Chapter 34
34
Claudius
Cecely's breath shudders. She’s processing. Struggling. But I know she doesn’t fully believe me. Not yet. Not until she sees it with her own eyes. Hell, I don’t blame her. I thought Agnes was full of shit when she approached me with her suspicions.
I push off the desk, reaching for the keyboard.
“You want proof?”
I don’t wait for her to answer. I pull up the recordings. The ones Agnes made me keep. The ones I never wanted to watch myself.
I click on a folder marked:
SUBJECT – GAbrIEL
Cecely leans forward, her arms crossing over her stomach like she’s bracing for impact. I hit play. The screen flickers, static for a second before the footage sharpens.
I’m in the formal living room here in this house. Only, it’s not me. The way I hold myself, the tilt of my head…it’s all Gabriel. I sit in a chair. A moment later, three women are ushered in by Agnes. I speak to them, reassuring them they’re safe. Agnes ushers them away before returning. We speak and then she leaves.
The footage follows me through the house, as I go to the room I first put Cecely in when she came to the island. Gabriel’s old room. I climb into the bed, falling asleep.
When I wake up the next morning, I’m in control. Not Gabriel. I panic, asking Agnes how I got in that room. I don’t believe her. Not until she shows me this very tape.
I glance over at Cecely. She watches, her expression unreadable. But I can feel it. The weight of realization crashing down on her.
I exhale, dragging my hand over my head. “Do you believe me now?”
Cecely’s gaze locks onto mine. Steady. Searching.
She says softly, “I do.”
The words land between us, heavy with meaning.
She shifts, her arms still wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold everything in.
“I do, Claudius, but…” Her lips part, then press together like she’s unsure if she should even say it. Finally, she exhales, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the information.”
I study her, watching every flicker of emotion pass over her face.
She believes me.
That’s a start.
But she hasn’t decided what it means for her yet.
I can see it in the tightness of her shoulders. The way she keeps glancing at the screens, like she’s waiting for another answer to fall into her lap.
I push off the desk, crossing my arms.
“You don't have to do anything with it.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “How can you say that?”
“Because it's my burden to carry. Not yours.”
She shakes her head, frustration creeping into her voice.
“That’s not how this works, Claudius.”
“Isn't it?”
She huffs, rubbing her forehead. “You can't just drop something like this on me and expect me to pretend like it doesn't change anything.”
I tilt my head, voice calm. Measured.
“Does it?”
Her breath catches, but she doesn't answer. Because she doesn’t know.
I take a slow step forward.
“Tell me, Cecely.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. So I keep going.
“Does this change how I’ve touched you?”
Her breath shudders.
“Does this change how I’ve protected you?”
I take another step, voice dropping.
“Does this change how you felt when you were screaming my name?”
She’s shaking now. But she doesn’t back away. I lift my hand, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Her skin burns beneath my fingertips.
“Does this change us?”
Her breathing is uneven, her pupils blown wide. I lean in, close enough to taste the air between us.
“Does it change the fact that it’s my baby you’re carrying?”
Her voice is raw, broken. “I don't know.”
“You do know. You’re just scared to do this. To dive in all the way with me.”
A tear trails down her cheek.
“You’re right. I am scared.” Her voice is shaky, but strong. “How can we have a normal life together? Raise a child together?”
She swallows hard, her fingers tightening against her stomach.
“What if you forget who I am? Or decide that I have to die?”
The words hit harder than I expect. Because they’re not just fears. They’re real possibilities. Her questions are valid.
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. “I’ve spoken to physicians about my disorder.”
Her brows lift slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that.
“I won’t lie to you, Cecely. There’s no cure. It won’t go away.” I lean forward, holding her gaze. “The goal is that Gabriel and I live together harmoniously.”
I let out a bitter laugh before I can stop it. Because— fuck .
“Believe me, I see the irony.” I shake my head, smirking. “How can we live together in harmony when we couldn’t even do that in life? Much less in one body?”
Cecely lets out a choked sound. Part laugh, part sob.
“Claudius, you’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”
“I suppose I’m not.” Then I go quiet for a moment. And when I speak again, my voice is lower. Honest. “But it’s the truth. My truth. And you deserve to know.”
