16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Ethan
A lucard, my father’s old-time lawyer, laughs heartily when I walk into his office.
“The Ethan Cross. If you’re in my office, then I suspect it’s about the prosecution’s investigation into your activities?”
“You’ve—” I sigh. Of course, he’s heard about it.
They made a fuss the first time; it must’ve reached everyone. They’ve been quiet, but I’ve been reluctant to make a move.
“Sit,” Alucard gestures. “Tell me about your problems. Although I think I know why you’re here.”
I lean back, arms loosely folded. “The deal?”
He nods and smiles sagely. “Yup. They tried that bullshit with a couple of clients of mine. It never works well, Ethan Cross. You say yes one time, and you’re under their thumb. They have you right where they want you. ”
So, Anthony was right. I should’ve gone at them hard.
Alucard, as though reading my thoughts, snorts. “Your silly cousin doesn’t know anything, my boy. He’s all bark, no bite.” He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s a good thing his father died because someone would’ve taken him out the moment he stepped on board.”
“Now you,” he nods, “you, they respect.”
“ Okay,” I nod firmly, already making mental assessments of how things will go. Obviously, I can’t accept the prosecution’s offer, but I need to tighten my corners so they don’t have any loose ends to pull.
“Let me know if you need my help,” Alucard says. “Your father—I respected him well enough. As ruthless as he appeared to be, he took pride in loyalty. And I,” he gives me a thin smile of respect, “take pride in repaying my debts.”
As soon as I step into the car, my phone buzzes. One of the club handlers is calling, but the chaos in the background nearly drowns out his voice.
“Anthony,” I catch that much. His name comes through clearly before the rest of the words get swallowed by the noise—shouting, something crashing, sheer disorder.
I grip the phone tighter. “Say that again. What about Anthony?”
He doesn’t respond, and for a while, I hear the sound of footsteps hastily retreating. Then a door opens…
“He’s in trouble,” the handler finally gets out, his breathing ragged. “It’s bad, boss. Real bad.”
My pulse spikes. “Where?”
“The club,” he rushes out. “Luna Royale. He—” The line crackles, more yelling in the background. Then, “You need to get here now.”
I don’t hesitate. I tap the driver’s seat twice. “Luna Royale. Now.”
The tires screech as we take off .
When I get there, everything is in chaos. From the broken glass door to the furniture upturned, the number of bystanders huddled in the corner—obviously coked or drunk, and the smell of something metallic in the air.
“What happened here?” I demand—my tone skating on thin ice. “Where’s Leonard?” I ask again when my first question is met with silence. “Where the fuck is Leonard?!”
He rushes out, panting hard. “Boss, I’m sorry. I had to take care of something. You need to see this.” He gestures to the stairs leading to the club’s VIP area.
I follow him without questions, although my mind is running with thoughts.
Anthony. What the fuck happened to my cousin? What did he do? What did he get into?
Leo stops outside a door, and I frown when I hear shouting from within. He puts his hand out, expression tinged with hesitation.
“Boss, so…” he falters, shifting uneasily, “it’s not Anthony. It’s what he’s done.”
Fuck.
A muscle ticks in my jaw. I don’t need to see what’s inside to know it’s bad. The weight of whatever Anthony has unleashed presses against my chest, but there’s no turning back now.
I push past Leo and throw the door open.
I don’t think anything could’ve prepared me. I’ve seen violence. I once held a knife to a man’s throat and would’ve slit it. I’ve shot at men whose names I didn’t know and watched them drop dead.
Natalie saw me with a bloodied knuckle because I beat a man bloody.
But this—I swallow thickly, staring at the sight. I’ve never seen so much blood come from one person.
The man is on the floor, and one side of his head is… gruesome. His clothes are bloody, and he seems to be begging for life, although nothing leaves his lips.
Then Anthony. He’s perched on a stool and has the man’s blood all over him—his shirt. Hands. Pants. There’s not a single spot untouched.
I stare at Anthony, my breath catching in my throat. “Anthony.” My voice is hoarse, thick with disbelief. “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”
I reach out instinctively, but the sight before me makes my fingers curl into a fist.
Anthony snaps his head toward me, his eyes wide like he’s just waking from a trance. I know it’s not true because I could hear his voice before I walked in.
“He’s the mole,” he spits, pointing to the bloodied man on the ground. “The fucking rat. I found out—he’s the one who’s been selling us out to the pigs.”
My gaze shifts to Leo, searching for confirmation. “Is that true?”
Anthony scoffs before Leo can answer. “You don’t believe me?” He takes a step closer, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. I step back, my gut twisting.
“You’re asking someone else?” His sneer is sharp and bitter. “I knew it. I fucking knew you wouldn’t believe me. That’s why I handled it myself.”
“Anthony,” I take a deep breath to calm myself before I do something drastic. “How did you find out that he was the mole?”
I take a measured step forward, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “Anthony. Stand down.”
He doesn’t move. The blade glints under the dim lighting, his grip steady despite the clear haze in his eyes .
“You don’t give the orders here,” he snarls. “I do what needs to be done.”
“No,” I counter, steel lacing my tone. “You don’t. I do.” I glance at Leo and jerk my chin toward the man on the ground. “Get him out of here. Now.”
Leo hesitates for half a second, his eyes darting between us, but my word is final. He nods sharply, signals to the other men, and together, they drag the barely conscious traitor out of the room.
Anthony watches them go, his shoulders tense, the switchblade still clenched in his fist.
The moment the door shuts behind them, I turn to face him fully. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” My voice is low and controlled, but every syllable drips with fury.
“What I should’ve done in the first place,” he says, eyes glinting with wild danger. “Taking charge. It should’ve been me… holding everything. Keeping the Cross name on the minds of everyone!”
“How?” I ask.
He runs a bloody hand through his hair. “I don’t know. My father shouldn’t have died. He should’ve stuck around and handed the reins over to me. Or,” he glances at me, “maybe your dad had him killed. For you.”
“No,” I grit my teeth, stepping close with the full weight of my controlled anger behind me. I always knew that he resented me, but I thought he could respect authority. Hierarchy. I would’ve done the same thing if Anthony Cross was the head of Cross Industries.
I step even closer, my presence towering over him, suffocating the space between us.
“You think you can stand here, high out of your fucking mind, and throw accusations?” My voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “You forget who you’re talking to, Anthony. ”
His nostrils flare, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. He’s angry and reckless, but he’s not stupid. He knows I don’t make empty threats.
“You’re not going to pull that shit. You can challenge my authority and the way I handle things, but if you call my father a betrayer, I will take you down faster than you can breathe.”
“You don’t get it,” he growls, his grip on the blade flexing.
“No,” I cut him off sharply. “You don’t.”
My tone is ice, lethal in its restraint. “You think you can handle things your way? Go rogue, put a target on all of us because you can’t get your damn head straight?” I shake my head, disgust curling in my gut. “That’s not how this works.”
I lean in, my gaze locking onto his with an unflinching warning. “You ever pull this shit again-disrespect me, question my leadership, or drag our family name through the mud because you can’t keep yourself in check—I will put you down myself.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
The tension crackles like a live wire, but I see it—the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the split-second doubt that wasn’t there before.
Good .
“Clean things up here,” I say, exhaling and taking a step back. “I don’t want the cops to catch a whiff, so you’re going to take care of that man, too. And I didn’t say kill him,” I add, “or I won’t be covering up for you.”
As I walk out the door, I look back and see my bloody footprints. I stepped in his blood. Disgust turns to bile, but I shove it down as I close the door behind me, heading out of the club.
Now I have two things to take care of.