31. Raiden
Chapter 31
Raiden
W e arrive at Saverio’s temporary residence just as the sun drags itself above the eastern horizon. The place is nothing like the grand estate he used to flaunt. This is smaller, more modest—a low-slung villa with clay tiles and weathered stucco walls. But what it lacks in grandeur, it makes up for in security: armed men patrol the perimeter with assault rifles held in relaxed, almost casual grips. These aren’t rent-a-cops; they’re loyal soldiers—Castiglione loyalists—each one likely ready to shoot us dead if given the slightest reason.
Priest and I dismount from our bikes, the engines ticking as they cool in the crisp morning air. My chest is tight, anger and desperation mingling in my veins like a toxic cocktail I can’t purge. We’re here because we need Saverio’s help, and the irony of that isn’t lost on me. We tried to kill him a few days ago—we had him in our crosshairs before everything went sideways. Now, I’m forced to swallow the bitter pill of failure and step into the lion’s den, knowing full well I might not walk back out. But if it means getting Lucrezia back, I’ll do it a thousand times over. I’ll crawl through hell itself if I have to.
We approach the heavy oak door, and two guards step forward, blocking our path. One is short and broad, built like a brick wall with fists to match, the other tall and thin with hard eyes that have seen too much. They recognize us, I think—they must. Our patches stand out: Destroyers in the heart of Castiglione territory. The short guard spits near my boot. I resist the urge to snap. We don’t have time for petty posturing.
Priest lifts his hands, palms out, to show we’re unarmed. “We need to see Saverio,” his voice carries authority. “It’s urgent.”
The guards exchange glances, and my impatience flares. I clench my jaw, forcing myself not to shove them aside. The short guard’s lip curls into a sneer before he looks at his partner. Eventually, after what feels like a lifetime, the tall guard jerks his head, signaling we can follow.
The interior is dim and quiet, with the scent of incense lingering in the halls. A bandage of silence wraps around us as we’re shown to a study near the back of the house. Priest walks with steady purpose beside me, shoulders squared, not a hint of fear in his posture. This is why he’s our President. I’m emotion and violence while he’s perfectly at ease, carrying himself with the kind of natural authority that commands respect without demanding it.
Saverio sits behind a grand desk that looks out of place in this modest home. He’s dressed in a tailored suit jacket and dark slacks, leaning heavily on a cane propped against the armrest of his chair. Bandages peek out from under his collar, and there’s a stiffness in his movements that betrays pain. His eyes, though, remain sharp and hawk-like. Guards line the walls, rifles slung at their sides, watching us with a predatory stillness.
“Two Destroyers walk into my house,” Saverio says, voice filled with suspicion and a hint of dark amusement. “Either hell froze over, or you’ve come to finish the job you started.”
I waste no time. “Kristopher kidnapped Lucrezia,” I say bluntly. “We need your help to find her.”
Saverio’s gaze sharpens, a predator’s eyes zeroing in on prey. There’s a flicker of confusion there—Kristopher and Lucrezia, together?—but he masks it quickly. He sneers. “You come to me after nearly blowing me to pieces? Now you want my help?” His voice is mocking, but I see something else lurking behind it, something curious and unsettled.
Priest steps forward, just half a step. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t dire,” he says, tone calm and measured. He’s always been the diplomat. “Lucrezia is missing. You know what Kristopher is capable of; you found out when you came walking into my clubhouse demanding answers. If you have any interest in seeing your sister alive again, you should listen to us.”
Saverio’s jaw tightens, and he leans forward. “Sister,” he repeats, voice hollow and strained like the word itself causes him pain. “Yes, my sister .” He inhales sharply through his nose, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Kristopher took her?”
“Last night,” I add, voice cutting through the tension. “He snatched her from my place. Cut the power to the neighborhood and then waited in the darkness until she was alone. We have no idea where he took her.”
I expect Saverio to show some triumphant satisfaction that his enemies are begging him for help. But something else happens. His face contorts, and he slams his cane hard against the floor, the crack echoing in the quiet room like a gunshot. The expensive tile beneath trembles from the impact, and even his guards flinch at the sudden violence of the gesture. “He has her?” Saverio hisses. “Kristopher dared—” He breaks off, standing abruptly, leaning on the desk as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Pain twitches across his features, but fury drowns them out. “That spineless bastard dared to touch my sister?”
The raw emotion in his voice startles me. This isn’t the calculated mafia boss I expected. This is a brother, enraged and wounded. I glance at Priest, who meets my eyes briefly, acknowledging the unexpected turn. We were prepared for resistance, but not this explosion of protective rage.
Saverio starts pacing behind the desk, each step heavy and uneven as he favors his injured hip. His limp is more pronounced now. He reaches down to grab his cane, palming the silver wolf handle. “We shunned her,” he mutters, voice thick with self-loathing. “We called her a curse, the devil—because that’s what we were told. The old man and his cronies told us that a girl with her ambitions was unnatural, that she’d bring ruin to everything we’d built. And we believed him. We never questioned it, never once stood up for her.” He slams a palm onto the desk’s surface, rattling papers and a half-empty glass of amber liquid that sloshes dangerously close to the rim. “But she wasn’t the devil. She just wanted to be part of this godforsaken family. To have what was rightfully hers.”
