Page 5 of Watch Me Burn

AARON

T he elevator doors slide open to reveal BarMed Capital in all its polished glory.

Soft murmurs, keyboard clicks, the occasional phone ringing—sounds of money being made and fortunes being destroyed.

Marble floors stretch out like a landing strip, and the air practically hums with ambition and barely contained greed.

You’d think a place like this would be chaos. One of the top hedge funds in New York, millions moving every second, careers ending with a bad trade. But somehow Tristan keeps everyone in line. Or maybe they’re all just terrified of him.

There’s something about Tristan that none of us can quite pin down. Polished as fuck on the outside, but I’d bet my left testicle he’s got a walk-in closet packed with skeletons. Probably organized by date and method of acquisition.

I stride past the receptionist without a word. Her head snaps up, cheeks going pink before she quickly looks away. Despite my mood, which has been shit for months now, thanks to my psychotic pen pal, I almost smile at her reaction.

It’s like everything has lost its taste.

Tristan’s office looms ahead, glass walls that might as well be bulletproof for all the secrets they contain. I don’t bother knocking.

“Am I interrupting your conquest of Wall Street?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. Then again, everything comes out sharper these days. Hard to maintain your charming personality when someone’s been mailing you body parts.

Tristan doesn’t look up immediately. He’s surrounded by screens flashing with live trades, news feeds, charts that look like modern art designed by someone having a seizure. His tie is loosened just enough to look casually powerful, but the tight line of his jaw gives him away.

Something’s wrong.

He gestures to one of the leather chairs across from his desk. “You good? Rested? Fed? Fucked? Want me to help with that last one?”

Normally I’d have a comeback ready, something appropriately sarcastic about his questionable offers. But his urgent text has my nerves on edge, and I’m not in the mood for our usual banter.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.”

He arches an eyebrow, watching my face for a reaction. I don’t give him anything to work with.

“Right. We have another problem.”

No need to panic, not yet. “Work related this time?”

“Unfortunately.”

I ignore the chair and walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows instead. The city sprawls below us, all glass and steel and ambition. From up here, people look like ants. Sometimes I wonder if that’s how she sees us—just insects to be collected and pinned to a board.

“Which investor this time?”

A long pause, very unlike Tristan. “Think bigger and scarier.”

“Mortelle again? How bad this time?”

Tristan leans back in his chair, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks almost...tired. “We’re holding a live grenade, and they just pulled the pin.”

Fuck. The drive. Of course it’s about the drive.

“The security blanket? Compromised?”

He shakes his head.

Right now, it’s locked in a safe—though apparently not the safe I thought it was in.

A tiny piece of hardware that Tristan built himself, designed to be our insurance policy if Mortelle ever decided we’d outlived our usefulness.

It’s packed with enough dirt to topple governments, expose every secret deal, every body buried in the family business.

The only thing standing between us and Giovanni Mortelle’s empire of blood, bodies, and buyouts.

“Do they know we have it?”

The uncertainty flickering in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. We’re screwed.

“Remind me why you ever thought keeping it was a good idea?”

Tristan adjusts the Rolex on his wrist. “Because the only thing worse than owing the Mortelles is having no leverage against them.”

“Leverage.” I cross my arms, staring at him. “Until they figure out where it is. Then it’s a death sentence with our names engraved on it.”

He’s already rewritten the rules of a game I never agreed to play. “We’ve built our own world, Aaron. This place, Untamed, all the ventures we created—they’re our fortress. But getting here meant making deals with devils. You knew that coming in.”

I let out a laugh that has no humor in it. “Yeah, and you said it was temporary. That the drive would help us escape their control, scare them into letting us go free and clear.”

“Seems to have only pissed them off.”

“Then we should use it. Get ahead of them before they get ahead of us.” I pause, the thought that’s been eating at me finally finding its way out. “I also think other players might be involved.”

Tristan sits up straighter. “Meaning?”

“Meaning someone else might be after the drive.”

“Who? No one else knows about it besides us.”

“And the woman who’s been stalking me for months. The one who kills people for sport and sends me eyes as party favors.”

Tristan scoffs. “No way. She only wants you gone because you witnessed something you shouldn’t have. This is personal revenge, not corporate espionage.”

“The timing feels off, though.” I start pacing, because standing still makes me feel like a target.

“Think about it. It was quiet after Untamed. Months went by without a single incident. But then, as soon as we find out Mortelle is tearing the city apart looking for this drive, she starts her little gift campaign. That can’t be coincidence. ”

“You think your stalker’s working for him?”

