Page 13 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

ALARIC

Blood soaks through my shirt as I carry her through the front doors while the medical team scrambles to set up equipment in the east wing guest room. Her head lolls against my shoulder. Every step I take leaves dark spots on the marble floor.

“Clear the hallway!” Dr. Williams shouts, wheeling a hospital bed around the corner. Dr. Rodriguez follows with IV bags and monitoring equipment. Three nurses trail behind them.

I place Kasimira on the bed as gently as I can manage. A small cut above her left eyebrow bleeds steadily. Purple bruises bloom across her arms like ugly flowers. Dried blood rims her wrists where she was tied up.

“Sir, we need you to step back so we can assess her injuries,” Dr. Williams says, pulling on latex gloves.

I want to argue, want to stay and watch every move, but they’re right. I’m in the way. I step into the hallway and close the door behind me.

My shirt clings to my chest, wet with her blood. I walk to my bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. Silver hair. Green eyes. And red stains across white fabric.

I turn on the faucet and scrub my hands until they’re raw. The water runs pink, then clear. But when I try to wash the stain on my shirt, nothing happens. I scrub harder, water soaking through the fabric.

The shirt tears when I finally rip it off my body. Buttons scatter across the marble floor. I ball up the ruined cloth and throw it in the trash, slamming the lid shut.

Twenty-four years in this business. I’ve ordered men tortured for information. Watched enemies bleed out on warehouse floors. Put bullets in the heads of people who crossed my family.

But seeing Kasi broken and bloody in that chair made me want to burn down half the city.

I splash cold water on my face and remember how I found her.

The surveillance footage had shown everything. Kasimira leaving her bedroom in the maid’s clothes. The impostor, Margaret O’Brian, who turned out to be Anya Petrov, leading her straight into the trap.

Three weeks I’d unknowingly housed a Bratva operative. When she disappeared with Kasimira, I put every resource I had into tracking them down.

The breakthrough came from one of our informants in Brighton Beach. The Petrovs had been bragging about their prize, mentioning a warehouse in Queens. By the time we stormed the place, she’d been there for hours.

Now I need to deal with the man who made it all possible.

The surveillance room stinks of stale coffee and cigarettes when I walk in twenty minutes later. Tommy Russo hunches over his monitors, going through footage he should have caught weeks ago. Sweat stains darken his shirt despite the air conditioning.

“Tommy.”

He jumps like I fired a gun. Coffee spills across his desk, pooling around scattered papers. “Mr. Moretti, sir. I was just reviewing the security protocols, trying to understand how I?—”

“How you let a Bratva operative work in my house for three weeks?”

His face goes white. “Sir, I had no way of knowing she was?—”

“That’s the problem.” I keep my voice level, controlled. “You had no way of knowing because you weren’t doing your job.”

“Please, Mr. Moretti, I swear I was following all procedures?—”

“Two years of steady pay. Health insurance for your family. A pension plan.” I walk around his desk. “And this is how you repay my generosity?”

“I have children, sir. Three kids. My wife is pregnant with our fourth?—”

“Get out.”

“Sir?”

“Pack your desk. Get out of my house.” I pause at the door. “If I find out you were working with them, your children will become orphans tonight.”

He starts crying as I leave the room. Pathetic.

Benedetto Marconi waits for me in the hallway. Tall, weathered face, the only person left alive who remembers when I was just another soldier taking orders instead of giving them.

“How bad?” he asks.

“She’ll live.”

“What do you need me to do about the Petrov situation?”

“Handle it. Find every one of their people in the city. Make them disappear.”

“And the staff meeting?”

I check my watch. “Set it up. Everyone who works on this estate. Kitchen staff, housekeepers, gardeners, and security guards. I want them all in the main dining room tomorrow morning by ten a.m.”

Benedetto nods once.

“What about Marco?” he asks.

“Keep Dante’s cousin in London for now. I don’t need him asking questions about why we have a bride locked in the medical wing.”

He walks away to make arrangements. I return to the medical wing and take up position outside Kasimira’s door.

The sounds inside tell me everything I need to know. She’s stable.

I find a chair and settle in to wait.

Hours crawl by. Staff members walk past and pretend not to stare at me sitting guard like some lovesick fool. Maria brings me coffee that grows cold in my hands. Benedetto stops by twice with updates on the search for the fake housekeeper.

Finally, Dr. Williams emerges. He pulls off bloody gloves and looks exhausted.

“She’s stable. Significant bruising on her torso and arms. Minor concussion from a blow to the head. The cut above her eye needed six stitches.” He strips off his surgical mask. “No permanent damage.”

“When will she wake up?”

“We’ve sedated her for the pain management. She should be alert by tomorrow afternoon.”

I nod but don’t move from the chair. The hallway grows quiet as evening approaches. Benedetto suggests I get some rest. Maria offers to bring dinner from the kitchen.

I stay.

