Chapter 44
TWO DAYS LATER
I t’s been five days since I ripped my heart out of my chest and left it tangled in the sheets of my bed.
Five days since I looked Sienna in the eye and told her a lie so brutal it still tastes like blood in my mouth.
I haven’t been back to the house outside the city. I can’t. Not yet. The memory of her is too loud there.
In the curve of the bathtub she melted into after the attack.
In the pillow that still holds the indent of her sleep. In the goddamn kitchen—where her laugh lingered in the air while I cooked her pasta and pretended I didn’t want to devour her instead.
So I’ve been living at the club.
Avoiding the house. Avoiding the quiet. Avoiding the truth.
Crack.
A sharp right hook connects with my jaw, snapping my head to the side.
“Jesus, are we sparring or reminiscing, Master Yoda?” Jaxon bounces back on the balls of his feet, grinning like a devil with a death wish. His black tank is soaked through with sweat, and his knuckles are already taped from an earlier bout with Killian.
I swipe at the blood in my mouth with the back of my hand and spit onto the mat.
“You either grew a pair overnight,” I growl, circling him, “or you’re the dumbest bastard alive getting in the ring with me while I’m in this kind of mood.”
“Why not both?” he shrugs, keeping light on his feet. “Call it a character flaw. I like punching you when you’re brooding.”
I lunge forward and land a vicious jab to his ribs. He grunts but rolls with it, dodging my next strike and throwing a low kick toward my thigh. I block it and counter with a quick elbow, grazing his shoulder.
“You fight like someone who hasn’t slept,” Jaxon taunts, dancing back.
“I fight like someone who’s about to make you eat the mat.”
“Then stop pulling your punches, old man.”
That earns him a brutal left hook. My fist connects with his side hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He stumbles, catching himself against the ropes, but doesn’t drop.
He grins instead. “There he is. I was starting to miss the Devil.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious. You’re just in denial.” He straightens, cracking his neck. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Then hit me harder.” He steps forward again, fists up. “Might help.”
I grit my teeth and take a step forward.
Jaxon lunges with a jab, which I dodge without effort, but my follow-up swing comes half a second too late.
“Sloppy,” he says, panting, “but I’ll take it.”
“Shut up.”
“Just saying. Whatever’s got you brooding like Batman in a thunderstorm—it’s getting in your way.”
I aim a high kick. He blocks, grinning like a man who’s not taking this nearly as seriously as I am.
“Maybe I should send Sienna a thank-you basket,” he adds. “Clearly got you all twisted up.”
I slam him with a punch to the stomach. It lands with a satisfying thud .
“Right,” he wheezes, doubling slightly. “Touched a nerve. Got it.”
“You’re supposed to be running diagnostics on the Ledger’s firewall and making sure the backdoor route you built into the Masquerade server can’t be used against us,” I snap, grabbing his arm and flipping him onto the mat with a satisfying crash. “Not giving me relationship advice.”
“Multitasking,” he grunts from the floor. “It’s a skill.”
The gym door opens and Killian walks in, phone pressed to his ear. His face is grim, voice clipped and low. Jaxon sees him and rolls to his feet, brushing sweat from his arms with a towel.
Killian finally ends the call, pocketing his phone with a sharp look.
“Still nothing,” he says.
That lands harder than any punch.
“Lorenzo’s gone dark?” Jaxon asks, already unwrapping his fists.
I nod. “His properties are cold. Phones dead. Staff turned over. No confirmed sightings in two days.
“We can’t even get eyes on his wife and kid.” Kill adds.
“Coward.” My voice is low, dangerous.
“He knows he’s running out of options,” Killian replies. “He’s hiding because he’s afraid of what you’ll do next.”
I know Lorenzo. He’s not afraid.
After he invaded my club, shot up my guys, he knows I’ll be looking for him. He’s laying low to stay alive long enough to make his next move.
I step out of the ring and grab my water bottle, chugging half of it before tossing it back onto the bench.
“This is going to end,” I say. “I’m done letting his mess bleed into mine.”
Killian’s jaw tics. “What do you want to do?”
“I’ll handle things the old fashion way.” I dry my face with a towel and toss it aside. “Just me and him. We settle it in blood.”
“Old school.” Jaxon lets out a low whistle. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
Jax and Kill fall into a conversation about The Godfather movies and I find myself looking toward the windows. It’s late morning. Sunlight slants through the glass in gold ribbons across the floor.
And all I can think about is her.
I wonder if she’s still taking time off. If she’s lounging in that small apartment of hers, pretending not to miss me.
Pretending she’s not checking the door every time footsteps echo in the hall. Waiting for me to barge in, throw her over my shoulder, and tell her I was wrong.
Because that’s what I want to do.
Every second since I left her, I’ve wanted to go back. Wrap her in my arms. Apologize for every lie I told to protect her. Tell her the truth—that she’s not just a Companion. Not just a trainee.
She’s mine.
But I can’t go to her yet.
Not until Lorenzo is handled.
When I walk away from this, when Lorenzo’s body is cold in the dirt, and this blood war is finally over...
Then I’m going to her.
And I’m not leaving without her.
Killian suddenly jolts upright. “Yes!”
I freeze mid-wrap on my wrist tape. “What did you find?”
“Uh…” He blinks, sheepish. “Nothing. Eve’s on her way over. Said she’s bringing breakfast. Coffee. And cheesecake.”
Jaxon’s head snaps up like a dog hearing the word treat . “I love free food.”
I narrow my eyes. “You have more money than God. Why do you get excited about free food?”
He shrugs, grinning. “Because I wasn’t always rich. Used to live for the free samples at the grocery store. Didn’t realize till later that was how my mom was feeding me dinner some nights.”
