Chapter 69 Antonio
We fly back the next day. Mateus of course comes with us, and while he spends the majority of the flight tapping away on his laptop, I spend my time buried inside her like I can’t get enough. Something has changed, something tangible has shifted.
Mateus called it an obsession. Perhaps it is, but I dare any man to deny himself when he has such a creature as I have in my possession.
We settle back into our routine, and for a few days we can all of us pretend that this is our life.
But reality has a way of waking you up, of making you realise that dreams are just that, dreams. The real world goes on. The real world continues. And if you fail to keep up then it will happily gut you, and soon enough no one will even remember you existed in the first place.
Nowhere does it feel more evident than this place tonight. Perhaps it is my imagination, but it feels like every ghoul, every piece of shit person is here, sharpening their knives. Do they sense weakness? Do they smell blood? Or am I just imagining that?
I feel the fine tremor running through Grace as we walk back in through those solid doors, back into the Black Orchid.
“Just breathe,” I murmur, my voice low, meant only for her. My gaze sweeps the room, a predator scanning his territory, but my attention is laser-focused on the woman beside me. “Remember what I said. I am here for a meeting, that is all. Nothing will happen to you tonight.”
She nods, a quick, jerky motion. Her eyes are wide and fixed straight ahead, refusing to look at the stage where a woman is contorted in a slow, sensual dance, wrapped in chains that hang from the ceiling.
I know what she’s seeing. Not the performance but the ghost of herself, months ago, bound in silk on that very stage. The memory of her cries, the leering faces, the feeling of my own cold, detached observation.
I feel a surge of something hot and acidic in my throat. Regret? No. Not regret. It was necessary, but the aftertaste is more bitter than I anticipated.
Grace’s hand is a small, gloved fist in the crook of my arm. The deep purple silk of her dress shimmers under the low, crimson lights, a jewel I am presenting once more to a den of vipers.
I guide her to a sunken booth in the darkest corner of the club, a place of relative privacy. The leather is plush and deep, swallowing us whole. I sit first, pulling her down beside me, my arm draping possessively along the back of the seat behind her shoulders.
It’s a clear signal to anyone watching. She is mine. Look, but do not touch.
She folds her hands in her lap, the picture of composed elegance, but I see the tension all the same.
“He will be here soon,” I say, my eyes on the entrance. “A man named Vihaan. He’s a weasel, an information broker who sells to the highest bidder. He claims to have something I need.”
“And you trust him?” Her voice is a whisper, barely audible over the thrumming, primal music.
I let out a short, quiet laugh. “I don’t trust anyone. But I trust his greed, and his fear of me.”
A man approaches. Not Vihaan. One of the many vultures who circle, drawn to power, drawn to the novelty of seeing me with a woman more than once.
He makes polite, sycophantic conversation.
I answer in monosyllables, my disinterest a palpable force that eventually drives him away.
Grace remains perfectly still, a beautiful statue.
The moment the fool leaves, another shape detaches from the shadows and slips into the chair opposite us. He’s all sharp angles and nervous energy, his eyes darting between Grace and me like a rodent assessing a trap.
“Antonio,” Vihaan says, his voice a reedy whisper. “And the lovely Grace I’ve heard so much about. A pleasure.”
I don’t offer pleasantries. “You said you had something.”
“I do.” He leans forward, his elbows on the table, and the dim light catches the sweat on his upper lip. “But there is a price.”
“There always is. Name it.” I expect a number. A large one. I am already reaching for the inside pocket of my jacket where a wad of notes awaits.
He smiles, a thin, bloodless line. “When this is all over, I want a pardon. Full immunity. A clean slate.”
I lean back, tilting my head. The audacity is almost amusing. “Turning tail now, are you? Now that it’s clear the Esau are losing their grip? You want to jump from a sinking ship and expect me to give you a lifeboat?”
He barks a laugh, a dry, cracking sound. “Losing? Is that what you think? The Esau aren’t losing, Antonio. We’re repositioning. But the information I have for you will ensure they do lose. Permanently. Think of it as my investment in the winning side.”
My curiosity is piqued, a cold, sharp hook in my gut. He’s not lying. The arrogance in his voice is genuine. He believes the Esau are still ascendant, which means what he has is truly significant.
