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CHAPTER SEVEN

JULIAN

C haos erupts across the room like a bomb went off. Panic surges through the crowd in waves, pushing and pulling bodies around Martinelli’s corpse. His limbs are twisted, face frozen in that final moment of recognition—the split second where he understood that death had come for him.

My gaze snags on the black feather in Martinelli’s breast pocket. Why does it seem… familiar?

But my mind and eyes quickly shift away from the dead man. They lock onto Aurelia, like they always fucking do no matter how much I try to look elsewhere.

She stands apart from the mayhem, her delicate frame wrapped in a black dress that hugs curves I used to claim. Her red hair is pulled back, not a curl in sight—straightened the way I’ve always hated. The sight of it scrapes against something raw inside me.

But it’s the man behind her that really grates on my nerves.

Lorenzo Mancini. The newest member of our little criminal family.

I haven’t had much chance to interact with the guy, but I know he’s from Italy.

He owns the strip club Lavish Eden, the one Aurelia and I went to one night where she ended up squirming beneath me.

Lorenzo made some deal with Lucian about expanding his business into our territory.

Right now, all I care about is how close he’s hovering to Aurelia, standing at her back like some kind of fucking protector.

Something possessive and primal claws at my insides. She’s not his to protect.

She’s not yours either , an unwelcome voice reminds me. Not anymore. Not after what she did.

My body hasn’t gotten the memo. Even now, even after everything, my muscles twitch with the need to put myself between her and any other man. To shield her from prying eyes and wandering hands. To remind everyone in this goddamn room that she was mine before she was a backstabber.

My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood.

My attention shifts as I notice Valentine pushing his way through the sea of black suits and dresses, barking orders at other security members as they create a perimeter around the body. Always an efficient soldier, isn’t he? Always cleaning up the mess.

When I glance back at Aurelia, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, her eyes are damp. They’re puffy and red, the skin beneath them bruised with exhaustion. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days and hasn’t stopped crying .

Fuck, that twists my heart because my arms are twitching to pull her close and stop those tears.

But is it real? Her anguish. Is any of it fucking real ?

The question claws at my skull as I watch her look away from me and stare at Martinelli. She clutches her chest, her green eyes widening—pools I once lost myself in. There’s a slight tremble of her shoulders as she steps back from the scene, closer to Lorenzo.

My fingers curl into gnarled fists. Who the fuck is this guy? He’s lingering.

I watch as he pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to her. Aurelia dabs at her eyes. But what are those tears really ? Shock and horror at Martinelli’s death? Or is she crying for herself, terrified of what I’ll do when I finally come for her?

She could be putting on a show. Creating witnesses to her apparent innocence.

The timing is too perfect. Too fucking convenient. Theodore Martinelli was a slippery bastard who rarely showed his face. Today, of all days—my coronation and Adrian’s funeral—he decides to make an appearance and promptly drops dead. Poisoned.

Just like DeMarco.

Aurelia’s first kill.

DeMarco. Whitman. Victoria.

And now Martinelli?

Fuck.

I drag my hand down my face, trying to clear the fog of confusion and rage that clouds my judgment whenever I look at her.

My chest feels like it’s being ripped in two—one half still yearning for her, aching to believe every crazy thing she’s told me, while the other half burns with betrayal and the certainty of her guilt.

Is this what love becomes when it’s poisoned? This twisted, agonizing thing that neither lives nor dies but festers like an infected wound?

Right now, I regret ever loving her.

My muscles coil as I watch Lorenzo lean down to whisper something in her ear. Her body tilts toward him, responding to his words with a slight nod.

The sight sets something inside me on fire. It takes every ounce of my control not to storm across the room and shove him away. To remind him and everyone that regardless of what she’s done, she’s still mine to deal with. Mine to punish. Mine to…

To what? Forgive? Never.

But I can’t seem to kill this possessive need that courses through my veins like heroin. The need to keep her all to myself even as I fantasize about making her suffer for Adrian’s death.

My brother is buried and I’m crowned king of this cesspit, yet all I can think about is her. The scent of her skin. The taste of her lips. The way she’d arch beneath me, gasping my name.

