Ana
“Sirius, shhh,” I mumble, trying to bury my head further into my pillow. God, I’m so tired. It can not be early enough for Sirius to want to get up.
A soft whine and the touch of his wet nose against my elbow make me frown. Where are Armani and Colton when you need them?
Forcing myself to wake up, I rub my eyes and blink rapidly to clear my vision. The bedroom is mostly shadows, hardly any light seeping in from the stars outside. When I find my dog, he isn’t trying to wake me anymore. He’s lying on the floor, disturbingly still.
My heart races as an eerie awareness creeps up the back of my neck.
That’s when I see the flair of red sticking out from his side. A puffy unidentified bit of material, like the tail end of a tranquilizer dart.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
I thought Sirius was bothering me in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, but he was trying to bark to alert me, but whatever drug he’s been stuck with drained him too quickly. He could only whine and try to nudge me before succumbing to the sedative.
Something is very, very wrong.
Reaching behind me in a blind panic, I try to nudge Cassio awake, only to find his side of the bed empty.
Sitting up in alarm, I flinch at the sound of a click, low lamp light flooding the room. A scream catches in my throat as I find an intruder, gun in hand. Cassio is being held on his knees, the barrel of a pistol against his temple.
“Miss me?” the bald man asks, a monstrous smile playing on his lips.
Cassio growls. “If you touch her—”
“Shut it, or I’ll stop playing so nice.”
My stomach churns. How could this happen?
We had a completely normal evening last night. There were no unsolicited messages, nothing out of the ordinary. We didn’t even have sex since I was so tired from working out hours before.
And now this?
Please, please, let this be a nightmare.
But it can’t be. It feels too real. Too terrifying.
My blood runs cold. “Let him go.”
“Where would be the fun in that? We’re just getting started.”
My eyes dart to my side table, wishing the gun inside my drawer was already in my hands.
“Ah, ah,” Baldy tsks. “Don’t do anything stupid, or these walls will get a fresh coat of brain matter. I don’t have time for the dramatics. I already had to hold you at gunpoint to get this one out of bed and into position quietly. You are both terrible at cooperating and he’s still waiting for us.”
He, who?
I don’t have time to ask before the bald man barks his next order.
“Take her.”
Three bodies emerge from the shadows, surrounding me in seconds.
My husband looks like he’s going to risk being shot to lunge for me, when the bald man shoves a needle into the side of his neck. In an instant, he releases whatever is in the syringe, and I scream.
“No, no, Cassio!” I cry, trying to claw, kick, and elbow my way out of being captured. Heavy hands clasp around my arms, squeezing hard enough to bruise. I hiss, managing to swing one of my knees into someone’s chin.
“Fucking bitch,” he spits, grabbing me again, harder.
“Armani! Colton!”
“Don’t bother calling for them—they got the same treatment as the dog,” a slimy voice says with a chuckle.
“Just drug her.” The bald man sighs like he’s bored. “Her whining is giving me a headache.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I scream, still trying to thrash and fight. It’s no use. Four on one are horrible odds, especially as someone my size without a weapon.
“Good luck with that,” he says, condescension dripping from every word.
A prick in the side of my neck burns, and my arms go weak. I can’t keep my eyes open, and after a few heavy blinks, everything goes dark.
Soreness seeps into my very bones, a deep radiating ache that only adds to my fatigue. I can’t see a thing, and my eyes feel too irritated to open. Brain foggy and head pounding, I try to feel myself breathing, to focus on the rise and fall of my ribs. My tongue moves over my teeth, trying to swipe moisture around and cure my cottonmouth.
“Wake up, love.”
Groaning, I latch on to the distant voice, trying to follow it.
“There you go, Ana. Wake up for me.”
Flickers of memory spark behind my eyes, confusing me further in my disoriented state. I feel cold but not so scared anymore.
Did Cassio wake up and save us?
Are we somewhere safe now?
The feeling of my body becomes more obvious, and I’m able to wiggle my toes and move my fingers. I feel less like an unconscious zombie and more like a living human being.
My eyelids finally crack open, shocked by bright light overhead.
“So nice of you to join us, love.”
My stomach drops, ears registering the familiar voice.
I look up, seeing the man responsible for speaking come into focus.
It can’t be…
“H-how?” I croak. “I watched you die.”