His words hang in the air, and I feel a grudging respect for his admission. I knew they treated Lucrezia like dirt, but hearing him confess it, seeing regret etched into the creases around his eyes and the downward curl of his mouth, twists something inside me. It’s like watching a stone crack to reveal a glimmer of humanity underneath. It also crystallizes how dire this is: he truly cares now, or at least regrets what’s been done, and that’s not something I ever expected to see from him. Good. That might mean real help, the kind that comes with resources and influence, not just empty promises.
My patience snaps, though. His realization might be heartfelt, but it’s not helping us find her. “That’s all well and good, Saverio, but we’re losing time.”
He whirls on me, cane thumping. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake? She’s my blood, not yours.” His tone is venomous, but I meet it head-on.
My temper flares, and I step forward despite the guards tensing around the room. “You’re right; she’s not my blood,” I say, my voice rising. “But where were you when she needed understanding? When she needed someone to listen to her about the atrocities your father committed? You cast her aside. I’m here now, despite hating every second of this alliance, because I care about her.”
Priest lifts a hand between us, calm yet firm. “Both of you, stop. Anger won’t lead us to her. We need a plan.”
Saverio stands there, and I see the conflict in his eyes. He knows I’m right, but his pride stings. The silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of the house’s ventilation system. Finally, he nods. “You’re right,” he manages to choke out. “I’ll tear this city apart brick by brick before I let that psychopath keep her.”
Despite my rage and distrust, I feel a spark of relief. Saverio’s influence and network might give us an edge—resources I couldn’t dream of accessing on my own. He calls out a name, summoning a lieutenant who appears in the doorway within seconds. He orders the man to start combing through Kristopher’s known associates, every safe house, and every abandoned property tied to the Castigliones. The lieutenant nods sharply and disappears. There’s a flurry of activity as guards murmur into radios, phones ring, and orders are barked in hushed but urgent tones. The wheels are turning, and the massive machinery of the Family’s intelligence network is grinding into motion. For once, its fearsome reach feels like a blessing rather than a curse.
I stand to the side, arms crossed, watching Saverio with guarded respect. He’s hurt and leaning heavily on his cane, sweat beading at his temple, but he refuses to rest. He’s guilty and determined, and I can’t help but admire the force of his conviction. There’s something almost noble in the way he pushes through his physical limitations, driven by the need to make things right. It’s a side of him I hadn’t expected to see.
Priest hovers near the desk, quietly discussing details with Saverio’s men as if he’s part of their army. They map out areas of Manhattan where Kristopher might hide, marking potential safe houses and abandoned buildings with red pins. Their fingers trace paths through the streets, weighing likely escape routes against known patrol patterns. He makes a call, barking into the phone at someone that they need to start making calls to our contacts. The house hums with purpose—no longer enemies under this roof but desperate allies racing the clock.
After an initial flurry of commands, quiet settles again. Priest steps aside to speak with some guards, leaving me and Saverio standing near the desk. The tension between us shifts like a heavy curtain being drawn aside. He looks at me, not with scorn, but with something else—curiosity, maybe. “She’s stronger than we ever gave her credit for, than I ever gave her credit for,” he says quietly. “But even strong people break. I’ve seen what he can do to people’s minds. He terrorized my wife. I know it was at my sister’s behest, but it was because of me. It all comes back to me.”
A frown furrows Saverio’s brow as he shakes his head, the lines around his mouth etching deeper. A look of disgust crosses his face, and for a minute, I think it’s disgust with himself—with the choices he’s made, with the things he couldn’t prevent. “If I’d have been a better brother, none of this would have happened. Kristopher never would have stalked Lucia; he never would have kidnapped Lucrezia,” he closes his eyes, shutting out the painful reminders that he is at fault for all the terrible things his half-brother has done. “If I let him hurt Lucrezia, I’m only doing what I’ve done my entire life: I’m letting a monster hurt my family instead of protecting them. And I can’t—I won’t —make that mistake again.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
Saverio eyes me for a long moment, his hawk-like eyes assessing me again. His voice softens when he asks, “Why are you here, really ? Why risk everything to save her? You have no blood ties to Lucrezia, and from what I gather, your club stands to gain nothing from this. I’m alive. Your assassination attempt failed. So why are you still helping her?”
My throat goes dry. The bravado I’ve clung to feels flimsy under his intense gaze. I shrug, trying to sound indifferent. “She matters to me. Let’s leave it at that.”
But Saverio presses. “No. I want to understand. Is this about pride? Revenge?” His voice lowers. “Or is it something more?”
I glare at him, unsettled by how easily he’s peeling back my layers of deflection. The guards are a respectful distance away, busying themselves with mundane tasks and equipment checks, pretending not to listen. Priest is across the room, focused intently on another phone call, leaving Saverio and me in a bubble of relative privacy that suddenly feels far too intimate for enemies.
