Page 40 of Ruthless Lord

Stefano

“ I really don’t want to be doing this right now.” Charlie’s father looks around, awkwardly rubbing his hands together. “Surely my daughter?—”

“Isn’t going to risk herself for something you can do.” I grab his arm and roughly shove him through the bushes. “Now fucking walk.”

He leads me toward the huge Westbrook mansion. There are security cameras and motion sensors in the trees, but they’re all deactivated at the moment. My arm throbs from the stitches the doc gave me last night, but I’m completely focused on the mission.

“Let me ask you something.” Her father doesn’t look back as he talks. “Once the old man’s dead, what are you going to do? Won’t there be an investigation?”

“We’ll handle that.”

“It’s going to delay my inheritance. You realize that, right? It could keep things tied up for years in court.”

“Won’t come to that.”

“But your boss wants me in charge of the Westbrook company, doesn’t he? Which means?—”

I shove him again, this time hard enough to make him nearly fall. He catches himself on a decorative post.

“Shut up. Keep walking.”

He stares at me before shaking his head. “No need to be rude about it.”

We continue along toward the back of the building. He approaches the back door and thumbs in the lock code. Once the door’s open, he steps aside.

“This part’s all on you.” He gestures for me to enter.

“Don’t want to do it yourself?” I stare into his face. The soft bastard doesn’t deserve the enormous promotion he’s about to get. “Maybe you should earn your inheritance.”

“I don’t think—I mean, it’s not really—” His face pales and he steps back.

I drift past him, light and quiet, into the house. “Just kidding. Get the fuck out of here.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. The coward scampers off like a scared deer, disappearing down to the property line.

I let my eyes adjust. I’m standing in a large living area surrounded by lavish couches, expensive furniture, a big TV against one wall, and a bar opposite. Everything’s dark and nothing’s moving.

I touch the transmitter in my ear. “You there?” I ask quietly.

“We see you.” Charlie’s voice, warm and comforting. “Were you being nice to my dad?”

“Not really.”

“Good. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Where am I right now?”

“Technically, that’s the great room. I’m pretty sure I was the only person who ever used it.”

“Where’s your grandfather?”

“Upstairs in his suite. It’s late, so guards should be minimal.”

I check my watch. Ten past three in the morning. “Shift change is when?”

“Six sharp. You have plenty of time before that happens.”

“Good.” I drift forward, making almost no noise. Sneaking around and assassinations aren’t really my thing, but after that fucker sent his security guy after my wife, I decided I’m going to do this one personally. “Alright, love. This place is big. Walk me through it.”

“Right, okay. There should be a door up ahead…”

She gives me directions as I move through the silent building.

At one point, I have to duck into a gaming room as a tired, yawning guard wanders past. He’s carrying a compact submachine gun tucked under an arm and a phone in both hands.

The bastard’s watching fucking YouTube soccer highlights on duty.

“Must be nice, being so fucking rich,” I murmur once he’s gone and I’m moving again.

“Not really. You’re never alone.”

“Gives you the illusion of safety at least. I never had that growing up.”

“You seem to have done pretty well for yourself anyway.”

“’Cause I cracked skulls.”

“Got your skull cracked plenty too.”

“Good point. Probably why I am the way I am.” I hesitate, peering around a bend in the hall. “How close am I right now?”

“Should be getting near it. One more turn to the left. There will be at least one guard on his door though.”

“He probably won’t be wandering, huh?”

“Better hope he’s watching his phone.”

“For his sake.” I step forward, whispering now. “When I’m inside, you don’t want to listen to this. Turn off the sound.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Charlie—”

“Grandfather’s been the center of my life for so long. If we’re going to kill him, the least I can do is hear his last words.”

“Last words are overrated. They’re never that great.”

“How do you know?”

“Heard a bunch in my life. Normally they’re something like, no, please don’t, or like, urhhkkkkk, or whatever.”

“That’s… horrifying.”

“Told you. Turn off the sound.”

“Just keep going and stop talking.”

I reach the last turn. Slowly, painstakingly, I peer around the corner. The hallway’s gloomy and dark with a single light at the very far end casting long shadows.

A guard’s standing solo. His back’s against the wall, and lucky for me, he’s got his phone in his hands. He’s scrolling through, intent on something. I duck back and take a few deep breaths.

There’s nothing between me and him except open space. There’s no way to sneak forward. If he raises the alarm, this is going to be very bad.

I have to go fast.

“Wish me luck,” I whisper, barely making a sound.

“Good luck, Stefano,” she whispers back.

I throw myself around the corner. I run hard, probably making too much noise. But the guard’s intent on his phone and only realizes I’m coming by the time I’m already halfway down the hallway. He stares, eyes going wide in shock, his mouth opening to scream?—

I slam into him with my shoulder, ramming the air from his lungs.

He makes an awkward ooooffffffhhhhhhhh noise and starts grunting and gasping for breath as he tries to draw his gun.

He’s a decent fighter, but I don’t give him time to gather himself.

I kick his knee, crush his windpipe, and jam a knife straight between his eyes.

He drops to the floor, tongue lolling from swollen lips, blood pooling around his body.

“Done,” I say, pushing the door open and stepping into the old man’s suite.