Bron chuckles. “Did you enjoy the show?”
My heart feels like it’s in my throat as I stare at him. He’s an older version of Killian. Dark hair speckled with grays, stubble on his jaw, and a similar fit build despite his age.
“I asked you a question, love. Don’t forget your manners,” he chastises. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“Did I enjoy watching you die? Watching Cole die right after? Are you insane? No! It was horrifying. I hated it.”
“Pity.” Bron frowns. “I put it on just for you.”
No.
He can’t mean…
“You did all of this?” I ask and then swallow hard.
“Of course,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No one cares for you as much as I do, Ana. I’ve been trying to show you that.”
“By killing your son?” I wheeze, finding it hard to breathe. “By texting me those awful things and kidnapping me?”
This is too much.
Before Bron can answer my demands, I get a better look at our surroundings. Spot lights are lighting up the room, hanging above us from high ceilings. The white walls are deteriorated with chipped paint and the remnants of nails and installations.
My mother’s old art study… A building Bron bought for her as a wedding gift. I’ve only been here a handful of times, but the faint smell of paint thinner and the specks of color tattering the wood floor have me convinced that I know exactly where we are.
And we aren’t alone. Tightly bound to a support pole behind Bron, I find a familiar face. Not the one I’m most concerned about, but a friendly face all the same.
“Killian! How did you find him? You better not hurt him again,” I growl, teeth bared. “He hasn’t done anything.”
I’m not tied to the floor like my stepbrother, but I’m not strong enough to spring to my feet either. And even if I was, there’s a shiny, black Glock in Bron’s hands that makes running sound like a terrible idea.
“Oh I caught my dearest son on his way back to you,” Bron explains dully. “I’m a bit disappointed I’ve been able to get the drop on him twice, but he’s still got years to learn.”
My fists clench. “He won’t have any years if you have your goons try to kill him again.”
Bron waves me off. “He’s alive, isn’t he? I have no intention of killing my only heir. The bullet was a lesson, and witnessing this is the review.”
“Witnessing what?”
“So eager.” He clicks his tongue. “Don’t you want to catch up, love? I’m sure you’ve got a million questions swimming around in that head of yours.”
“Cassi—”
“Not about him,” Bron snaps, interrupting. “We’ll deal with him in a moment. I meant about me, Ana. Me.”
Swallowing, I attempt to cooperate. “How did you even get into the building? I thought it was supposed to be secure.”
“It is secure,” Bron says with a chuckle. “For our family. It’s my building, Ana. You think I don’t know about every weakness? About every hidden door?”
“Hidden door?” I gape.
“There’s a hidden elevator in my closet, has been since I bought the place. It came in very handy to keep an eye on you after you found most of my cameras.”
Most of. There’s somehow more?
“Its location also tested my ability to risk rushing my plans. I mean, my bed, Ana? You let him fuck you in my bed? You thought I was dead, and you pissed on my memory like that? I wanted to fucking strangle you for crossing that line, and I’ve never wanted to hurt you physically, love. Ever.”
“Why do you care so much who I touch?” I sniffle, trying not to cry. I need to stay composed. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Cole and I had sex, so you had him killed? Now you want to do the same to Cassio?”
Bron’s face hardens. “Stop saying his name! You know what? Let’s get started, I need to see him bleed.”
I watch in horror as the same men from the apartment drag three bodies into the room with us. Armani is still half-unconscious, Colton is fuming mad, and Cassio looks like he’s analyzing every detail around us, formulating a way to get us all free.
“The big one fought like a tiger,” Bron tells me, lips flat and unamused. “Had to shoot him up twice and double knot his binds. He’ll probably barely feel his death, what a shame.”
Waving his weapon in their direction, he sighs. “Maybe killing him first will add to your husband’s torment more, though.”
“You can’t kill them,” I protest, getting to my feet with a renewed sense of energy. Bron allows me to stand but acts as a barrier between me and the men. “Please, think about this! You think you can just kill two Morettis and get away with it?”
Bron arches a brow at my pleading tactic. “I think once I get you and Killian on a plane back to London, they won’t risk more Moretti deaths by coming for us.”
“And what about me?” I croak, breathing hard. “You’re going to take away the only real best friend I’ve ever had? You think Jade will still like me after you kill two of her brothers?”
