CHAPTER 2
ZANE
There are moments in our lives that change us completely, like shadows creeping into our essence, revealing things we wish we’d been born with.
Sometimes, it comes from pain—the loss of ourselves or someone we love.
I've never felt such a violent desire to fight, to feel something, as I do now.
Marriages are complicated, just like life. That doesn’t mean they’re not worth the risk.
“This is ridiculous.” I complain to Charlie over the phone, rubbing my temples. “I’m pretending to be a millionaire trust fund kid while technically living off your money.”
“It’s for coverage,” Charlie replies. “And let’s be real, Zane, you’re benefiting. Private jets. Designer suits. Mafia connections.”
“Oh, yeah. A dream come true.”
She snorts. “Quit whining. You’re basically an undercover sugar baby at this point.”
I groan. “That is the worst thing someone ever said to me.”
“Is it?” She smirks. “Because I distinctly remember you once telling me Mia was your downfall.”
I hesitate.
Yeah.
That sounds about right.
“He wants me to go to a party for Cartel allies. I didn’t even know they had allies,” I mutter to Charlie.
“Yeah, well, their allies are the weaker Cartels and the Yakuza. The Yakuza is their strongest connection, but they barely interact. They have their own rules, which is why we've never managed an alliance with them,” Charlie explains.
“Lovely,” I reply dryly.
“Also, we have another problem.”
I try to contain my eye roll. Of course we do.
This entire plan is one giant, flashing neon sign of problems.
"Tell me, what would it be?"
"Mitchell was deep into fighting, torture—the guy was a full-blown sadist. Honestly, I'm surprised you of all people managed to kill him."
I was a man on a mission, pissed off at the world and at myself, so it wasn’t exactly hard. Mitchell could fight, sure, but the guy was dumb as a rock. He thought brute force was everything. All I needed was a gun and a well-placed bomb to do the job.
But that wasn’t the real reason I did it.
I needed the plan to work. I needed it to lead me back to her . If I hadn’t killed him, I wouldn’t have had an excuse to see her again. Wouldn’t have had a way to put myself back in her orbit.
I risked everything for her.
"I’ll take that as a compliment."
"You should take this as a sign that you need to get your ass in gear and actually train. I'm not saying Mitchell was the best, he could never beat me in a fight, and I'm not even the top fighter in the Society."
That honor goes to Giulia Ross, Trevor’s wife. I heard about their marriage even before I gave a damn.
The girl’s a machine. Honestly, I’m surprised she picked Trevor of all people—she seems like the type to eat him alive.
Maybe that’s what he’s into. Or maybe they just bond over their mutual love for knocking people’s teeth out.
The closest I ever got to that kind of thing was when one of my mom’s boyfriends tried to rip my manga in half.
Other than that? Total wimp.
Though I did blow up his car, so... fair trade, I guess. Got me a black eye, but whatever.
"Zane, are you even listening?"
"Oh, I am. But if this means I’m about to become the next Karate Kid, I’m out."
Charlie groans. "You need to take this seriously."
"You have seen me fight, right? I’m worse than Taylor, and that’s saying something."
"I know your specialty is building weapons, but you’re gonna have to make an effort to learn, or you’ll end up—"
"How’s Figaro?" I cut in, because, honestly, this conversation is exhausting.
"Zane—"
"I said , how’s Figaro?"
Charlie sighs. "Grumpier than ever. Pissed as hell that you’re gone."
I smirk. "Figures. He always did have abandonment issues."
"Oh, yeah. He’s taken to sitting on your pillow, staring at the door like you personally betrayed him."
"Sounds about right."
"I tried to give him one of your hoodies to sleep on, but he just smacked it off the bed and glared at me like I insulted him. Dude’s dramatic as hell."
"Yeah, well, he gets it from Mia."
“Zane.”
“Okay, he gets it from me.”
Charlie snorts. "No shit."
I chuckle, shaking my head. I had originally asked Lara to take care of him, but she’s not in any condition for that right now—not with how much of a mess she’s been since her brother died. So Charlie took over, even though she swears she’s not a cat person.
"Try giving him some tuna," I suggest. "Maybe he’ll forgive you."
"Tried. He just sniffed it, turned his back on me, and walked off."
"Yikes. That’s a deep grudge."
"Tell me about it. Your cat hates me more than most people do."
I chuckle. "Welcome to my world."
Charlie exhales sharply. "Alright, enough stalling. You need to train, Zane. I don’t care how much you suck at fighting—you can’t keep dodging this forever."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll figure something out."
"You better." And with that, she hangs up, leaving me alone with the realization that I actually have to do this.
Fuck my life.
Charlie is good at what she does, and as much as I hate to admit it, that keeps me from spiraling into total madness.
Besides, it was my plan in the first place.
I remember how Charlie kept teasing me about how similar I was to this guy. At first, I brushed it off, but the more she said it, the more it got under my skin.
I mean, if I weren’t absolutely sure that Peter Hill was my father, I might’ve started questioning things myself. But, unfortunately, Amber Hill was my mother. No escaping that.
