and slices a clean line. The sting is sharp, bright for a moment, and then dulls into a pulse as the blood wells up.

Gustavo catches the blood quickly, pressing my thumb against the thick parchment document his mother holds open. The red smear stains the paper, soaking into it like poison ink. My blood. My signature. My unwilling consent.

Gustavo lifts the document, folds it carefully, and hands it back to Vittoria. She smooths the paper between her gloved fingers, admiring it like a prize.

“There it is,” she whispers, gazing at it as if it were a crown jewel. “Clean and final.”

She leans in, her voice turning syrupy in my ear.

“I’ll be back soon to put you out of your misery.”

I clench my jaw, swallowing the scream building in my chest.

She turns with a satisfied little nod and glides toward the door. Gustavo follows, his smirk lingering as the heavy door creaks and slams shut behind them. The sound of the bolt locking echoes like a final nail driven into my coffin.

The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the dripping of water from somewhere in the far corner.

I hang my head, breathing raggedly. My body aches everywhere, my skin burning from the lashings, my muscles screaming from the strain.

But I can’t stop it.

The laughter slips out of me—low at first, then heavier, until my chest trembles with bitter amusement.

Cassian, still dangling upside down, groans.

“You’ve finally lost your mind,” he mutters.

I lift my head, my breath ragged, my lips splitting into a dry grin. Fioretta—in the end, I couldn’t even protect her.

“No, my friend,” I rasp. “I’m just realizing how deeply fucked we are.”

Cassian sighs, his face red from hanging too long, his eyes puffy but sharp.

“Yeah,” he pants. “We’re absolutely fucked.”