During the night, Benedetto’s men find the fake housekeeper trying to board a bus to Montreal. She dies badly in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Slowly. Screaming. Just like she deserves.

At nine the next morning, I finally leave my post to freshen up and address the staff.

The main dining room can hold two hundred people when we host family gatherings. Today, it’s packed with nervous employees standing in neat rows like soldiers awaiting inspection.

I walk to the front of the room. Benedetto takes position at my right side, hands clasped behind his back. Morning sunlight streams through tall windows, casting long shadows across frightened faces.

Nobody speaks.

“Yesterday,” I begin, letting my voice carry through the silence, “someone who worked here helped my enemies kidnap a member of my family.”

Whispers start and die immediately under my stare.

“I want to make one thing very clear.” I walk slowly along the front row, meeting eyes with each person I pass. “I don’t care if you work for my enemies. Hell, I have people in their organizations too. It’s just business.”

Confused looks ripple through the crowd. This isn’t the speech they expected.

“But when you take my money, when you eat at my table, when you sleep under my roof, you belong to me. And when you betray that trust, there are consequences.”

I nod to Benedetto. He opens a thick file folder filled with photographs and documents.

“Maria Santos, head housekeeper. Married to Roberto Santos, mother to Elena Santos, grandmother to little Miguel.” He holds up a photo of a smiling family. “They live at 412 Oak Street in a house with blue shutters and a white picket fence.”

Maria’s face goes pale.

“We have complete files on everyone who works here,” Benedetto continues. “Parents. Spouses. Children. Siblings. Even distant cousins who live in other states.”

The fear in the room grows thicker.

“The woman who helped kidnap Miss Vale yesterday? Her real name was Anya Petrov. She had a sister in Brighton Beach named Katya. A nephew in Queens named Alexei. A mother named Svetlana still living in Volgograd.” I pause, letting the words sink in. “Had. Past tense.”

A woman in the back row starts crying quietly.

“I don’t make empty threats,” I continue, my voice deadly calm. “You betray my family, and I’ll find every person you’ve ever loved. Your parents, your children, your spouse, your siblings. I’ll make them pay for your choices. Your betrayal doesn’t just cost you. It costs everyone you care about.”

Dead silence. Even the crying stops.

“But loyalty pays better than betrayal ever could. Work hard, keep my secrets, protect what’s mine, and you’ll find no better employer anywhere. Your families stay safe. Your children get good educations and real opportunities. You’ll always have a place here.”

I gesture toward the door. “Anyone who wants to leave can do so right now. I’ll provide generous severance and a clean reference. No hard feelings. But anyone who stays knows exactly what I expect from them.”

I wait. Count to thirty. Nobody moves toward the door.

“Good. Back to work.”

They file out in complete silence. The room empties until only Benedetto and I remain among the expensive furniture and family portraits.

“Think they understood the message?” he asks.

“The smart ones will stay loyal out of genuine respect. The stupid ones will stay loyal out of terror.” I straighten my tie. “Either way works for me.”

He heads for the door to coordinate the cleanup of last night’s mess. I return to the medical wing to resume my watch.

Kasimira sleeps through the rest of that day and most of the next. The swelling around her eye goes down. The bruises on her arms fade from black to purple to yellow. She drinks water when the nurses wake her. Eats soup. Takes the pain medication without complaint.

But she doesn’t ask to see me.

On the second afternoon, Maria appears in my office doorway. Her face glows like she’s bringing news of a miracle. “She wants to see you, sir.”

I look up from the contracts on my desk. “What exactly did she say?”

“Just that she’d like to speak with you privately. But sir…” Maria’s smile grows wider. “I think she might be ready to accept the arrangement.”

Ready. We both know what that means.

“Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Maria practically skips out of the room. I stand and pace behind my desk, trying to process what this could mean.

Marriage.

To a twenty-two-year-old woman who has spent every waking moment since arriving here trying to escape.

I’ve never been married. Never wanted to be. The disaster with Dante’s mother taught me everything I needed to know about giving someone that kind of power over my life. About how love can be weaponized against you.

But this isn’t about love or partnership or any of the fairy-tale bullshit normal people believe in. This is about keeping her alive. About fulfilling the terms of my son’s will, even though I want to dig him up just so I can kill him again for putting us both in this position.

Over two decades of running this empire. Now I’m going to share it with a girl who hadn’t even been born when I made my first kill for the family.

Dante, you stupid bastard. Even dead, you’re still finding ways to complicate my life.

I walk to her room and enter without knocking.

She stands by the window, looking out at the gardens. The afternoon light shows the small bandage above her eyebrow and the fading bruises on her neck. She moves more easily than yesterday. The doctors did excellent work.

“Maria said you wanted to see me.” I keep my voice cold. “This better be worth my time.”

She doesn’t turn around.

Then she speaks, her voice quiet but clear.

“I’ll marry you, Alaric.”