“Does it matter?” I retort, hating the tremor of vulnerability in my question.
“Yes,” Saverio insists. “Because I need to know if you’re going to follow through with what has to come next. Are you just using her, or do you actually—” He hesitates, and for a second, I see not a mafia boss but an older brother struggling to understand the man who claims to care about his sister.
I exhale heavily, rubbing a hand over my mouth, feeling the rough stubble beneath my palm. This is the last thing I want to admit out loud, especially to him. I’m supposed to be the tough bastard who fears no man, who trusts no one, who keeps his heart locked behind steel walls. Yet here I am, faced with a question that picks at my rawest wound like a scab I can’t stop touching.
“I care about her,” I repeat. “She’s not just some girl I stumbled across in a bar. She’s changed the way I look at everything—at myself, at this life, at what matters. I’m not used to wanting someone safe and alive more than I want my own damned pride. It terrifies me how much I need to know that she’s okay.”
Saverio’s expression softens. “You love her,” he says, not a question but a quiet revelation.
I flinch inwardly. Love. The word hangs between us, heavy and awkward, like a weapon I’m not trained to handle. I think of Lucrezia—of her beautiful eyes, dark and knowing, of her sharp tongue that cuts through pretense, of the vulnerability she rarely shows but can’t quite hide. The way she craves belonging, same as I do though neither of us would admit it, the way she looked at me last night as if I were something better than just another killer, as if she could see past the blood on my hands to whatever remains of my soul. That tenderness washes over me, unbidden and unstoppable, threatening to tear down the careful walls I’ve built around myself.
I swallow hard against the tightness in my throat. “Yeah,” I say, the word rough and vulnerable in the stillness between us. “I love Lucrezia. Is that what you want to hear? That I’m in love with your sister?” The admission tears itself from deep in my chest, equal parts defiance and desperate truth, and speaking it aloud makes it impossibly more real.
Saverio’s shoulders slump a fraction, the tension easing from his frame like air from a punctured balloon. He studies my face with a scrutiny that makes me uneasy. “I led everyone to believe she was the devil incarnate,” he admits softly, regret threading through his words. “And I never questioned it. I never saw the girl who just wanted to stand beside us, to help. You learned that without any of our indoctrination. You see her as she is, not as we said she should be.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I curl my fingers at my sides, feeling the bite of nails against my palms. “She showed me who she is,” I say finally, the simple truth of it resonating in my chest. “That’s all it took.”
He’s silent for a moment. The distant murmur of men talking, phones ringing, and footsteps echoing in the hallway drifts through the room. The light through the window is brighter now, illuminating dust motes.
“Raiden,” Saverio says at last, voice steady. “I know I have no right to play the big brother now, not after years of ignoring my sister’s worth. But let me say something: If you truly love her, you protect her heart as much as her life. She’s been beaten down by a world that never gave her a fair shot. If you give her hope and tear it away, that’ll break her more effectively than any torture Kristopher can devise.” His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes me want to look away. But I hold his gaze, understanding the gravity of his warning and the years of accumulated guilt behind it.
I never thought I’d hear something so human from him. I glare at the floor, wrestling with pride and gratitude, trying to reconcile this protective brother with the man who stood aside and hurt her as much as the rest of the world. He’s telling me, in his own way, not to be like the Castigliones. To be careful with what I’ve awakened in Lucrezia.
“I won’t break her. I’d sooner die.” The words come out rough but certain, and it is a vow that I know I’ll keep until my last breath.
Saverio’s eyes reflect a weary understanding. “Good.”
Priest approaches, tucking his phone away. He’s finished his call and looks between Saverio and me, his sharp gaze assessing the subtle change. There’s less hostility now—still tension, still mistrust, but a common goal forging a fragile alliance between unlikely partners.
“Any leads?” I ask Priest, forcing myself to focus on practicalities again.
Priest shakes his head, lips pressed in a grim line. “Not yet. But Saverio’s men are working on it, and I’ve put out some calls to my contacts in the underground. We’ll find something soon.”
Saverio stands straighter and nods at one of his guards, who rushes out of the room. “We’ll find her,” he repeats, tone grim but determined. “And we’ll make Kristopher pay for what he’s done. Dante and I tried to make him see reason last time, but that was our mistake. We left him alive. We won’t make the same mistake again.”
I believe him. I must because right now, hope is all I have. Hope and the strange, fragile understanding that I share with Saverio. We both care about her—he as a remorseful brother, me as a man who’s lost his heart to her, who’s willing to kneel before enemies and bargain with devils if it means getting her back safely.
Outside, a bird sings, oblivious to the darkness we’re wading through. The sunlight has grown warm and bold, slanting across the room in thick golden bars. No more words are needed between us. The quiet moment stretches, and in the silence, I make a silent vow: I’ll find Lucrezia, I’ll bring her home, and I’ll never let anyone—or anything—tear us apart again.
Some oaths are written in blood, others in steel, but this one burns itself into my soul.