Chapter 14
LOUIS
Man can do what he wills, but he cannot will what he wills.— Arthur Schopenhauer
The door barely closed before I was bent over the toilet.
This time there was zero pretending, no happy thoughts of sex and nakedness, only gut-wrenching stomach pain. The was full on, what-the-hell-have-I-gotten-into stomach-clenching vomiting.
My body convulsed, sharp and unforgiving, like it finally decided to collect its debt.
Acid burns my throat like the fires of hell trying to claw through any part of my body they can.
I braced my hands against the porcelain like it might float away on a sea of puke. Fuck, I needed an anchor right now.
I heard her before I felt her.
Great. She wasn’t the type to stay and hold my hair back, not that I wanted her to witness all of this. I was ready to tell her to leave when her fingers were there—steady, firm—pulling my hair back without hesitation.
She could tie it.
She could shove my face further into the toilet—expected.
She could do a lot of things.
Instead, she whispered, just barely, “Breathe.”
It was so quiet I followed the encouragement immediately. Had she yelled it, demanded it of me, commanded, I may have jerked away from her or given her a smart retort. Instead, I listened.
Rare for me.
A pricking sensation ran down my neck, I was supposed to be controlling the situation not the other way around, getting unmanned by a gentle, not firm hand, wasn’t in the plan.
I forcefully choked out a laugh between retches. “If the next vial makes my hair fall out, I’m suing. I have nice hair.”
She snorted, despite herself. “Good thing you’d still be pretty without it.”
"Devastatingly,” I managed to grind out. “I’m aware I’m walking, talking sex. Don’t let me lose my best assets, wife.”
Another wave hit. She didn’t flinch. Just kept holding my hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she’d done this before. Like she might do it again.
No. I shove away the errant thought.
This wasn’t real marriage.
It was a game. Sort of.
A game I’d agreed to.
And in the end only one of us would truly win. As long as I got the information I needed, I didn’t mind the casualties.
At least that was what I told myself so I felt better. So I could sleep at night. So I didn’t actually fall for her or believe my own games.
When the agony in my gut finally passed, I sagged back against the tub, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
She didn’t let go.
“Why?” she asked.
Just that.
Why.
I closed my eyes. Considered the truth. Then chose which parts to bleed.
“You ever see someone you love die right in front of you?” I asked quietly, “and know—without a shadow of a doubt—that the people who did it don’t even care?”
Her grip tightened.
“I mean really know it,” I continued. “Not suspect. Not guess. Know.”
She didn’t interrupt.
“That kind of thing rewires you,” I said. “You stop believing in justice. Or mercy. You start believing in access.”
I glanced up at her. Her face was shuttered, unreadable now.
Guarded. I wondered how much harder I could probe before she broke.
I wondered how much more she’d hide from me before she started to actually trust me.
“To infiltrate. To gain information. To get close enough that people stop lying to you because they forget you matter.” I shrug. “Knowledge is power.”
She swallows. “So, you married me for access.”
“Yes.”
Clean. Honest. Easy.
I could give her at least that.
“Not just one family,” I added begrudgingly. “Five. And this little poison experiment?” I gestured weakly toward my stomach. “That gets me entrée into his.”
Her brow furrowed. “Cassian.”
I didn’t correct her. I should.
Let her think Vescovi. Let her think Cassian.
That was my pawn. That was my play.
“What if,” she said, speaking slowly, “the killers are someone you know? Someone you care about?”
I gave a half-smile. “Nobody loves me. I love no one. No offense.”
She lifted both hands. “None taken.”
I exhaled… then shook my head. “That’s not entirely true.”
She stilled.
“I loved him,” I admitted. “And he never got a day like today.”
Her eyes flicked to the hallway—to the laughter, the balloons, the chaos.
“No balloons,” I continued. “No stupid dinosaur cake. No ice cream worth bragging about.” My voice tightened despite myself. “All he had was trust.”
I met her gaze fully.
“And he put it in me.”
Silence stretched between us.
“He lost it with a bullet between the eyes,” I finished quietly. “So even if the killer turns out to be you…”
Her breath caught.
“…I’ll return the favor in kind,” I whisper hoarsely.
She didn’t respond right away.
Didn’t even flinch.
Had she already accepted her fate?
The air was still, stagnant between us, filled with too many questions and not enough answers, maybe because neither of us had any.
She let go of my hair slowly. Carefully. Like touching me might cost her something.
And in that moment, I realized something dangerous.
I didn’t plan for her to see me like this.
And I didn’t plan for it to matter as much as it did.
I didn’t expect to feel, and I didn’t want to. I wanted to get the job done and stop being distracted by the obviously beautiful woman in front of me and the danger lurking behind the depths of her eyes.