His jaw ticks. “Perhaps losing a friend will be the punishment that you finally learn from.”
Do not cry, do not cry.
Keep going.
Wear him down.
“What about Dante?” I blurt, rounding Bron to put myself in front of Cassio, Armani, and Colton. “Even you have to admit he’s been nothing but kind to me. You want to reward the man who took me in and kept me safe with no ulterior motive by killing two of his children?”
“You’re trying to change my mind.” He gnashes his teeth, eyes dark and untamed. “I don’t appreciate being manipulated, Ana. You think I don’t know that if Cassio remains alive, he’ll come for you?”
“No, he won’t,” I argue.
“Yes I fucking will,” my husband rumbles.
I whip around to look at him, pleading with my eyes to let me handle this. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll say whatever it takes to get him out of here alive.
“I won’t go with him,” I vow, spinning back to face Bron. “Let them live, and I’ll go with you. Cassio won’t kidnap me, and I won’t go willingly if he comes for me. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t kill him because I broke rules I didn’t know I needed to follow.”
“Ana—” Cassio tries, his sentence dying on his lips as I shoot him a glare that could incinerate a weaker man.
“He has to pay,” Bron maintains, but there’s a shift in his demeanor. He’s considering it, my offer. He doesn’t want to take it, but if I push harder, maybe I have a chance.
“Isn’t losing me payment enough?” I swallow hard. “You know he loves me, you know about his past. Taking another wife from him? Isn’t that a worse fate than death?”
God, please forgive me for this, Cassio.
“I don’t like how hard you’re trying to save his life, love,” Bron purrs, using his gun to lift my chin. “He isn’t right for you, you understand that, don’t you?”
“What does that even mean? If not him, then who?”
Bron’s eyes darken, and he refuses to answer.
An idea bounces around in my mind, and I latch onto it.
“Are you in love with me, is that it? You killed Cole because he had me and you couldn’t?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he hisses. “You’re too young, too good. You were supposed to be untainted, and he ruined you.”
“Ruined me for who?” I scream. “I don’t understand. If you wanted me for yourself, why did you marry my mother?”
“You were sixteen when I wed Vivian.” His face screws up. “I didn’t look at you like that. I only wanted to keep you safe. You were so delicate and out of control. I kept you safe, ME!”
He crowds me, hands shaking around his gun.
“I covered up your little murderous mishaps. I told Cole how to help you. I thought he was like me—in awe of you—I never expected his fascination to be so twisted.”
In awe of me? Is that what he tells himself? That this obsession is innocent admiration?
My throat constricts and I choke up. “So, you won’t have me but no one else can? You want me to live a life without romantic love? Without sex?”
His jaw clenches and a nefarious look flashes in his eye. “I think you’ve had enough of both for quite some time now, Ana. First my delinquent son and now this Italian beast you’ve sullied yourself with.”
“You’re angry with me—”
“Of course I’m angry with you!” Bron shouts, making me flinch. “You let them touch you. You asked them for it. You aren’t theirs to touch!”
“You could have had me, if you tried,” I rasp, grasping for anything to keep him calm. “I l-liked you. I knew you took care of me. We could have—”
“No, no, no,” Bron tsks. “Don’t think you can save their lives by sweet talking me, love. I know you won’t forgive me for what I’ve done to Cole. In time, you’ll learn to live with it, though.”
“I could forgive you for Cole,” I offer, anger threatening to destroy my plans. “But my mum, Bron? How could I ever learn to live with that?”
“You think I killed your mother?” he scoffs. “Vivian was no threat to me. She was good for you, even if she was a bit of an obstacle. I’m not a monster, Ana.”
You killed your own son! I want to shout.
“How am I supposed to believe you? She died that same day. With pictures—”
“Yes, yes, I know, it was all very dramatic. You have Mr. Tilton to thank for that. He had a tail on you three the night my men took you. Instead of helping, or running away, the man did his job and took pictures.”
Glen Tilton? The arsehole art collector?
“W-what?”
“He sent them all straight over to Mr. Tilton, and the fucker thought he struck gold. He wanted to use them to get to Vivian in some way, and of course, he had already followed her to London weeks ago. It was incredible timing for him, so he used the security shift change as a distraction, slipping into the flat undetected.”
