36. CHAPTER 35—ANTONIO
CHAPTER 35—ANTONIO
" T hat's my wedding gift."
Her words hang in the gunsmoke-filled air. Bold. Reckless. Like she's still the princess who thinks she can command the Beast. I arch an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch until she starts to fidget.
"Yes." My voice carries enough ice to make her shiver. "Naomi won't go to Radomir. But you didn't ask for what really matters, did you, wife?" I step closer, close enough to catch that damn honeysuckle scent that's going to drive me insane. "You asked for her not to marry him. You didn't ask for her not to get married.”
She sucks in a breath.
“It’s too late now.” And I tug her right by me.
Getting everyone safely to the fortress is a blur of calculated moves and constant vigilance. My men sweep every corner, check every shadow, while Isabella and Naomi huddle together in the center of our defensive formation. The drive back feels like the longest fucking minutes of my life - expecting bullets through windows, watching rooftops for snipers, counting the cost of today's betrayal in blood and broken trust.
The fury burning inside me isn't cold or icy; it's a blazing inferno. "What the hell just happened?" I snarl, storming back into the mansion after ensuring its security hasn't been breached. It stands unscathed, a small victory in a sea of betrayal. "Who the hell sold us out?"
We're gathered in the grand living room—with the fire crackling and the ocean roaring behind our windows. But those waves are nothing compared with the rage roaring in my veins. My closest team is murmuring about the losses...licking their wounds, talking about revenge, while Isabella and Naomi stand to the side, away from us, a reluctant part of the family.
I slam my fist on the wooden table standing in the middle. "Who?" I repeat, demanding everyone's attention. Through the door to my right, I can hear Doc bandaging Franco in the medical room we set up years ago as people bring the ones who got injured in this room which is bigger.
The fact that my second in command could have died while we stand here discussing betrayal makes my blood boil hotter.
The whispers stop. Only Cerberus dares approach, settling at my feet with those soft brown eyes that somehow survived the fighting pits. My hand finds his head for a moment - one small gesture of gentleness before I turn back to the matter at hand. My glare cuts through the room as I survey what's left of my team. These survivors of our blood-soaked wedding look like hell - bandaged, bruised, but still standing. Still loyal. Unlike the outstanding soldiers we lost today, the day that should have marked my triumph, not another fucking tragedy.
Then my gaze lands on her - my wife. The title tastes bitter even in my thoughts. I bore into her with a look that would make smarter people flinch, but she stands there, chin lifted in that same defiance she showed in the church. That boldness might have earned a sliver of respect, but it doesn't erase my suspicion. Could she be part of this plot? Trust and love aren't just foreign concepts in our marriage - they're weapons she never learned to use except to destroy. Just ask my mother.
My eyes catch on her dress - or what's left of it. She'd started tearing at it the moment we rushed for the cars, ripping away layers like they were burning her. When she stumbled during our escape, her feet tangling in torn tulle, every instinct screamed at me to throw her over my shoulder and run. But I couldn't bring myself to touch her.
Not then. Not now.
Yet something primal stirs in my blood at the sight of her - my cock hardening despite every reason it shouldn't. My lips part slightly, imagining taking her right here, using her body to forget this clusterfuck of a day. But then I notice those scars again - one peeking above her breast, another angry and red against her pale skin. Something shifts in my chest, an unwelcome twist that feels too much like concern. Fuck that. I can't afford whatever these holdout feelings are, not with blood spilled and a traitor in our ranks.
"You think I'm involved?" Her voice carries that blend of defiance and hurt that used to get under my skin years ago. "Marrying you wasn't high on my list, but getting people killed is actually lower.”
“Really?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Really. I never ever wanted anyone.” She insists on the word making sure I understand. “Anyone to die. Risking Naomi..." She pulls her friend closer, protective as a mother wolf. "Definitely wouldn't have been my plan."
I step forward, but keep enough distance that her honeysuckle scent can't mess with my head. "And what would have been your plan?" The words come out like venom. "Earning trust and then shattering it? I know your ways. Your hands are as bloody as everyone else's."
Her breath catches, but that steel in her spine doesn't bend. "Maybe one day you'll realize you were wrong."
"And maybe one day, you'll realize you can't lie anymore."
My men exchange glances, something like respect flickering in their eyes as they watch Isabella. No one talks back to me like this - no one dares. Yet here she stands, matching me blow for verbal blow. In another life, that fire in her would have been irresistible. Now it's just another threat to contain, another flame that could burn everything down.
Naomi pulls herself straighter, her grief momentarily masked by determination. She gives Isabella a small nod - I'm okay, it seems to say, even though we all know she's anything but. "You know she's not responsible for this. We both were..." Her voice catches on the memory of her father's body hitting marble, and something in my chest twists. This pain - watching someone you love die trying to protect you - it's a wound I know too well. Her father might have been my enemy in the end, but at least he died trying to save his daughter. Some fathers actually give a damn. "We both didn't know," she finishes, barely a whisper.
