Chapter 14 – Cyril
Snow hasn’t let up all goddamn day. It falls against the tall windows like a war beat, steady and merciless, turning the estate into a cage made of glass. The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting golden and amber light that licks at the books and old portraits as if they’re secrets trying to escape.
I sit behind my desk, elbows planted, a half-empty glass of Lagavulin in my hand. The kind of scotch you pour when the world feels like it’s tipping just off center. And right now? Everything’s off. My gut hasn’t been right in days. A storm is coming; I can fucking feel it.
A sharp knock slices through the stillness.
I don’t move.
Another knock, then the door creaks open. Alvise steps in, his expression grim.
“Enya’s here,” he says. “Says it’s important.”
I frown. Enya? On her day off? That’s not like her. She values structure and boundaries. If she’s showing up unannounced on a night like this, it’s not for casual conversation. My gut twists hard and fast, like it knows something my brain hasn’t comprehended yet. I already hate whatever the fuck it is because it’s not good news.
I down my glass in one swift motion. The scotch burns a little more going down.
“Send her in.”
Alvise nods and disappears. Without missing a beat, Enya steps in.
She looks like hell.
Snow clings to her coat and hair, melting in patches, leaving her damp around the edges. Her boots crunch softly against the floor. The cold’s bitten into her skin, but it’s not frost that guts me; it’s her eyes. Red-rimmed, storm-dark. No light in them tonight. Just shadows.
She’s clutching a paper in her hand. Small. Curled at the edges.
A photo.
She closes the door behind her and crosses the room, not bothering to ask for my permission to enter. Just walks up to my desk and lays the photo down in front of me like it’s a goddamn weapon.
And it is.
The air leaves my lungs in a slow, poisonous hiss. I stand up from my chair and take the picture in my hand.
Kai and Sora. Arms around each other. Smiling like the world hadn’t already made monsters of us all.
Very few things leave me wordless, and this might just top the list because I stay quiet for what feels like a lifetime.
“I didn’t know,” Enya finally says.
I lift my eyes to her.
She holds my gaze.
There’s a tremble in her chin. But not in her voice.
“Whatever you thought I was—I’m not,” she continues. “I didn’t send that email. It’s not in my inbox, so I don’t know who did. I didn’t come here with a plan. And I’m still here.”
I stare at the photo. Then at her.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to speak.
“Where did you get this?” I ask.
“Does it even matter?” she replies, shaking her head.
It doesn’t matter, but right now, I can’t think of anything else to say. The anger I’m feeling is making my head throb, and my heart rate has doubled. I put the picture down because I don’t want to crumple this little piece of evidence.
Enya takes a step forward.
“Don’t doubt me again,” she says. “I’m standing in front of you with the truth in my hands.”
I round the desk. The carpet muffles my footsteps, but the silence between us is deafening.
The smell of snow is clinging to her wet skin and damp clothes.
“He’s dangerous, Enya,” I say. My voice is low, raw. “If he played you this long, you’re not aware of what he’s capable of.”
“I’m fine,” she lies. Her voice is too steady. Her eyes betray her.
She’s crying now. And it guts me. One tear falls, then another. Fuck.
I reach out, wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.
She looks at me like I’m the only safe place left.
“You’re not going back there,” I tell her.
She sniffs. “That’s not your decision to make.”
I take a step closer. My voice dips.
“You think this is about control? This is about Ren. You’re the only person he trusts. That makes you important to me.”
“You don’t get to use him like a reason to keep me close,” she says, chin lifting.
Like hell I don’t. “I’m not using him. I’m protecting what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
“You’re mine if I say you are.” I pull her closer to me, my voice growing harsher as I grab her by the small of her back.
That lands between us like a goddamn grenade.
She blinks. Then breathes, either registering the gravity of the situation or giving up because she knows I won’t back down. Good.
“You’ll stay in the guest wing until this is handled,” I say. “It’s not a request.”
She folds her arms. “Fine. But I’m not afraid of him.”
“You should be,” I mutter. “I’m not even sure who he is yet. What his connection to Sora is. And that’s what scares me.”
She doesn’t reply.
I don’t let go of her. My hand grips her coat in desperation as she looks up at me, her eyes unwavering. Our eyes lock, and fuck me, it’s like the rest of the world blurs at the edges. Her lips part slightly, breath catching.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth. My eyes roam hers, down to her tear-streaked cheeks, to the small tremble in her chin she’s fighting to hide. I can smell the salt of her tears, the melted snow in her hair, the softness that’s starting to undo me.
I reach out, brush a thumb over her cheek again. Her breath stutters.
