Chapter 34
The rain slashed against the windshield of the SUV, a torrential curtain of gray that mirrored the storm raging inside my chest.
I parked the vehicle at the curb, disregarding the "No Standing" sign. The engine idled with a low, threatening rumble.
I looked through the glass doors of the arcade.
It was a sensory nightmare. Neon lights flashed in seizure-inducing patterns. The noise—a cacophony of synthesized beeps, electronic explosions, and the shrieks of teenagers—vibrated even through the insulated glass of my car.
And there she was.
Aleesha.
She was standing near a claw machine, clutching a gargantuan teddy bear that was nearly the size of her own body. She was laughing. Her head was thrown back, her hair a messy halo around her face.
And standing next to her, leaning in with a familiarity that made my hand twitch toward the Glock holstered at my waist, was him.
The Clerk. The Civilian. The "Nice Guy."
He was smiling at her. He was holding a drink. He was existing in her personal space.
The image of Natalia—the red dress, the smell of black orchids, the offer of ruin—flashed in my mind. Natalia was the past. She was the poison I had spent an hour running from.
But looking at Aleesha with this boy... this citrus-scented nobody... it didn't feel like an antidote. It felt like a different kind of toxin.
I didn't think. I didn't strategize. I didn't calculate the optics.
I exited the car. The rain soaked my suit jacket instantly, but I didn't feel the cold. I strode through the arcade doors, my presence cutting through the crowd like a shark moving through a school of minnows.
"Gabby!"
Aleesha spotted me. Her face lit up. She waved a hand, nearly dropping the bear.
"Look! I won! Well, Eli helped me aim, but I pressed the bu—"
I didn't let her finish.
I reached her. I ignored the boy. I ignored his polite nod, his open mouth as if he were about to introduce himself. To me, he was background noise. He was furniture.
I grabbed Aleesha's free hand. My grip was firm, bordering on bruising.
"We are leaving," I stated.
"Huh? But—fries! And Eli's car is—"
I didn't wait for her protest. I pulled her.
I practically shoved her through the crowd, shielding her body with mine not out of affection, but out of possession. We exited the arcade. I opened the passenger door of the SUV and manhandled her into the seat, bear and all.
I slammed the door.
I walked around the hood, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. I got in. I locked the doors.
I drove.
??
The drive home was silent.
Aleesha tried to speak twice. Both times, I radiated enough hostility to silence a boardroom of hardened criminals. She eventually shrank back into her seat, hugging the bear, watching the rain blur the city lights.
We arrived at the Mansion.
I parked. I walked into the house, leaving the front door open for her.
I went straight to the living room and stood by the fireplace, staring at the cold, unlit logs.
I heard her shuffle in behind me. The squelch of wet sneakers. The rustle of the bear.
I turned around.
She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, looking up at me. Her hair was damp. Her mascara was slightly smudged. She looked small. Soft.
I looked down at her, analyzing her with a cold, critical eye.
I hate her.
The thought was sharp and clear.
I hate how she talks. I hate how she fills every silence with nonsense about animals and colors. I hate how she carries herself, stumbling over air, tripping over flat surfaces. I hate how she wears pink in a house built for shadows.
And I hate how she brings up Eli.
Eli helped me aim.
My hand flexed at my side.
But then... the smell of black orchids ghosted through my memory. Natalia's voice. "You love me. You have my name on your back."
No.
I looked at Aleesha. She smelled like rain and sugar. She was annoying. She was infuriating. She was an idiot.
But she wasn't Natalia.
I needed her. I needed her chaos to drown out the calculated seduction of the woman I had left in my headquarters. I needed Aleesha's stupidity to distract me from Natalia's intelligence.
"You forgot my fries," Aleesha said.
Her voice broke the heavy silence. She was pouting. Her lower lip jutted out in that ridiculous, childish way she did when she was denied a snack.
"I was craving them," she continued, hugging the bear tighter. "Salty. Crispy. And you just dragged me out like a sack of potatoes! It was very rude, Gabriel. Very un-gentlemanly."
I stared at her.
I had just fled a confrontation with my past, a woman who could dismantle my empire with a whisper, and this girl was worried about potatoes.
"We have food in the kitchen," I said, my voice flat.
"I want arcade fries," she argued. "But fine. I will compromise. I will order some."
She grabbed her phone from her pocket. The keychains jingled.
She opened a delivery app. Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she typed.
Silence for a moment.
Then, a groan.
"WAAAAHHH!" She threw her head back. "Why?!"
"What," I snapped.
"The house!" She gestured around us. "It's not on the map! The app says 'Location Unknown'! It says we are in a 'Dead Zone'! How can we be in a dead zone when we have Wi-Fi?!"
I looked at her phone.
Of course it wasn't on the map. The Muratori Estate is a fortress. I have scrubbed it from every GPS satellite, every public registry, and every delivery database in the hemisphere. Assassins cannot find me. The FBI cannot find me.
And apparently, DoorDash cannot find me.
"This is the worst," she whined. "A mansion with no delivery? What is the point of being rich if I can't get curly fries delivered to my doorstep at midnight?!"
This is one of the reasons I hate her. Her priorities are baffling.
She stood up. She set the giant, damp teddy bear on the couch, patting its head.
"Stay here, Mr. Bear," she whispered. "Mommy has to hunt for food."
She turned and marched toward the kitchen.
My eyes narrowed. "Where are you going?"
"To the kitchen!" she announced over her shoulder. "I saw a bag of potatoes in the pantry. I will make my own fries! I am an independent woman!"
I froze.
Aleesha. Cooking.
The last time she tried to boil water, she melted a plastic spatula and triggered the fire suppression system in the East Wing.
"No," I said.
I followed her.