“I’m listening,” I say, my voice dangerously soft.
He leans even closer, his gaze flicking to Grace once more, a predatory gleam in his eye. “I heard a fascinating rumour about you, Antonio.”
I keep my face a mask of bored indifference. “There are always rumours.”
“Not like this one.” His smile widens. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches into his own jacket, pulling out a crisp piece of paper folded neatly in half. He doesn’t open it. He just lays it on the table between us, his finger tapping it once.
I narrow my eyes, picking it up and as I open it, my blood runs cold.
“Where did you get this?” The question is cool, detached. A masterclass in control I do not feel.
“There was a breach,” he says, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
“A clever little hacker your people missed. You’re losing your touch, Macrae, if you weren’t aware of it.
” He lets the accusation hang in the air, a testament to his perceived superiority in this moment.
“And that, that brings me to the other thing I want.”
The cold in my veins turns to ice. “What?”
His eyes slide from me to Grace. He doesn’t just look at her; he undresses her with his gaze. “Her.”
The word hangs in the air, ugly and absolute.
I feel my entire body go rigid, and the carefully constructed control I’ve maintained all night fractures. “What?” The word is a low growl, a promise of violence.
He laughs, a soft, disgusting sound. “Come on, Antonio. Titus’s daughter? Who in our world wouldn’t want a go? And add the fact that she’s your…”
“Stop,” I snap, cutting across him. My hand, which had been resting behind Grace, has curled into a fist.
“One hour,” he presses, undeterred by my anger, perhaps even excited by it.
“That’s all I want. Is she that important to you that you’ll put her above our Grand Master?
Above the entire Brethren?” He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t shared her already.
Her cunt has been well used from what I heard. What’s one more time?”
Every muscle in my body is screaming.
This is a test. Not of my desire for the information, but of my weakness.
He is probing a chink in my armour, one I didn’t even know was visible. He is seeing the truth, and he is using it to humiliate us both. To prove that my power has a limit, and her name is Grace.
I want to say no.
The word is a fire on my tongue. I want to put a bullet between his leering eyes and dump his body in the nearest fucking ditch.
But he has information that could destroy the Esau, and this is the key to everything.
My gaze flicks to Grace. Her face is a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. She’s shaking her head slowly, tears welling in her magnificent eyes, shimmering in the lurid light.
“No,” she whispers, the sound a broken plea that lances straight through me. “Antonio, please… no…”
That ‘please’ shatters something inside me. It’s the same ‘please’ she’s said so many times before. So many situations I’ve forced her into.
I cannot ignore it again.
But I must.
The calculation is made in a split second, a cold, brutal calculus of power and necessity. I see the path, and it is paved with her agony.
I get to my feet. “I want the information. Now.”
Vihaan grins, a victor’s smile. He stands as well, pulling a small, old-fashioned key from his pocket.
He places it on the table next to the damning piece of paper.
“This key is for locker 417, in the basement. The information is inside. Fulfil your side of the bargain, and the contents will be yours before you leave the club tonight.” His meaning is clear.
His men are watching. The exchange is conditional and simultaneous.
I look from the key to his triumphant face. He thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s broken me.
“Fine,” I bite out. I see the hope die in Grace’s eyes, replaced by a devastating betrayal. “But I am there,” I snarl, stepping closer to Vihaan, invading his space, reasserting a shred of dominance. “I am present. You can fuck her, but you will not be alone in the room when you do it.”
His grin doesn’t falter. He doesn’t care. My presence is just another layer of degradation for her, for me. “As you wish. You can hear how much I make her scream.”
A small, wounded sound escapes Grace’s lips. I cannot look at her. If I look at her, I will kill everyone in this room and burn this fucking place to the ground.
Instead, I reach down and take her arm. My grip is firm, unyielding. I pull her to her feet and she stumbles, her body limp with shock and terror.
“Antonio…” she cries, her voice strangled. “I’ve been good. I’ve done everything you asked of me, I…”
“I need you to do this.” I murmur, sounding almost pleading.
“I’m not your whore.” She snarls.
Only. it’s the wrong thing to say.
“You are my pet. My plaything, I can use you however I see fit.” I snap back. “And you will do this, you will spread your legs and let him fuck you because that’s what I’m telling you to do.”