Naomi's ignorance I can believe. Her innocence is written in every tear she's shed.
But Isabella? I study her face for tells, for the smallest sign she's playing us. Instead, she just lets out a soft sigh that carries years of resignation. "If my father orchestrated all of this," her eyes meet mine, steady as a surgeon's hand, "you need to check if Radomir or Henrik was involved."
As Isabella mentions Radomir and Henrik, Beppe my security chief and one of the few other men I'd trust with my life, speaks up. His voice carries the kind of tension that usually precedes bloodshed. "Boss, Radomir's been too quiet lately. No movement in his territory, no usual power plays. Like a snake coiling before it strikes." The room erupts in murmurs of agreement - they've all seen how silence from Radomir usually means death is coming.
"My father doesn't play solo when he knows he can force someone's hand another way." Isabella's words cut through the tension. "This auction you won?" A shiver runs through her body, making the torn wedding dress shift against her skin. "I don't think you won as much as you think you did."
Something in her tone makes my blood heat. I cross to her in three strides, fingers gripping her chin. It's meant to be a show of power, but the moment our eyes lock, electricity arcs between us. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you lost."
Her eyes darken, pupils dilating, and that flush creeping up her neck tells me she feels this too - this dangerous pull between us. "Naomi," she whispers, desperate. "You promised."
Her pulse races under my fingertips, and for a moment I'm drowning in her - her scent, her warmth, the way she unconsciously leans into my touch. Fuck. I release her like she burns, because she does. She burns everything she touches.
"What have you found so far?" I demand, forcing my attention back to my team before I do something stupid like taste that pulse point still thrumming against my fingers.
My voice cuts through the tension like a blade through skin. Silvia, who's been Franco's right hand almost as long as I've known her, steps forward. "They knew our rounds too well - like they'd been mapping our movements for weeks." She looks around the room where Doc moves from patient to patient, his hands never stopping. "We're going through every bit of surveillance footage we have. Nobody's this good at infiltration without leaving traces."
She sinks back into her chair, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. The room feels like a war zone - the acrid smell of gunpowder still clinging to clothes, blood drying on expensive suits. Franco by the fireplace with a bandaged shoulder, others scattered around in various states of injury, Doc and his team working tirelessly. And those are just the ones who made it. Too many didn't.
These men and women - they were more than soldiers. They were mine. Family. And now they're just reminders of how quickly everything can turn to ash. This wasn't just an attack; it was a declaration of war against everything I've built since clawing my way back from the flames.
I've spent years ensuring loyalty, determined not to become the monster my former stepfather was. Yet here I am, hunting traitors in my own ranks again. The bitter irony tastes like blood in my mouth - another legacy of the past I thought I'd burned away. The past Isabella helped destroy.
Damn it.
My hand finds the back of my neck, fingers pressing against where Henrik's poisoned blade nearly ended me. The wound throbs in time with my pulse, a reminder that I can't afford to let this spiral further.
I need alliances, not enemies.
Beppe chimes in. "Boss, we also need to check our internal communications. If there's a leak, it might be coming from there."
I nod, appreciating his sharp mind. "Good point. Tighten up the comms security. No more leaks." My voice drops lower, calmer - the kind of calm that makes smarter men run. "Talking about security - make sure every point of entry is enemy-proof. We can't afford any more losses. This isn't just about retaliation; it's about survival." I look around at my team's faces, exhausted but determined. "We've been hit hard, but we're not broken. We'll strike back, and we'll hit where it hurts. But first, we secure our turf. No more surprises. We're at war, and I intend to win."
Franco nods from his position by the fire, and I bite back the urge to tell him to rest. He wouldn't listen anyway - that's why he's my second, my brother in everything but blood.
"Review the cameras. All of them. If the system has been compromised, I'll go in and retrieve what we need myself. If that's been destroyed..." My lips curve into a predator's smile. "Then our list of suspects gets very short. Not many can break those defenses, and they all leave traces." I inhale deeply, tasting victory. "Naomi's father couldn't have acted alone. And you're right." My eyes find Isabella again, pinning her in place. "This was orchestrated by your father." I pause, letting the silence stretch. "Dear."
She recoils slightly at the endearment dripping with venom, and something dark and hungry stirs in my blood. Because when my gaze drops to her lips, she blushes. So, she's not as immune to me as she pretends. Perfect.
If she knows anything about today's bloodbath, I'll get it out of her. One way or another. And looking at her in that torn wedding dress, honeysuckle scent teasing my senses... I know exactly how I want to start my interrogation.
After all, it is our wedding night.