Page 155 of I'm sorry, Princess

“Careful.” My jaw tightens, my voice a growl. “Finish that sentence, and I’ll put a bullet through your other knee. Or your tongue.”

He swallows the word, eyes wide. He knows I mean it.

He spits blood onto the floor instead, his chest heaving. “My father wanted out. But Thomas,” He winces, shaking from the pain. “Thomas called him. Offered him a deal.”

My brow arches. A deal. The pieces are moving.

“What kind of deal?” I demand.

“I don’t know,” he hisses. “They never told me.”

I glance at Andres. “Find it.”

He nods once, sharp and silent. Already thinking of where to start digging.

I turn back to Ian, disgust curling in my chest. “You’re useless.” I spit the word like poison. “You can’t fight. You can’t think. What stops me from killing you right now, Archibald? Hm?” I press the barrel of my gun against his blood-soaked temple. “I guess there’s no wedding if the groom is rotting in the ground.”

His breathing comes fast and shallow. His face is pale, sweat dripping down his forehead, but he still manages to rasp out: “Beaumont… is obsessed. If it’s not me… then he’ll find someone else. Even my father.”

My stomach twists.

“He wants Serena married into our bloodline,” Ian croaks, eyes rolling back from the pain. “Wants our families tied.”

My blood goes cold. My grip tightens on the gun.

So that’s it.

“So he can have the FBI on his payroll,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “That’s what this is about.”

“Why?” I snap, forcing his head back against the chair.

“I don’t know,” Ian wheezes. And for once, I believe him. He’s not clever enough to hide it. He’s just a pawn bleeding out on my floor.

Pathetic.

I holster my gun, my hands trembling with the restraint it takes not to end him right here. Because the truth cuts deep and cruel, I’ve achieved nothing today. No answers. No control. Just rage, and Serena still slipping through my fingers.

I watch Ian’s body slump in the chair, head lolling, blood soaking his jeans. Pathetic. My guards drag him away like dead weight, hauling him toward the room we keep for “accidents,” a doctor and a nurse always on standby. Insurance. For nights exactly like this one.

I drag a hand through my hair, pacing, my chest burning with fury. I can’t even think straight anymore.

“Can you find out?” I ask Andres, my voice low, taut with barely contained rage. “What Thomas offered to John? It wasn’t enough that I was already chasing Beaumont for my father. Now I have to stop this fucking wedding too.” My voice breaks into a snarl, frustration spilling out of me. “My life became a goddamn mess the moment she walked into it.”

The weight in my chest tightens. No answers about my father’s death. The Italians breathing down my neck. Serena’s engagement being shoved in my face. My control, gone.

“Fuck!” I slam my boot into the chair, sending it skidding across the concrete, the crash echoing off the basement walls.

Andres doesn’t flinch. He never does. His voice is steady, grounded. “I already said yes. There’s nothing I can’t find.”

I breathe hard, glaring at him, then finally nod. He’ll get it. He always does.

“Any news about the other matter?” I press, though my voice is rough, like I’ve been swallowing glass. I’ve neglected my goals, let the fire in me burn too hot. I never lose control. But tonight, I did.

Andres’s face is unreadable as he answers. “Ninety percent is hacked. Nothing useful yet. Just what we already know.” He pauses. “But I found something strange.”

I narrow my eyes. “Strange how?”

“I checked all the Beaumont files. Nothing. No dirt, no leverage. Like they’ve been scrubbed clean.” He folds hisarms, tone sharpening. “So I dug deeper. Looked at Archibald’s files. Family members, history, everything.”