Fighting back tears, I sniff. “How do you know all of this?”
“I see everything, love. If I wasn’t so preoccupied faking my own death, I might have been able to stop him. But no, within minutes of breaking in, he realized his mistake. Vivian would never believe you were dead or dying without true proof. Photos could be staged or doctored. And he knew if he left, she would alert security and he would be killed. So he decided to gamble. Stage a suicide, hack the security footage to delete his time there, and then seek you out later on. Hoping to use your grief to take as many paintings off of your hands as he could, I suppose.”
“And you just let him get away with it?”
“Have you seen or heard from him since he tried to visit you at the penthouse?” Bron challenges, lifting a brow. “Yeah, I didn’t think so, love. His body has been rotting at the bottom of the Hudson for weeks.”
“Okay,” I breathe, digesting the information. “Then let them go. Take Killian and me back to London. We’ll act like all of this was a blip, like it never happened. We can move on, and I can follow whatever rules you want. I’ll never look back, I promise.”
Bron looks contemplative, tilting his head at me.
“Just don’t make me live with more deaths on my conscience,” I whisper, reaching forward to lay my hand on his chest. “I can’t bear it.”
“Fine,” Bron acquiesces.
Exhaling a relieved breath, I open my mouth to thank him, only for a scream to replace the words. My ears ring as a shot fires from Bron’s extended arm. I watch in horror as blood blooms from Colton’s stomach, drenching his white T-shirt.
“Fuck,” he groans, hunching over in his binds.
“No,” Armani slurs, his heavy eyes on his best friend. He tries to shift to get closer, but he’s too out of it to even move an inch.
“Why would you do that!” I shout, my hands crossing up to clutch my shoulders, folding in on myself in shock.
Rolling his eyes, Bron hums. “They’ll need incentive not to follow us. He won’t die, as long as these two break out of their binds and get him to a hospital in time.”
Bile creeps up my throat, sickness threatening to spill.
“You’re not backing out on me now that I’ve shot your little friend, are you, Ana?” Bron challenges and lifts a brow.
“N-no,” I answer, stuttering.
“I think I need you to prove it, love.” He looks me up and down, making my skin crawl. “How should I have you do that, hmm?”
“Father, don’t,” Killian says, voice weak. He’s been drugged too. He sounds so exhausted, like he could pass out at any moment. That can’t be good for his heart.
Voice hardly audible, I whisper, “Anything.”
“Anything?” he drawls, desire lacing the word.
“Don’t you touch her, you sick fuck,” Cassio growls, but I tune him out. I have to.
“A kiss?” I try, hoping to God that I’m right about his yearning for me.
Like he can’t believe his ears, he nods. “Go on then.”
Lifting up on my toes, using all my might to keep my legs from shaking, I close my eyes and lean forward. Bron swoops down to my height, done pretending to be some kind of virtuous avenging guardian as he seals our lips together.
The kiss burns against my lips, and a deep groan vibrates from Bron’s throat. I knew it. He didn’t want to admit it, probably ashamed of it, but he wants me in the same way his son did. And that want sealed all of our fates.
He deepens the kiss, and I retreat into my mind, trying to stay calm. My heart feels like its breaking in my chest, wondering what Cassio must feel, having to watch this.
Our lips finally part, and my once stepfather tips his head back, eyes shut with bliss. “Bloody perfect,” he mutters. “I knew it would be. I told you, you weren’t meant for them.”
Exhaling, I nod. “You did.”
I’m waiting for him to pounce, hoping he won’t subject me to another kiss. But he doesn’t move, which means now is the time for action.
No more stalling, Ana.
Fingers reaching back, I toy with the ends of my hair, putting on a flirty show for the guards who continue to stand around.
“Bron?” I whisper, purring his name against his chest. My lashes flutter as I sneak a peek at his face.
“Yes, my girl?” he mutters, eyes filled with adoration.
“You shouldn’t have touched my husband,” I inform him, voice shifting into cold indifference. His brows furrow, and before he can truly process his confusion, my hidden hairpin knife is gliding straight through the skin of his throat.
I smile, watching as blood spills from his neck in a liquid line, pouring out of his body faster than I thought possible.
He drops his gun to reach for his wound, but no amount of covering it, or added pressure to the area will save him. The front of his suit is already soaked with the evidence of his impending death.