Her breathing is uneven. Her fingers press against her stomach. Like she’s trying to shield our child from the weight of my confession.
I tilt my head.
“You still think I’m lying to you?”
Her lips part, but no words come out. So I step closer.
Voice lower, softer.
“You’re trying to decide if you can live with this. With me.”
She looks away, like she doesn’t want to say it out loud.
So I say it for her.
“You already know the answer, Cecely.”
I lift a hand, tracing my fingers down her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut for half a second—just enough. Then they snap open, locking onto mine. A choice is about to be made. And this time she won’t be able to take it back.
But before she can speak, Agnes appears.
“Sir. The guests are here.”
I bite back a groan. Of course they are.
“Where?”
“In the living room.”
I dip my head. “I’ll be up in a moment.”
Agnes leaves, and I turn to Cecely.
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter if you think you can live with me. With us.”
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not just Blanc’s day of reckoning. It’s mine.” I give her a smile. “Once they find out what I’ve done, they will invoke Rule 47 and then Rule 3.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I will tell them everything I’ve done and then they will kill me.”
“No!”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” My gaze goes to her stomach. “That both of you are taken care of.”
“No.” Her chin trembles. “This isn’t fair. You can’t do this to me. You can’t make me fall in love with you. With him. And then rip it all away from me.”
“I’m sorry, Cecely. Truly, I am.”
I give her one last look before I walk away.
It’s time to face my sins.
No matter the outcome.
I don’t look back. Because if I do, I won’t be able to walk away. Cecely’s words cling to me, sharp and raw. She loves me. And yet it doesn’t change anything. Because this? This was always the end of my story. She was just something I didn’t count on.
I take the steps slowly, deliberately. Every movement feels heavier. Final. When I reach the main hall, I pause. The doors to the living room are cracked open. The voices inside are low, murmured. Controlled. But the weight of their presence suffocates the air. I steel myself.
And then I push open the doors.
They are all here.
The Elite Members. Alessandro Moretti. Brooks Henderson. Grant Carter. Dimitri Santos.
A hush falls over the room when they see me in the doorway. I let the silence stretch, letting them feel the weight of it. The silence thickens.
“You all know why you’re here.”
Moretti leans forward, lacing his fingers together. “Actually, we don’t. Care to explain?”
“I’ve found the man who killed DeLeon and Smith. The man who destroyed the Brotherhood.”
Every pair of eyes in the room narrows, watching me, waiting. I take my time. Because once I say it, there’s no taking it back. Once I bring this into the light, there is no going back into the shadows.
“Destroyed the Brotherhood,” Henderson echoes, voice laced with confusion. “What in the fuck are you talking about?”
Moretti's gaze sharpens. “And who, exactly, is this man?”
I tilt my head, watching them. And then I drop the hammer.
“Me.”
The weight of that single word drops into the room like a guillotine. The air shifts. Tightens. I watch as their expressions change. A mixture of shock, disbelief, and, for some, understanding. Because some of them already knew. Or at least, suspected. Santos’ lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t speak.
Henderson, however, laughs. Short. Bitter. “Bullshit.”
Moretti’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re telling us you killed DeLeon and Smith?”
I shrug, my expression unreadable.
“Yes.”
Carter tenses, his fingers curling into fists. “Why?”
“Because they deserved it.” I take another step forward, my voice calm, unwavering. “The Brotherhood was rotting from the inside. A disease. A legacy built on power, on greed, on suffering.” I glance at Santos. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
He doesn’t. Because he can’t.
Moretti leans back in his chair, a slow exhale escaping him. He’s calculating now. Running through scenarios in his head. Trying to see how this ends for him.
Henderson shakes his head, standing abruptly. “This is insane. You’re fucking insane.”
“Am I?” I take my last step forward, standing in the center of them now. “I didn't just kill them.”
The words are deliberate. Unapologetic.
“I exposed them.”
That gets their attention.
Moretti’s eyes darken. “Exposed them how?”
I lift a shoulder, the ghost of a smirk playing on my lips.
“By morning, the world will know exactly who they were. What they did. What all of you did.”
The air cracks like ice. Carter finally reacts, his voice low, dangerous.