I walked into the kitchen just as she was pulling a sack of russet potatoes onto the marble island. She grabbed a knife—a chef's knife, sharp enough to sever a limb. She held it like a dagger.
"I will chop you!" she threatened the potato.
"Put the knife down," I ordered.
My voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command.
Aleesha looked up, startled. "But I'm hungry!"
"You are banned from the stove," I reminded her. "You are banned from sharp objects. You are banned from open flames."
"But—"
"Sit," I commanded, pointing to the bar stool on the other side of the island.
She pouted again, but she obeyed. She hopped onto the stool, swinging her legs.
I took off my soaked suit jacket and draped it over a chair. I rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt, revealing my forearms.
I walked to the sink. I washed my hands.
I grabbed the knife she had abandoned. It felt balanced in my hand. Familiar. A weapon and a tool.
"I will cook," I stated.
Aleesha's eyes went wide. "You? You know how to make fries?"
"I know how to apply heat to starch," I muttered.
I began to peel the potatoes. Long, precise strips of skin fell away. I moved with efficiency. Chop. Slice. Soak.
I dried the potato sticks. I heated the oil in the deep fryer.
Aleesha watched me. Her chin rested on her hands. She was staring at my arms.
"So," I said, breaking the silence. I didn't look at her. I watched the oil bubble. "Eli."
She blinked. "Eli?"
"The boy," I clarified. "The one with the car that wouldn't start."
"Oh! Yeah!" She smiled. A genuine, bright smile. "He is so funny! We played Pac-Man and he let me win. And then we played the claw machine and he gave me his tokens!"
I dropped a handful of fries into the hot oil. They sizzled aggressively.
He let her win.
Weakness. You do not let the opponent win. You crush them.
"He seems... adequate," I said, testing the waters.
"Adequate?" Aleesha laughed. "He is a super nice guy! Like, really nice. He listens to me ramble about coding and he doesn't tell me to shut up. And he smells like oranges! And he texted me during the storm to make sure I wasn't scared."
Super nice guy.
The words grated on my nerves like sandpaper.
So that is what she wants. Nice. Safe. Citrus-scented.
I am not nice. I am a man who has ordered the disappearance of rivals. I am a man who keeps a gun in his glovebox. I am a man who erased a woman's name from his skin just to secure an heir.
I looked at her. She was beaming, thinking about her "nice guy."
A dark, possessive feeling coiled in my gut.
"Nice is boring," I muttered.
"Nice is safe!" she countered. "And safety is good! Especially when you are clumsy like me."
I scooped the fries out of the oil. I shook off the excess grease. I salted them.
I placed the plate in front of her.
"Eat," I ordered.
She gasped. "Yay! Chef Gabby!"
She immediately reached out and grabbed a fry.
"Wait," I warned. "It is—"
She popped it into her mouth.
"HOT! HOT! WAAAAH!"
She spat the fry out onto the plate, sticking her tongue out and fanning it with her hand. Tears welled up in her eyes.
I stared at her.
She has zero survival instincts. I told her it was hot. The oil was boiling. And yet, she put it in her mouth.
She is an idiot.
I watched her frantic movements, her teary eyes, her red tongue.
And for a split second, my mind drifted back to the Throne Room.
To Natalia.
Natalia would never burn her tongue. Natalia would wait. She would blow on it. She would eat it seductively.
I thought about the offer Natalia had made. I'm back. I'm yours.
A dark, twisted thought took root in my mind.
Why not?
Why am I struggling with this incompetent child? Why am I forcing myself to tolerate pink rugs and burnt tongues?
I could go back to Natalia.
I could take her back. I could use her as the vessel.
It would be poetic justice. She used me for my power? Fine. I would use her for her biology. I would impregnate her. I would take the heir. And then... I would dispose of her.
I would do to her exactly what she did to me. I would consume her and discard her. It would be the ultimate revenge.
I looked at Aleesha.
She was drinking a glass of water now, sniffing pitifully. She looked up at me with those big, brown eyes.
"It hurts, Gabby," she whispered. "Kiss it better?"
She stuck her tongue out again.
It was ridiculous. It was childish.
But as I looked at her... a sickening feeling churned in my stomach.
The thought of discarding Aleesha... of sending her back to her parents, or worse, erasing her from the equation entirely... made me feel physically ill.
It wasn't guilt. I don't feel guilt.
It was... something else.
If I chose Natalia, I would be choosing the past. I would be choosing the poison.
If I chose Aleesha... I was choosing chaos.
But chaos felt cleaner.
I looked at the crooked smiley face tattoo under my shirt. It itched.
J-Ali :)
I can't go back to Natalia. Not now. Not when I have been marked by this idiot.
My mind solidified. The concrete poured and set.
I am not just going to use Aleesha as a vessel. That plan is too simple now.
I am going to use her to erase Natalia.
I will fill my life with so much pink, so much noise, so much burnt potato and clumsy affection that there is no room left for black orchids.
I will drown out the memory of Natalia with Aleesha's nonsense.
I walked around the counter. I stood in front of Aleesha.
She looked up, blinking. "Gabby?"
I reached out and cupped her jaw. Her skin was warm. Soft.
"You are careless," I murmured.
"I was hungry!" she defended.
"Open your mouth."
She hesitated, then opened her mouth.
I leaned in. I didn't kiss her tongue—that would be absurd. But I blew gently on her face, cooling the skin.
She shivered.
"Better?" I asked.
"Y-yes," she whispered, her face turning pink.
I pulled back.
"Eat your fries," I said. "Slowly."
I turned my back on her and walked to the sink to clean the knife.
I washed the blade, watching the water swirl down the drain.
Natalia is gone. I will make sure of it.
And Aleesha... Aleesha is staying.
Whether she likes it or not.