“Either that, or she’s after the drive for herself.” The admission tastes bitter. “Hell if I know which is worse. If she’s connected to Mortelle, we’re already dead men walking. And she knows too much—my sister trusts her completely. Do you realize how fucking dangerous that is?”

Tristan lets out a low whistle. “You sure know how to attract the interesting ones.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” He stands and walks to a sleek metal cabinet in the corner. Thumb to scanner, code punched in, quiet beep. The drive emerges, tiny and innocuous between his fingers. “Behold, our salvation or our destruction. Jury’s still out.”

“I thought we were keeping that at my place.”

“It’s never in one location for long. Just in case we have uninvited guests.” He winks, but there’s no real humor in it.

Lately, it feels like I’m constantly being watched. Like she’s woven into the air I breathe. In shadows, reflections, a whisper between heartbeats. Always one step ahead, always knowing exactly which buttons to push.

I need to stop playing defense. She won the last round…she’s won them all.

Time to change the rules.

“This,” Tristan says, holding up the drive, “is our only insurance policy. Without it, we’re just two guys who got lucky and pissed off the wrong people. With it, we have a fighting chance.”

“And if it falls into the wrong hands? If she gets to it first?”

“Then we’re finished.” Simple as that. No sugar-coating, no false optimism.

He built it to save us, to outplay Mortelle at his own game. But it might be the very thing that gets us both killed.

“You’re playing with fire, Tristan.”

He slides the drive back into the safe, locks it up with the same casual efficiency most people use to close a desk drawer.

“I love fire. We forged this empire with gasoline and matches. Fire is just the cost of doing business.” His grin turns slightly manic.

“Besides, this little beauty gets more valuable every day. I’ve programmed it to update automatically with new information.

It’s like a digital parasite, feeding on their secrets. ”

Great. Another reason to sleep with one eye open. Another reason to feel like prey in my own city.

My thoughts tangle like barbed wire—the drive, Mortelle, and her .

My little nightmare with her perfect smile and her collection of severed body parts.

How the hell are we going to survive this?

The question that really keeps me awake at night: if she wanted me dead, why haven’t I been killed yet? She’s clearly capable. She’s had plenty of opportunities. Something is stopping her.

But what?

That question torments me almost as much as the sick thrill I get every time she escalates. Maybe I need to go back to therapy.

“Why don’t we reach out to your stalker? Set up a meeting. Tell her you’re ready to talk, dangle something she wants, then trap her.”

My whole body goes rigid. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

“I’m already neck-deep in this shitstorm with you. Might as well learn to swim.” He shrugs like we’re discussing lunch plans instead of potentially suicidal strategies. “Besides, this chick showed up at my club and probably knows I’m connected to Mortelle. I’m already on her Christmas list.”

“This isn’t just any threat, Tristan. Stop making jokes.”

He walks over and squeezes my shoulder, the gesture surprisingly grounding. “If we can’t find some humor in our impending doom, then we’re going to panic or cry. And I don’t do either of those things.” His smile is sharp as a blade. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Somewhere out there, Via is waiting—if that’s even her real name. The woman with two faces and God knows how many secrets buried in shallow graves. The thought of her makes my blood run hot and cold at the same time.

If she’s working for someone else and this has nothing to do with what I witnessed at Untamed, then she might be the wrecking ball neither of us saw coming.

I need to get ahead of this. Beat her at her own game before she destroys everything I’ve built.

What terrifies me most is how completely she’s infiltrated our lives.

Best friends with my sister. Showing up at Dom’s hockey games with that perfectly crafted smile, like every expression is calculated for maximum effect.

Laughing over drinks like she doesn’t spend her evenings packaging nightmares in elegant black boxes.

Every time Zoe mentions her name, I feel sick.

My own sister, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s befriended the psychopath who’s been terrorizing me for months.

The woman who might be connected to the most dangerous family in the city, the same people who could end us both with a phone call.

Every second I hesitate, she tightens her grip on the people I swore I’d protect. One wrong move, and it’s all gone—Zoe, Dom, Tristan, everything I’ve built. I already know what it means to lose family. I won’t do it again.

Whatever she wants, whoever she’s working for, I’ll find out. And when I do, she’ll learn that I’m not just some clueless bystander to be toyed with.

I’ll move carefully, but I’ll move fast.

Because the next time she tries to get close, she’ll discover exactly what I’m capable of when someone threatens my family.

I’m not just a witness to her games.

I’m going to be the ending she never saw coming.