But, honestly? The similarities between us are only skin-deep. Reign Mitchell, yeah, he had the look. That sort of confidence that made you think he had it all together. But, deep down, he was just a spoiled brat—someone who always thought he could force the world to bend to his will. He thought that starting some big rebellion against the Society of Crow would give him the power he craved. He was chasing this idea of control, like he was meant to rule, and everyone else was just a background character in his script.
The thing is, though—he couldn’t keep it up. He looked the part, but he didn’t have the substance to back it up.
Like, you can dress up as the king, but if you don’t have the heart or the mind to actually lead, it falls apart.
And honestly, it was hard to feel anything but pity for him in the end. He was just a guy lost in his own ego, thinking that making waves would get him what he wanted. But he didn’t have the depth to actually handle it.
He was a fool, really. A guy who got so wrapped up in the idea of power that he never stopped to think about what that actually meant.
And now he’s gone—his legacy nothing more than a lesson in what happens when you try to fake your way through life.
I know I’m playing a part here, but that kid? He had no clue.
Now I’m stuck pretending I’m him.
But I’m not him. I see the pieces, feel the weight of them. I may be a part of this world, but I’m not blind to what it takes to stay in it.
Well, but for her you would.
Charlie got two guys from the Society of Crow working undercover as my bodyguards, along with some staff to help around the mansion where she’s staying. Trustworthy ones—allegedly. But other than that? I’m on my own.
No other clans. No Evermore. No backup.
Just me, trying to survive long enough to figure out what the hell Nico Riviera is up to.
I expected Mia to deny me outright—to prove, once and for all, that she had indeed betrayed me.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she acted as if she had never seen me before in her life.
She went along with it.
“This is your fiancé, Reign Mitchell,” Nico introduced, his voice smooth with arrogance. “He will be responsible for helping us take the empire from our enemies.”
Yeah, as if. If I put myself in front of Taylor, she’d probably take me out in two seconds.
Still, I kept my expression neutral, unreadable, watching as Mia extended her hand with perfect etiquette.
I took it slowly, bringing it to my lips, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Nice to meet you,” I murmured.
“Likewise, Mr. Mitchell.”
Her voice was so formal, so polite, that Nico smiled at her approvingly.
And I frowned.
This is not my Mia.
Something is wrong.
I notice the way she blinks, as if she’s exhausted—too exhausted. Maybe it’s the narcolepsy, or maybe they’re drugging her. I make a mental note to look into that.
The anger still burns in my system.
How could I have let this girl crawl so deep into my head?
At what point did she start feeding information to her father?
I place a gentle hand on her back and guide her toward the garden, where we can have some privacy.
I want to pin her against the wall and drag every ounce of truth out of her.
Instead, she narrows her eyes at me and says, “Why did you do that to your hair?”
Of all the things she could ask.
My hair.
“What are you doing here?” Mia’s voice thickens with disbelief, as if she has any right to demand anything after leaving me to pick up the pieces of her mess.
I was fooled by that innocent face once. By that sweet voice.
Not again.
“Wherever you go, I go,” I murmur the words I once promised her. “And you and I, dear wife, are going straight to hell.”
Her lips twitch. “I can’t wait, then.”
“Stop fucking around.” I step closer, my patience unraveling.
“Here’s the deal, mafia princess,” I continue, my hand closing lightly around her throat.
Her eyes widen for a second. Then she smiles—not my favorite smile, not the one that makes me weak—but a wicked, dangerous grin.
Oh, there she is.
Bring it to me, wife.
I hate her right now.
But I also want her so fucking much.
I rest my forehead against hers, swallowing down the desire. “You’re going to keep pretending you don’t know me, Mia. Because you don’t. And I’m going to show you the side of me that I reserve for people who betray my trust.”
“And if I don’t?” Her voice drips with defiance.
I exhale sharply. “Why did you do this? I don’t understand. I would have given you everything.”
Her expression flickers, just for a second, before she whispers, “And still, it wouldn’t be enough.”
Then she steps away.
I mentally prepare myself to die.
For her to hand me over to her father.
Instead, she marches back into the living room, and I trail after her—only for her to turn to Nico and smile, just like that.
“We’re done, Dad. Can I leave now?”
And just like that, I find myself on the brink of insanity.
That conversation was two days ago. I told one of the bodyguards to stay with her at the mansion to keep her safe from any assholes, but as pathetic as I am, I haven’t been able to sleep for days.
I’ve basically been camping here, covering my tracks, trying not to raise any suspicion.
Nico’s pushing me to schedule our next move, or rather, Mitchell’s next move. But honestly, I couldn’t care less. I know Mitchell’s an underground prick, loves to fight, so they ’ll be expecting me to do the same.
I can’t really ask Charlie to train me on that—too risky. I know I’ve got eyes on me now. I’ve been warned.
So, I guess I’m gonna have to make my sweet chaos do the training since my fighting skills are on par with my Granny. Hell, she’d probably do it better than me if she were still alive.
My phone buzzes, telling me I’ve got a new message, and I expect it to be Charlie—but it’s not.
Kyle: Are you good, bro?
Weird. My brother doesn’t usually check in like that. He’s a rock.