Now she stands across the room, surrounded by death once again, and I don’t know if I want to strangle her or pull her into my arms and never let go.

Neither option will bring Adrian back.

“Julian.” Mother’s voice slips into my ear, her fingers curling around my arm as she appears beside me. Her eyes are sunken and dark, a slight tremble in her voice. “I can’t believe someone would do this. When we’re—” Her voice cracks.

Instinctively, I pull her into a hug and let her cry. As hard as today has been on me, it’s been worse on her, mourning a son while also having to maintain appearances.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “It isn’t right. It isn’t fucking right. I’ll find out who did this.” Though I already know.

She pulls back and wipes her smudged mascara with a tissue. “Regardless, they’re looking to you now. You must respond.”

Her words fill me with a cold dread as I force myself to focus on the chaos surrounding Martinelli’s body. Security personnel form a barrier around the corpse while panicked whispers ripple through the crowd.

Mother’s right, but respond how? I have no clue how to handle this shit.

All I can do is try to think about how Lucian might respond, the bastard.

I can imagine him ordering the guards to remove the body, and then he’d act as if nothing happened, make some sick joke.

He was always eager to entertain himself and others and he saw everyone as disposable.

He likely wouldn’t care who killed Martinelli, only that a problem was dealt with.

As long as it didn’t affect his reputation or businesses, he’d move on.

If Lucian were in charge, Aurelia would already be dead. So am I just weak for not taking care of her?

I know I need to respond, do something to show I’m the leader, but my entire body is frozen and I can’t think straight.

“Have you come to the same conclusion I have?” Mother asks in a hushed tone, her voice barely audible above the rabble. Her grip tightens on my arm, nails digging through the expensive fabric of my suit. “Look at her face. She’s not shocked—she’s satisfied.”

My eyes snap back to Aurelia. Is that satisfaction I see? Or is it horror? The line between the two blurs the longer I stare.

Why am I so unsure of myself? Lucian was never that way. Neither was Adrian. Both of them were always two steps ahead of everyone else and made confident decisions.

“She’s playing with you,” Mother continues, each word a dagger slipping between my ribs.

“First your brother, now this—on the very day of your coronation.” Her voice breaks again.

“I just can’t believe it. Why can’t we mourn your brother in peace?

Why can’t this day be about our family? She makes everything about her. ”

I swallow, not wanting to admit how right my mother’s words sound.

After Lucian died, of course I dug into who murdered him and why.

I knew it was a revenge kill from Victoria’s family, so I had a few men investigate to figure out who did it.

One name was revealed quickly: Theodore Martinelli.

Several witnesses saw the blood on his clothes.

We even had security footage of his car a few blocks down because the idiot drove his own vehicle to our place.

I was going to take care of him next week, once things settled down.

I’ve been looking forward to it, needing it.

I’ve been fantasizing about his death in excruciating detail, not because I want vengeance for Lucian, but because I need to make someone suffer.

I need to release some of this rage and pain festering under my skin.

And, as the leader, I need to set an example that no one fucks with my family.

Aurelia robbed me of that. Same way she robbed me of years of my sanity as I obsessed about taking her away from my brother.

I don’t know how, but she figured out Theodore killed Lucian and poisoned him today just to twist the knife further in my back.

Do I really mean so little to her? I mean, what the fuck have I done to deserve this?

“She’s resourceful,” Mother says, her voice hardening. “And she’s sending you a message. Taunting you. Showing you that she has the power to hurt you.” Mother caresses my hair. “How long will you keep letting her? You must deal with her. Now. Show everyone you’re a leader to be feared.”

Feared. Like Lucian?

I never want to be anything like him. But how else do I respond?

“She’s making a mockery of you. Of our family name. Of Adrian’s memory.” Mother’s voice trembles. “The Consortium is watching. Waiting to see if you’re strong enough to lead. If you’ll let this… this outburst stand.”

I glance around. She’s right, every eye in this room keeps glancing my way, waiting, weighing my worth against my father’s legacy, against Adrian’s potential. The Harrows don’t back down. We don’t show weakness. We take control.

We conquer .

Right now, Aurelia is making me look like a fucking fool.