“You wouldn't.”
I meet his gaze head-on. “I already have.”
The room erupts. Henderson curses, running a hand through his hair. Santos shoves back his chair, his expression shifting between rage and something that looks a lot like disappointment. Moretti simply sits there, processing. Coming up with a plan, I’m sure.
“You have two hours to figure out how to save your own asses. Now, I’m sure you’re ready to invoke some rules.” My smile is grim. “Before you do, I’d like to be there when Blanc gets his.”
“Gets his,” Moretti echoes. “He’s here?”
“In my basement. In a cell.”
“No, he’s not,” Cecely says from behind me.
Spinning, I find her and Blanc standing side by side. A hush falls over the room. All eyes turn to them. To the woman who was never meant to be a part of this world and the man who once ruled it. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the center of the room.
Then, with a hard shove, she sends Blanc crashing onto the floor at my feet. He groans, coughing, struggling against his bindings.
Cecely’s voice cuts through the silence. “Here. I brought you the real traitor.”
Moretti is the first to lean forward. “Explain.”
Cecely doesn’t hesitate. Her voice is cold. Controlled. But beneath it is rage.
“Blanc wasn’t just complicit. He orchestrated it all. He made Gabriel buy those women. He’s the one who shot Gabriel that night, making Claudius cover up the murder and take the blame for it. He’s the reason the Brotherhood fell apart in the first place.”
Blanc’s laugh is low, dark. “You really have no idea what you're talking about, do you?”
Cecely kicks him in the shin. “Shut up. No one wants to hear your lies.”
I smirk. Damn.
Moretti glances at me. “Is she telling the truth?”
I arch a brow. “Yes.”
Carter’s jaw tightens. Santos mutters a curse under his breath. Henderson, however, leans back, shaking his head.
He asks the other Elite Members, “So what are we supposed to do? Take his word over Blanc’s?”
Cecely turns on him, her gaze like fire. “Take mine.”
Henderson scoffs. “And why the fuck should we trust you?”
“Because, unlike the rest of you, I have nothing to lose. I have no stake in this game. And, if you’re really curious why you should take my word, go to the basement. You’ll find all the proof you need down there.”
Moretti’s lips press into a thin line. Then, finally, he nods. “Blanc will answer for his crimes.”
The words send a ripple through the room. Blanc, however, only smirks. And that more than anything bothers me. I crouch beside him, gripping his chin. Forcing him to look at me.
“You're smiling.”
His eyes glint with something dangerous.
“Of course I am.” His voice is raspy. Weak. But still confident. “Because this isn’t over, Irons.”
I press my fingers harder against his jaw. “Yes, Blanc. It is.”
Cecely steps closer to me, her shoulder brushing mine. I glance down at her. She’s breathing hard, her hands clenched into fists. But when she looks up at me, there’s no fear in her eyes. Just determination. And then her gaze goes to Blanc.
“You’ve lost, Blanc.” Her voice is steady, unwavering. “Everyone will soon know what you’ve done. I wish I could say I’m sorry that I didn’t have time to know you, but I’m not.”
“You stupid little pawn.” His voice cuts through the room like a knife. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
He jerks his head in my direction.
“You think they’re going to keep him around after all of his sins come to light? That they’ll let him live?” His voice drops to something venomous. “They’ll turn on him faster than they turned on me.”
The words hang in the air.
Cecely turns to me, her expression shifting. Not with fear. Not with doubt. But with something I can’t quite name.
She takes a step forward. Places a hand against my chest.
Her voice is quiet but firm. “They're not taking you.”
Moretti speaks, his tone smooth. Controlled. “That’s not up to you, Cecely.”
She whirls on him. “Like hell it isn’t.”
Cecely’s hand tightens into my shirt, her stance unyielding.
Blanc chuckles. “See? The moment the truth is out, Irons is just another liability.”
I say nothing. Because I already know the truth. I’ve always known. This was never about justice. It was about who would survive the fire. And right now the flames are closing in.
Santos stands. “I think we owe it to Irons to hear him out. From the beginning.”
Cecely looks up at me, pleading with her eyes for me to defend myself. I dip my head.
“It all started when?—”