Kyle: Crazy story... hmm... Liam, your nephew by the way, apparently loves drawing like you. Must be your DNA, since I’m fucking clueless about how to do it. Come visit.
Abby was definitely by his side while he typed. Kyle would never write that much. My brother invented monosyllabic communication.
I don’t reply—not because I don’t want to see them, but because there’s no way I can explain this shift in me without sounding suspicious.
Kyle seems happy, though, so at least he’s okay.
Even though we match in bruises, I see his healing bit by bit. Mine, though... I’m not sure if they’ll ever be fixed.
Honestly, I don’t even know how to go back. I don’t have to face my mom anymore, because thankfully my wife took care of that for me.
But at the same time, I’m not exactly the best person to talk to about feelings. It’s not like I can just walk up and say, "Hey bro, hey sis, I’m sorry I disappeared from your lives for years. It’s just that being abused by our mom left permanent scars on how I saw everything. I could’ve gone to therapy, but I thought moving to different countries—and eventually states—would fix things. It was never about you, but now I’ve missed so much of your lives that part of me is afraid you’ll never accept me back... not as I am, at least.”
I can’t exactly say that, but part of me wishes it would be easier to just tell the truth instead of running away. But then there’s that other part of me— the one that refuses to be seen as a victim. I know they had it just as fucked up as I did.
A second message lights up my phone, and I expect it to be Kyle, but it’s Tristan, Mia’s bodyguard. He tells me the coast is clear, so I step out of the sleek, expensive car I definitely did not acquire legally. It’s a good cover, and I have no plans of returning it.
I’ve made one thing clear—Mia’s treatment is handled by my team. No Cartel interference. If anyone’s going to deal with her, it’s me. No one else touches my wife.
I don’t bother ringing the doorbell. I just walk in, catching sight of the Cartel guards stationed outside. They don’t even blink at me. Nico must be desperate to make this deal with Mitchell if he’s following my lead so obediently.
Upstairs, I find Mia sprawled across the bed like she belongs here—like she hasn’t spent the past few weeks unraveling every last thread of my sanity. She’s wearing a white top, thin fabric resting against her skin, and a short black skirt that barely covers the curve of her thighs. My eyes catch on the way she moves—slow, careless, like she has all the time in the world. Like she isn’t the reason I haven’t been able to breathe right.
She doesn’t look up right away, too busy scrolling through her phone, tapping her fingers against the screen with that absentminded ease she always has. But then she sees me.
And she smiles.
Not the guarded kind. Not the teasing, play-it-off kind. No—this one is real , soft around the edges, like she’s actually happy to see me. Like she didn’t walk away. Like she didn’t leave me behind with nothing but the ghost of her touch and the weight of everything she didn’t say.
It hits me harder than I want to admit.
Because she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I hate that.
I hate the way my body reacts before my mind can stop it, the way my breath shortens, the way my fingers twitch like they already know the shape of her waist, the warmth of her skin. I should be angry. I am angry. But it doesn’t stop the craving. It never does.
And she knows it.
Because Mia doesn’t just sit there—she stretches, slow and deliberate, her skirt shifting just enough to test my patience.
"You took your time," she says, voice light, like she’s not the reason I’ve been pacing the floor, like I haven’t spent too many nights trying to pull myself back together.
I exhale sharply, jaw tight. "You can drop the act."
She tilts her head, lips curling. "Look who’s talking about acting. Mr. I’m-So-Unbothered."
My fingers flex at my sides. " Unbothered isn’t the word I’d use."
"How is Figaro?"
Of course she'd ask about the cat—out of everything, it had to be that.
"Fine," I say, trying not to sound as tired as I feel.
She nods slowly, eyes flicking to the floor for a second.
"Take care of him, okay? Keep him safe."
There’s a pause. One of those quiet ones that feels heavier than it should.
Then her voice softens.
"Did you miss me?"
I scoff, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Her grin widens, because of course she enjoys riling me up. “Oh, I don’t have to. You standing here does that for me.” She pats the empty spot beside her. “Come on, sit down. We can cuddle.”
I stare at her. “You’re delusional.”
She lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling onto her stomach, kicking her feet up. “Fine. Just stand there and brood, then.” Her voice drops into something softer, but no less teasing. “Tell me, are you angry with me, Zane?”
I run a hand down my face, trying to keep myself from snapping. “I should be.”
“But you’re not.” She props herself up on her elbows, grinning like she knows something I don’t. “You’re just conflicted.”
I clench my jaw. “You’re playing too many games.”
“And you’re playing just one,” she murmurs, her eyes narrowing slightly. “The one where you pretend you don’t care. But we both know you do.”
I take a step closer, my patience wearing dangerously thin. “I came here for a reason, Mia.”
She tilts her head, watching me carefully. “And here I thought it was because you missed me.”
I exhale sharply, pulling a folded paper from my pocket and dropping it onto the bed beside her. “I came to give you something.”
Her fingers hover over the paper before she picks it up. Something in her expression shifts as she unfolds it, the teasing slipping just a little.
The room falls silent.
I watch her carefully, waiting for a reaction.
And when it comes, I know I’ve just changed everything.