Page 48

Zyon

S itting in the black leather seat of my luxurious car, I realized I was losing my shit.

My throat tightened, and my chest was on fire.

My legs bounced nervously, and I clenched my fists.

The hot, heavy metal pliers squeezed my ribs, deterring me from taking oxygen into my lungs.

My skin and muscles burned under the heavy load of this situation.

Things out of my control prevented me from telling Valeria the truth, and I was starting to feel desperate. I wanted to be honest with her, spill the beans, and, if necessary, fight and prove that I didn't do it out of pure selfishness and some sick need to chase her.

I enjoyed the game. It would be the biggest lie to claim that I didn't find it exciting to stalk her, but my intentions with her were real and pure. Just because I craved to own her didn't mean I didn't respect her.

Valeria wasn't a trophy I wanted to show off. She was the reason I lived again. She defrosted the boulder in my chest that I had instead of a heart, forcing it to experience feelings I thought I’d lost forever.

She saved my poor existence from living in endless quiet misery, while at the same time, she woke up the beast ready to burn the world for her.

But I couldn't fight myself any longer. I needed her by my side, whatever it took.

She and her daughter belonged with me. This fucking charade had to end before I lost my mind entirely because every time I imagined her going home to her husband, I wanted to break something.

Chester's spine would be the most satisfying, but it wasn't the right time .

I had to be patient. I knew that, but it was tremendously hard to keep my mind sane when she shared a bed with another man.

When the fuck did I become like this?

I should've kidnapped her long ago and never let her leave. Still, she had a daughter who needed her. She had a life I would've destroyed. She may never have forgiven me if I had done such a stupid thing, so I didn't want to risk it.

Yet now, I was desperate. My plan had so many holes and could backfire, but I had to start doing something.

Chester wasn't untouchable. I could kill him anytime, but it would be the start of a war I wanted to avoid.

I was responsible for my brothers, mother, and other family members.

I couldn't put my personal needs and wants above my status as the head of the clan.

Their safety and prosperity came first. If I could avoid the crash with the Italians, I would do everything in my power to do it.

Still, that didn't mean I would sit silently and wait until they destroyed me and everything I’d worked for. They asked for this with their schemes, scams, and frauds. They were invisible with their plans and almost succeeded, but they underestimated my hunger for revenge.

I didn't plan on being quiet. They would know who was behind everything, but their own fear would force them to make mistakes. Malin claimed that my strategy was too dependent on human nature. He liked facts, schedules, and precision. However, I knew what pure, raw fear could cause.

The panic would spread. Minds would stop working. Bodies would be in fight or flight mode. Everything would become instinctive. And then the cold, crushing grip of my hand around the snake's throat would put it down.

They would all go down for this, and I would leave Chester until the end before he would be erased. It would be a total destruction of the system the underworld knew with the hope for a new, brighter future.

"Zyon," Dorian addressed me, tearing the thin thread of my thoughts to pieces. "Are you okay? "

My youngest brother always cared for his family more than anyone. Dad taught us not to show feelings, but he never listened. Dorian asked how I felt often, getting on my nerves with his constant questioning, yet it was he who prevented tragedies from happening.

But he only looked after the people he considered family. Others were threats and enemies. Sometimes, even men who worked for us ended up in trouble because he was paranoid and distrustful. Behind all those smiles and jokes was a man I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of.

Dorian's unusual sense of empathy and ability to understand the fight in people, combined with his insane bloodthirstiness and strangely directed madness, made him the craziest of the three of us. No one would ever expect how psychotic he really was under the innocent face of a cute, caring person.

"We must handle this with a surgical precision," I said instead of replying to his question. "No interruptions."

I would rather have Malin with me at this meeting, but he had to prepare the ground for my other appointment. Dorian was sometimes unpredictable, and the situation with Gravaldis was delicate.

"Of course, boss," Dorian confirmed, one corner of his mouth lifting in a sinister half-smile. "I'm only with you as emotional support." He placed his hand on mine, making me lift my brows. "It's okay, Zee. We can do this."

"Will you stop?" I ground out, and he burst out laughing. Like I said, he was a psychotic maniac.

Shaking my head in annoyance, I looked out the window at the bustling streets of upper Manhattan.

My mind instantly traveled to Valeria and her stunning smile.

Her amazed face when I told my men about listening to her every command as if it was me was priceless.

She looked so surprised and maybe even flattered.

She was so cute, nervously looking around when they gave her their full attention.

And her confusion caused by my brother's game was even better. I should have been angry at him for playing with her, but she needed that lesson. Maybe, thanks to it, she would finally connect the dots and realize it was me under the skull mask all along. The signs were everywhere .

The car parked before the tall, white, elegant apartment building, and I looked at my brother.

With a slight nod, he exited the vehicle, and I followed his example.

Gravaldis agreed to meet with us only in his home, and even when my security didn't like that idea, I didn't object.

His company was full of spies—even the walls had ears.

We needed as much privacy as we could get.

The less people knew about my intentions, the more significant an effect they would have when they came to light.

"I don't trust these people," Jamal pointed out, holding the door for me to enter the building.

The receptionist behind the tall wooden desk opened her mouth to say something, but the sight of my security instantly shut her up.

The cute young blonde took the phone, attempting to call somewhere, but Dorian quickly handled the situation while I walked toward the elevators.

"Sometimes, I don't trust my own shadow, Jamal," I said, watching the numbers change on the small screen. "But we have to adjust when the situation requires it, and we need allies. Gravaldis is the best of a bad bunch."