Before I can stop myself, I lean down, stopping an inch away from her lips. The restraint is killing me, but I want to give her a chance to get out of this if she wants. Instead, she surprises me. She lifts her face and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
Fuck.
I kiss her back before she can pull away. She tastes like salty tears, and I drink her up. Her lips part against mine, hesitant and warm. I pull her closer, one hand at the back of her neck, the other on her waist, feeling her melt just a little.
Her hand rises, pressing against my chest, fingers splayed like she’s trying to steady herself.
I kiss her like a man who knows he shouldn’t but doesn’t give a damn. Like I’ve wanted to from the fucking moment she walked into my world and turned it upside down. My tongue slides into her mouth, and I lean back on the table, resting my hips on the edge. We kiss like teenagers, desperate to slide our tongues in each other’s mouths, sucking on one another’s lips and refusing to let go.
Minutes go by before we both pause, lips parting, breaths short. Our foreheads touch, hers damp from the snow, mine burning from the inside out. We don’t speak. We just breathe, shaky and uneven.
Our breath mingles in that fragile space between our mouths, and I feel the ghost of her tears against my lips. Taste them, too. Salt and grief and everything unsaid.
Her chest brushes mine with every stuttered inhale. My hand at her waist tightens, just slightly.
And for a second, we stay still. We just hold each other in that breathless stillness, like if we move too fast, the whole thing might crack wide open.
I whisper against her mouth, “You’re too valuable to Ren. To me. And I’m not risking you.”
She leans her forehead against mine, eyes closed.
“Okay.” She nods, her voice barely a breath.
I hold her there for a second longer.
Then, I force myself to step away, breaking the moment even though I don’t want to. I want her to stay in my arms. To stay close. But what I’ve just learnt can’t wait. I need to deal with it right now.
“Get some rest, Enya. You need it,” I say.
To my surprise, she doesn’t fight back. She just nods, too defeated to say or do anything.
The snowstorm outside hasn't eased, just deepened. It rattles the bones of the estate, and snow lashes against the stone like it’s trying to break in. It suits the mood. My mood.
Enya’s footsteps disappeared down the hall twenty minutes ago. I heard one of the housekeepers showing her to the guest wing. I told Alvise to make sure that section of the house stays under extra watch. No one gets in or out without my say-so. Not tonight.
Not when the woman who was just crying in my arms is now the fucking linchpin to everything that’s been unraveling.
I take the photo with me—the one Enya left. The one that’s burned itself into my skull.
Kai Crane and Sora, smiling like the world hadn’t already decided to screw us all.
My chest feels tight as I make my way down into the Vault.
Alvise’s already there when I push through the door.
He’s hunched over one of the terminals, hands flying across the keys, screens lighting up with streams of data, dossiers, and fragments of public records that lead nowhere.
I toss the photo onto the metal table next to him.
He glances at it with furrowed eyebrows. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
I lean against the table, arms crossed. My gaze drops to the image again. Sora’s face, frozen in time, soft and full of light. That was before our marriage. Before Ren. Before she stopped smiling like that.
Alvise shakes his head. “He covered his tracks well. Nothing before 2014. Just…noise. Manufactured backstory. All legit on the surface, but dig even one layer deeper, and it’s ghost protocol.”
I nod slowly, sucking my teeth. “He had help. Someone with reach.”
My eyes haven’t left Sora’s face. That smile isn’t just happy; it’s almost vulnerable.
I whisper, more to myself than him, “Find someone who can pull ghosts out of databases.”
Alvise looks up. “You want black-tier?”
“Whatever it fucking takes…. I want results.”
Alvise doesn’t blink. He reaches for his burner, dials a number from memory.
A few rings before a low voice answers.
Alvise says a single name: “Galen Viero.”
A pause.
Then, he says, “Tell him Carfano’s calling in a favor.”
He hangs up, sits back in his chair, rubbing his face like this whole thing is giving him a migraine the size of Manhattan.
“You sure you want Viero on this?” he asks. “He doesn’t just find skeletons. He finds the graves they never made it to. Guy once uncovered an MI6 agent posing as a florist in Lisbon. Burned three networks to the ground doing it.”
“Perfect,” I say.
I turn back to the glass board behind me, which is covered in names from years of wars, rivalries, and blood feuds. I grab the red marker and write a name under Crane’s:
CRANE SORA
I circle both. Hard.
Draw a line between.
“You were the beginning, weren’t you?” I murmur.
The fire in the corner reflects off the glass like a smear of blood.
“And now, you’re going to be the end.”