“He’ll still be in bed. Straight in the back.”

I stare at what looks like the simplest room in the entire house. It’s like a normal middle-class home from the seventies in here. Modest couch, modest furniture. Simple thrift store art on the walls. Like the man decorated once way before he was rich and never bothered updating it.

But Charlie’s wrong about one thing. The TV’s on playing a black-and-white cowboy movie. On the screen, there’s a gunfight happening.

And her grandfather is sitting on the couch.

Harrison Westbrook looks smaller than I remembered.

His wizened white hair is in disarray and he’s wearing matching flannel pajamas.

He’s leaning on his side, staring at me like I’m a ghost, his mouth hanging open.

Like this, he’s not at all intimidating.

Not the powerful monster I’ve been imagining.

Just a frail old man.

“Don’t get up,” I say, slowly approaching the couch. “And don’t start yelling.”

His face locks back into place. The surprise instantly evaporates, and I get a glimpse of what he must’ve been like in his prime. The gaze of a predator, cool and calculating. He’s weighing his options. Already making plans.

“What are you doing here, Stefano?”

“You know what.” I reach into my belt and draw a second knife. I left my good one in the forehead of the guard, but this one will have to do.

He keeps looking at me, still lounging. “That’s it then?”

“It was your call.”

“I’m not so sure it was. Sit down, Stefano. We have a lot to talk about.”

I don’t move. The second I start following his orders is the second I let him worm his way back from the brink. “You tried to kill her.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Your security man, the new one. Micky tried to cut her throat.”

“If he did that, it was on his own initiative.”

I flinch, gripping the knife tighter. “This is what you do, isn’t it? You lie about everything. You twist the world until it fits the shape you want.”

“I have no reason to lie.”

“Then there’s nothing left to talk about.” I approach him slowly.

“That’s it? You’re going to stab an old man to death?” He makes a face and laughs lightly. “Here I was, thinking you were too good for that.”

“You must not know me then.”

“Charlie’s my heir. We’ve had some disagreements lately, of course, but that doesn’t change a thing. Why would I want her dead?”

“She figured out your plan. We know what you’ve been doing. The break-ins at the depot. The man you sent to our house.”

“All her father’s doing. My stupid son. Did he convince you I was involved?” Harrison stretches out his legs and sighs. “Really, I thought I trained her better than this.”

I loom over him. He looks at me with wet eyes, smirking slightly, entirely at ease. If I didn’t know better, I might believe him too. That’s the fucked-up part of all this. I might think he’s telling the truth because he’s such a convincing liar. The man’s got plenty of practice at it.

“Do something good with your last breath. Tell me why you decided to use her against the Marinos.”

He considers that question for a moment before shrugging. “I saw an opportunity. I suppose she told you about that.”

“She told me everything.”

“Can’t blame me for that, Stefano. It’s only business. Honestly, sit down and we can discuss this.”

“Are you ready to beg?” I lean forward and press the edge of the knife to his throat.

Finally, it starts to get through to him.

That I’m not here to play games. That lying and bluffing won’t save him.

Fear slips into his eyes the way it always does when the end’s right there. “Come on, Harrison. Beg a little.”

“I have money. You know that. Tell Charlie I’ll release the restrictions on her trust.”

“We have money.”

“Power. I have power. I know people. What do you want? I can get you anything. Access, objects, experiences?—”

“We don’t need any of that.”

Harrison Westbrook, one of the most powerful men in the world, babbles at me, pleading for his life. He offers me the world, and in this moment, he truly means it. He’d give me anything to keep breathing for a little while longer.

Great men are torn down before the specter of death.

A voice whispers in my ear, cold, calm, and firm. “Kill him, Stefano. I can’t listen to this anymore.”

“Are you sure?” I say back.

Harrison’s eyes go wide. He’s nodding, talking about the private plane he’ll happily sign over to me.

“I’m sure,” Charlie says, louder now. “Do it, Stefano.”

I lean forward. That’s all it takes. “It’s a great plane, good wings—” The knife plunges into Harrison’s throat and his last words get choked off.

I slice sharply, severing an artery and sawing into his voice box.

He gags, choking on blood, hands desperately trying to close the wounds as his life pumps and pours from the opening I sliced into his body.

I step back, avoiding the worst of the blood, and watch the light slowly fade.

His choking and hacking slowly calm as his frail old body flops to the floor with a dead thud.

“It’s done,” I say to the empty room.

Charlie answers. She sounds surprisingly calm. “Did he suffer?”

“Yes, he did.”

“That’s good. Come home now.”

“Should I clean up?”

“Let the staff do it. That’s what they’re paid for.”

“You know your father wasn’t wrong about the investigations, right?”

“I don’t really care.”

“Good. I don’t either.” I find a couple paperback books in his bedroom and carry them to the kitchenette.

I turn on the stove and light the books on fire before tossing one onto a rug and the other onto the couch.

I have to light a few more before the flames start to spread.

“But just to be sure, I’m going to burn this place down. ”

“There’s a fire suppression system.”

“Davide already turned it off.” I walk to the door, ignoring the sizzle of flesh and the stink of burning hair. “Hope you don’t have anything here you want.”

“Not a single fucking thing.”