17. Jayson
JAYSON
I f they could bottle truth serum and slap a label on it, they’d name it Kanyan De Scarzi.
Because the man doesn’t need chains, fists, or threats.
He just sits there—quiet, inscrutable—and you end up giving him everything.
Not because you’re scared. Not even because you want to.
But because something about him makes silence unbearable.
He stares too long, listens too well, and before you know it, you're bleeding truth at his feet and thanking him for the knife.
He shows up just after noon. He just walks in like he owns the air—and the silence folds itself around him, thick and trembling, like it knows it’s in the presence of something dangerous.
He doesn’t have to say a word. The moment he steps into the room, everything shifts. My pulse. The light. The way the floor feels under my feet. There’s something about his presence—like gravity bends toward him, like the room holds its breath just to see what he’ll do next.
I don’t know how the fuck he found me. I’ve only been here a few days. No one knows about this place—no one should . But clearly, he knows more than I gave him credit for. Too much. And now, he’s here.
His eyes land on me, sharp and unreadable. They cut clean through the mask I’ve been wearing, the calm I’ve been faking. And for a second, I forget how to stand. Forget how to breathe.
I don’t ask how he found me. Because I know men like him have their ways.
He’s impossible to ignore. His size alone makes that clear—broad shoulders framed perfectly in the doorway, a silhouette built to take up space.
The suit he wears isn’t just tailored; it’s crafted.
A second skin of charcoal black, clinging to every hard line of his frame like it was sewn directly onto muscle and command.
Even standing still, he feels like a force—something tectonic.
Like if he decided a mountain was in his way, it simply wouldn’t be anymore.
He moves once—just slightly—and light glints off the expensive silver watch at his wrist. A quiet reminder that nothing about this man is accidental. Everything he does is measured. Controlled. Engineered.
His hair is dark, immaculately styled, not a strand out of place.
But it’s not the polish that pins people in place.
It’s his eyes. Deep and dark, endless in a way that makes one feel seen in a way they never asked to be.
They don’t just look at you—they cut through you.
Like they’ve already read the truth in your bones and are simply waiting for you to admit it.
Right now, those eyes are on me. Watching. Weighing. Waiting. And worse—he’s patient. Not just a man. He’s a storm in a suit.
“Nice hideout.” His voice is low, even—dangerously polite. “Bit off the grid for my taste, but the walls look solid.”
“Thicker than most,” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. “What brings you, boss?”
Kanyan studies the room—the hardwood floors, the towering ceilings, the antique fireplace that probably costs more than the whole room put together. Then his gaze hooks back to me.
“You’ve been quiet since the Bishop job,” he says. “Too quiet.”
“Tying loose ends.”
“Ah.” He folds his arms. Muscles ripple under the suit. “And how’s the loose end with the sprained ankle?”
The question lands like a weight. I keep my face blank. “Contained.”
Kanyan’s brow lifts. “Contained can mean many things. What does the word mean to you?”
“The situation is under control.”
Kanyan exhales through his nose, half amusement, half irritation. “Leverage bleeds, Jayson. Sometimes it bleeds on your shoes. Why does she have an injury?”
“She jumped out of a window.”
If there’s one thing I won’t ever do with this man, it’s lie. Because he’d see right through me. A man like Kanyan De Scarzi deserves my integrity…and honesty. Plus, lying is the one trait I hate more than any other.
A quiet beat stretches. The fire pops behind us.
“I trust your instincts, Caluna,” Kanyan says at last. “But instincts don’t outrank orders. Mason’s worried the girl becomes a liability. I have to say, Ghost’s vote to bury her was simpler.”
I already knew where Ghost stood, but hearing that my direct boss shares the same opinion hits different—sharp, personal. It grates in a way that says he doesn’t trust my judgment. Like all the shit I’ve done, all the blood I’ve spilled in their name, still isn’t enough to earn me that courtesy.
“And what’s your stance on the matter?” I ask him.
“She tried to run,” he reminds me.
Yeah. That part, I haven’t forgotten. But what hits harder is the fact that he even knows that. Only three people know what goes on inside this house. I can account for myself. Keira sure as hell doesn’t have a hotline to Kanyan De Scarzi. Which leaves only one option. Nina.
The thought knots something deep in my gut. No. That can’t be right. Nina doesn’t even know Kanyan. Doesn’t move in his world. Doesn’t belong to it. But still… the possibility crawls under my skin like a splinter I can’t quite dig out.
Kanyan leans in slightly—just enough to drop his voice. “Talk to me, Jayson. Off the record. Is she worth the mess?”
Images flash—Keira’s defiant stare, the tremor she hides, the way she almost smiled when I called her mouthy.
“I thought the code was ironclad,” I say quietly, meaning the rule we were all inducted on—no women, no kids. No innocents.
Kanyan watches my face for a long, silent moment, reading the cracks even I pretend aren’t there. Finally he nods once.
“It is. But there are exceptions to every rule.”
It feels like the ground gives out beneath me—like I’m free falling through a moment I didn’t see coming. My chest tightens, lungs forgetting how to pull in air as his words ricochet around my skull, no rhythm, no order—just chaos.
There are exceptions.
I hear it again. And again. And again.
Because that’s what this is. A test. A leash with slack I wasn’t expecting. He’s not telling me what to do—he’s letting me choose.
There are exceptions to every rule.
And I get to decide if she’s one of them.
Keira Bishop. The girl I should’ve killed the moment I found her. She wound up locked in my basement instead. And now I have to make the call. Keep her… or end it.
Is she worth the noise, the risk, the attention we will draw if this thing spirals? Or do I snuff her out like every other liability I’ve dealt with before?
The weight of the decision coils in my stomach like a rusted blade, dull and cruel. Tainted.
Because if I say yes—if I claim her—then she’s my liability, my responsibility in every way that matters. The future of the empire these men have built lays squarely on my shoulder.
And if I say no… then I have to live with her blood on my hands.
“We’ve got another problem—one that might help you make up your mind,” Kanyan says evenly, just as my thoughts begin to spiral and the floor starts to tilt beneath me.
As if this situation needed another layer of hell, and deciding whether to keep or kill her wasn’t already eating me alive.
“The police have been snooping around the Bishop house. They’re looking for your little prisoner so they can ask questions, and it’s only a matter of time before they find her. What you don’t want is for them to find her here.”
Kanyan reaches for his coat but pauses, eyes narrowing just enough to carve a warning. “And, Jayson? Emotions cloud judgment. If you feel them—bury them. Fast.”
He turns for the door. And just as quickly as he arrived, he disappears again.
The door clicks shut behind him. The room exhales, lighter but colder.
And somewhere downstairs, a girl counts her own ticking clock—unaware that the only thing standing between leverage and oblivion is the monster guarding her door.