Page 28 of Infamous

Which makes me wonder: why the hell is a man like that shackled in my courtyard?

He stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes steady. He studies me like he’s studying a painting. I let him look. Let him see what the world made of me.

Ghost.

The nightmare they invented.

The current count is fourteen women. Fourteen accusations. The devil you’d die to fuck. And yet - he doesn’t flinch.

He lookscurious.Like he’s been looking forward to this meeting.

I already know his story. How he carved an empire one body at a time until Dante Accardi himself took notice. Accardi - the man who bends cities. The gravity men like Ironside, De Scarzi, and I orbit around.

Ironside exhales, eyes sweeping the yard. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet steel.

“You’re not what I expected.”

My mouth curves. “That so? And what exactly were you expecting?”

He shrugs. “Not what I found.”

“A monster?”

A flicker of a smile. “Mercy.”

That earns him a laugh. “Mercy. Cute. Ask the press - they’ll tell you I’m Satan in a suit. Ask the guards - they’ll swear I’m one breath away from execution. Reputation builds kingdoms, Ironside. Mine just makes me untouchable.”

He doesn’t argue. Just studies me in what I recognise is a test. Although I’m not sure what I’m auditioning for.

Across the yard, a young inmate sits rigid on a bench. Clay Ford. Clean-cut, too soft for this place. He watches us like a deer that’s wandered into a den of wolves.

“What’s his story?” Ironside asks, nodding his way.

“He didn’t do it.”

That earns me a raised brow. Everyone in here says that.

“You of all men should know,” I say. “Not everyone in here is guilty of the thing stamped on their record. Maybe guilty of something - but notthat.You understand that, don’t you, Ironside?”

The words hang between us. Razor-thin. He doesn’t blink. I respect that.

Then, softly, he says “The same way you’re not a serial killer?”

I let his words sit with me for a bit. Let the tension stretch until the air tastes like metal.

Then I smile. Slow. Dangerous.

“I never said I wasn’t a killer. I just didn’t killthosefourteen women.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Understanding. Recognition.

Clay still watches. Desperate. Like proximity to monsters might keep him safe.

Ironside follows my gaze. “Will he make it out of here in one piece?”

I shrug. “Depends who’s asking.”

What I don’t say: he reminds me of someone. And I’ll make sure nothing touches him.