Chapter Fifteen – Mico
I don’t remember getting in the car. Just the sting in my teeth and the heat behind my eyes. The wheel jerks when I hit the bend fast, but I don’t slow down. The iron gate vanishes behind me. Her voice rings under my skin like it doesn’t know when to quit.
I should have stayed silent. I should have dragged her out of there.
The streets blur. I run two lights. A bus honks but I don’t lift my foot. My knuckles are locked around the wheel. If I ease up, I’ll start shaking and I won’t stop.
She married him.
She signed herself over and looked at me like I was the stranger.
When the hotel comes into view, something in my chest tightens. I take the corner nearly sideswipe the valet stand. I throw the keys and don’t wait for anyone to speak. The lobby is polished. I don’t stop moving. If I stop, I’ll remember how she looked standing beside him.
The room smells like expensive nothing. Cold air. Folded towels. Her things are still on the dresser. The scarf she slept in. A half-empty bottle of moisturizer she never capped right.
I dial room service with one hand and pull at my tie with the other.
“Wine,” I say. “Red. I don’t care what kind.”
I drop the phone before they answer. The knot in my throat doesn’t budge.
When the knock comes, I don’t speak. I swing the door open and take the bottle from the kid holding the tray. He blinks at me. I shut the door in his face.
I drink from the neck. It doesn’t matter how it tastes.
The first pull goes down. The second one turns to acid.
She chose him. The one with the dead stare and the teeth behind the silk. She stood there in front of me like I’d never meant anything.
I tip the bottle again. The room spins a little. Good.
I throw it at the wall.
Glass bursts, final. Wine drips down the wallpaper. The shape it makes doesn’t matter.
I let myself fall. Right there. I don’t remember hitting the floor.
****
Light wakes me. My jaw aches. My shirt is stuck to me. My mouth is dry, and the back of my neck smells like wine.
I sit up. I pull in air until it hurts.
There’s a note on the nightstand I don’t remember writing. Just a scribble. Her name, scratched out halfway.
I get up and strip everything off. The shower groans when I turn the knob. The water starts cold and stays that way. I scrub my hands twice. There’s dried wine under my nails.
The beard comes off next. I stare into the mirror and press the blade under my chin. The drag of it is smooth. I rinse between strokes. The man looking back at me doesn’t blink.
When I walk out, the towel is rough around my hips. I open the drawer under the desk.
The files are right where I left them.
I got them last week. Called in a favor from a man I did recon with, back in the navy. He owed me three names. I gave him one.
Severo Dantès.
The rest came overnight. Not just the heir, but the siblings too.
I spread the folders across the desk.
Mina.
Maksim.
Severo.
I open hers first. Political events. Ties to minor council families. Private schooling in Geneva. A public marriage. A very private divorce.
Then Maksim. Casino ties. Leveraged properties. Gambling debts that vanished. Three sealed records.
Then Severo. Sparse. Everything redacted or cleaned. But not all of it. Not enough. Shipping interests. A holding company in Athens. Blood trails buried in tax paperwork.
The ring on her hand flashes in my head again. Her voice, steady. Like I’d never been hers.
I close the folders. I line them up.
I walk to the window.
The city is quiet from up here.
My voice is steady when I speak.
“I’m getting you back, Lira.”
****
The bag is already halfway packed. I don’t remember folding the shirts. One black, one dark grey. A pair of jeans. My knife. The passports—mine and Lira’s—go in last. I zip them into the side pocket and pull the bag over my shoulder.
Downstairs, the woman at the front desk asks if everything was to my satisfaction. I nod , drop the keys, and don’t look back.
The air outside is dry. My car is parked beneath a row of sickly cypress trees. I unlock it by habit. The engine turns before settling. I ease onto the road and head for the outskirts.
The city fades in layers. Stucco turns to fields. The road narrows. Hills swell in the distance. Every few kilometers, a shrine rises from the shoulder, painted in chipped blue and gold. I pass them all.
My grip tightens on the wheel.
She looked at me and chose a title. She signed herself into something that doesn’t have her name on it. Not really. She said goodbye, and I let her.
That’s on me.
I could have stopped her. Could have stepped in front of him and made her look again. But I waited. I thought she'd come back on her own.
I've always waited where she was concerned.