"We are strong enough to handle this within the organization," he objected when we entered the elevator. Four of my guys stayed in the lobby, and two with Dorian joined us on the way up.

"We want to avoid unnecessary casualties," Dorian replied instead of me, hiding the gun under his black jacket. "Men responsible for this mess will pay for it. We just want our families and friends out of this."

"You'll get your revenge for Richard and the others," I reassured him, realizing what was behind his silent anger.

The attack on me sent some of his friends to the hospital and some to the cemetery.

Tasha's husband, Richard, barely survived.

Jamal craved to spill enemies' blood for his comrades' blood.

"Thank you, sir." He nodded curtly, and my two security guys flashed me brief, grateful glances.

I exchanged looks with Dorian, who seemed similarly taken aback by this short conversation. I didn't think about my men desiring payback for the attempted attack on me. I was overly blinded by my own rage to notice my men suffered, too .

My money couldn't fill the hole created by the death of one of my boys. He died while protecting me. Yes, he signed the agreement. He knew what he got himself into, but he also belonged to the family.

"Good afternoon," a kind woman's voice greeted us as soon as the elevator door opened and we stepped outside. The young maid in a white uniform smiled at us and led us into the spacious living room with a river view.

The cream-colored couch, combined with white walls and furniture, was too illuminating for my liking. I fancied dark colors and interiors. This reminded me of the sterile environment in a hospital.

Dorian, on the other hand, enjoyed the light colors. While I looked outside, he immediately sat behind the massive white piano and began to perform Beethowen's 5 th symphony.

I didn't like being left waiting, but given the circumstances, I was willing to give Stefano a few minutes to show up before canceling the whole thing.

"I always admired your excellent piano skills, Dorian," Stefano said, materializing at the entrance like a ghost. And his appearance wasn't any better.

He looked messy and tired, with dark bags under his eyes and pale skin.

His white button-up shirt was rumpled, and his blue tie was loosened around his neck.

Silver hair stuck everywhere on his head, making him look like he just tried to put his fingers into an electric socket.

"You're late," I barked, watching him as he adjusted his shirt and pants. I hadn’t seen him for quite some time, and this wasn't the man I remembered.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, motioning for the couch. "My wife left for Washington to visit our daughter Tessa and phoned me with sad news. I lost track of time."

"Has something happened to her?" I asked, frowning at the poor man standing before me. His family would be in grave danger if he was discovered working with me. He was risking the lives of his loved ones by only meeting me.

"Treatment isn’t working," he replied, his voice breaking into a whisper. "Her episodes are getting worse. I don't know what to do."

"I can use my connections to place her in the best facility in the world," I said, but my suggestion was met with a shake of the head .

"I don’t think it will help, Zyon. Nothing helps anymore." Stefano sauntered to the wooden cabinet, pouring himself a generous amount of alcohol. I used the opportunity to glimpse at Dorian, who unnoticeably nodded and discretely left the room.

"Are your daughter's episodes caused by her fear for her life?" I asked, observing Stefano's miserable face. It twisted when he shoved the whiskey down his throat, but his empty eyes didn't leave my face.

"Do you believe the version she overdosed against her will?" he countered, a tiny flame of life sparkling behind his sad look.

"I know our enemies had a reason for it," I answered, sitting in the big armchair facing him. "Tell me what really happened to Tessa."

Stefano watched me for a moment as if he couldn't comprehend that I was genuinely interested in his daughter's miserable fate. He hesitated, but eventually, he sat opposite me, running his hand through his hair before he started talking.

"Tessa was punished for my decision," he admitted quietly, glancing at the coffee table separating us. "They tried to get to my son, too, but I managed to move him and my wife to Europe. They only returned when it was safe."

"After you agreed with their plan," I corrected him, not moving a muscle when his eyes widened.

"You know," he whispered, his expression changing from shocked to horrified. "Is that why you are here? To kill me?"

"If I wanted you dead, you would've been gone without any warning beforehand," I said calmly, studying him. But I only saw a broken, helpless man.

"What do you want then?" he asked, clearly clueless, which was perfect. If the man who’d known me for decades had no idea what I could possibly want, no one else would expect anything either.

"I believe we can help each other get rid of rats," I responded with a stoic face. "It'll be a beneficial agreement for both sides, ensuring our families' safety. "

"If you know who you're standing up against, then you also know it won't be easy," Stefano pointed out dryly, but I saw his interest. He was in an unenvious situation, and I could be his way out.

"Let me worry about that." I stood up and turned my back on him, looking outside. "I just need your silent support and cooperation when the time comes."

"I already paid the highest price for supporting you, Zyon," he uttered, joining me before the high French windows. "I was never interested in stealing from you."

"I know," I confirmed, watching a tiny plane in the clear blue sky. "I also know about other families." I turned to him, looking directly into his sunken brown eyes. "All of you will be rewarded."

"You can't bring Amelia Santangelo or Mateo Baricelli back to life," Stefano opposed, but simultaneously, I noticed hope in his eyes. He knew if someone had a chance against the Five Families, it was me.

"But I can ensure a safer world for those alive," I replied, placing my hand on his shoulder and squeezing it supportively. "After I'm done with them, you'll have the position, power, and money to give your girl everything she needs."

"Or we all die for joining you." He sighed, shaking his head. "This is extremely bold and dangerous, Zyon. If your plan, whatever it is, fails, we will be doomed."

"Have a little faith, Stefano." I smirked confidently, already picturing the greatest victory of my rule. "I wouldn't be risking everything if I wasn't absolutely sure about my success."

"I hope you're right." He exhaled, stretching his hand out for a shake. "Tell me what you need, my old friend."