Back then, when we were kids, I let the silence sit between us. I should’ve told her what I wanted. I should’ve reached for her first.
But I was still listening to rules. Still pretending I didn’t want her in a way that broke things.
Now I know better.
Maybe this is her way of testing me. Of pushing to see if I’ll fight. Maybe she’s standing in that estate hoping someone pulls her out before she disappears into that world completely.
I don’t care if it’s true or not.
I’m choosing the fight.
The Marrazi mansion appears in the distance like it grew from the hills. White stone, wide drive, many cars out front. One gate, two guards. They move when I roll up, palms out, hands on their hips like they’ve already decided I don’t belong here.
The taller one steps up to my window.
“Name and business.”
“Tell Maksim and Mina Dantès,” I say, “that I know how to take the third heir down.”
His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes flicker toward the house. The other one speaks into his walkie. Their heads dip toward each other. One of them looks back at me. Another transmission goes out. It takes a minute.
Then the gate opens.
I drive in slowly. The gravel path cuts through a manicured stretch of lawn. The mansion stretches wide—arched windows, curved balconies, too much symmetry. The kind of house that doesn’t allow for accidents.
I park in front of the side portico where a man in a black vest waits with an automatic rifle slung across his chest. He doesn’t speak. He just gestures with the barrel.
I follow him.
The hallway is long, silent, and hung with old paintings. I catch a whiff of tobacco. Lavender polish on the floor. A set of doors stands open at the end of the corridor.
Inside, the ceiling is high and coffered. Marble floors. Sunlight streams in from tall, thin windows lined with gauze curtains.
They’re both seated.
Maksim leans back in a leather chair, legs spread wide, glass of something brown in his hand. His shirt’s open at the neck, collarbones sharp. He looks like he hasn't slept.
Mina’s sitting straighter. She wears navy. Her eyes go to mine and stay there.
The light in the room catches the lacquer on her nails.
Her head tilts just slightly.
“Is this a joke?” she asks, her voice dry. “Because you’re not dressed like a clown, but this entrance feels... theatrical.”
I meet both their eyes. I don't let myself blink.
“You want to take your half-brother down,” I say. “I want my woman. We both want what he stole from us.”
Maksim sets his drink down. The sound is louder than it should be. “How do you know who we are?” he asks. “And what exactly do you think he stole?”
I take two steps forward, slow and deliberate.
“I know about Lira Falco,” I say. “I know she’s your father’s heir. I know the bond names her as a bloodline inheritor, and I know she didn’t even know that until recently.”
Neither of them interrupts.
“I can make her renounce the inheritance,” I continue. “I can get her out. Far out. She won’t be anyone’s pawn. Not yours. Not his.”
There’s a silence.
Then Mina chuckles. It’s soft. Almost pleasant.
“You have spirit,” she says, brushing a hand along the seam of her skirt. “But my little brother? He’s the spawn of the devil himself. You think he’s going to sit quietly while you untangle the chain around his neck?”
“I don’t plan to ask,” I answer. “What if I can deliver him to you? What if I get rid of him, too?”
Maksim’s laugh is sudden and sharp. He leans forward and waves a lazy hand toward the hall.
“Get this one out of my house.”
But I’m already reaching into my jacket. I don’t rush. I pull the leather badge case from the inside pocket and flip it open.
Tactical Warfare Unit Seal. Honorable Discharge.
Maksim freezes.
Mina sets her teacup down, claps . The sound is crisp.
“I love this,” she says, rising from her seat with a kind of smooth delight. “You’ve got credentials. You’ve got rage. I’m intrigued.”
Something shifts behind me. I don’t turn.
From the archway, a shadow peels off the wall.
He’s lean, dressed in dark blue. No sound when he walks. Not a single creak on the floor. The eyes are the only familiar part.
It’s the second. The one who stood with Severo:
“You following me now?” I mutter without looking at him.
He doesn’t respond. Just stands there like a silent ledger.
Mina lifts a hand toward him.
“Don’t sulk,” she says. “This is a game.”
She turns back to me, smile sharp now. “Meet Matteo, Severo’s right-hand man and the man who is going to work with us to get rid of him.”
“Sit,” she says, gesturing to the low table in front of her. “And tell us your plan to get rid of my brother.”