That sobers the air for a beat. But Jaxon just throws his towel over his shoulder and heads for the bench like nothing happened. He’s always been good at tossing out pieces of his past and pretending they don’t sting.
His phone chimes as he grabs it from his duffel. “Scan’s done,” he mutters, unlocking it and squinting at the code.
Right then, the gym door swings open and Eve barrels in, her arms loaded with branded takeout bags and one dangerously overfilled coffee tray.
“Delivery service with better heels and more attitude,” she calls, kicking the door closed with one stilettoed foot. “Somebody better clear space before I drop this on the floor and cry.”
“Is that from Elena’s?” Killian perks up like a golden retriever.
“With extra sugar and shame,” Eve confirms, already setting the bags on the bench. “Lucian, I brought you black with a splash of spite. Just how you like it.”
I arch a brow as I take the cup. “Cheesecake?”
She grins. “Lemon. I figured you could use something sweet since your mood’s been sour as hell.”
Jaxon whistles low. “And here I thought I was the emotional one.”
I ignore them all, sipping the coffee and watching Jaxon’s face tighten as he scrolls through the final scan.
“Something?” I ask.
He nods once, serious now. “Maybe. I need ten minutes to verify the path, but there’s a fingerprint on the server. And it doesn’t belong to any of your registered users.”
That’s all I need to hear.
The playfulness drains from the room as I set my coffee down and crack my knuckles.
About fucking time, I catch a break with this asshole.
For more than ten minutes, Eve won’t leave me the hell alone until I try the damn cheesecake.
“It’s from my bestie,” she insists, nudging the box closer like it’s a peace offering. “At least pretend you’re human for five seconds and take a bite.”
I sigh, take the smallest forkful I can manage, and give in. The moment it hits my tongue, I know I’ve been manipulated.
It’s perfect.
Tart lemon, buttery graham crust, and some kind of whipped cream topping that practically evaporates.
Of course it’s delicious. Elena made it.
But I can’t enjoy it.
Not when Jaxon hasn’t looked up from his phone in fifteen minutes and that scowl on his face is digging deeper by the second. I can tell he’s close to finding something. His thumbs move fast. His brow furrows. His jaw ticks.
“How the fuck did he get in?” I mutter.
No one answers. But we all know I mean Lorenzo.
The bastard slithered into my club like a snake through a crack in the foundation. I need to know how. I need to know who helped him. Because if there's a rat in my empire, they’re already dead—they just don’t know it yet.
Killian lounges back, sipping his coffee like he’s got all the time in the world. Eve is daintily picking at another slice of cheesecake, making soft noises of appreciation as if we aren’t quietly orchestrating the end of a war.
Her words land like a fucking bomb in my mind.
Casual. Light. Like she’s talking about the weather.
“So,” she muses, “how do you think Sienna’s doing on her first contract?”
The fork freezes midair. Killian glances at me from the corner of his eye but says nothing.
She took a contract.
I don’t move.
I don’t blink.
I definitely don’t let any of them see the way the words stab straight into my ribs and twist.
Eve’s pretending she’s just making conversation. But she knows exactly what the fuck she’s doing. Goading me. Teasing the Devil.
“She’s got fire, that one,” Eve continues, her tone breezy but her eyes sharp. “I admire that. I think it’ll serve her well. Especially with the contract she took.”
That gets my attention.
My gaze snaps to her, but I school my face into stone.
Jaxon snorts. “Damn, Eve. You playing chess today or just poking the bear for fun?”
Eve only smiles, licking cheesecake from her fork like the fucking cat who caught the canary. “Oh, I’m just proud of her. She didn’t waste any time. Jumped right in, head held high.”
My grip tightens around my coffee mug. I swallow hard. Force the lump in my throat down like it’s poison.
I won’t ask.
I won’t give her the satisfaction.
But the truth is—I’m already bleeding from the inside out.
Because I need to know where she is.
And who the fuck she’s with.
“Whelp.” Eve claps her hands together, rising with the grace of a queen and the mischief of a gremlin. She starts boxing up the rest of her cheesecake, tucking it carefully into a sleek black container like its treasure. “Looks like my work here is done. I’m off to The Ledger.”
Her oversized purse swings into the crook of her elbow, her coffee cup is in hand, and she turns toward the exit. “Have fun murdering people,” she calls over her shoulder, stilettos clicking across the polished gym floor like gunfire. Killian chuckles under his breath.
I don’t. Not even close.
Jaxon hasn’t looked up once. The bastard’s practically fused to his laptop now, shoulders hunched as he taps through firewalls and encrypted tunnels like he’s orchestrating a symphony of digital destruction. It’s been ten minutes, and my patience is paper-thin.
My leg bounces restlessly. My phone sits in my hand, screen black, thumb hovering over the button like it might bite me.
I don’t want to look.
Because if I do—if I open her file and see the contract she picked—I’ll see him.
I’ll see every goddamn line of service he requested. I’ll see how much he paid. What dates. What limits. What liberties. I’ll see if he’s fucking touched her.
And I’ll kill him for it.
I stare at the phone for another minute. Maybe more.
Then I open it.
My fingers aren’t steady, not even a little, and that pisses me off too. I swipe through The Ledger’s internal network, punch in my credentials, and pull up Sienna Knight’s Companion file.
Her photo hits me first.
It’s from the week after she joined—hair in soft waves, eyes uncertain, lips just barely turned up like she wasn’t sure she deserved to smile.
She had no fucking idea how dangerous she was back then. How fucking mine she was.
I click deeper.
The screen loads slowly—my punishment, maybe—and then the profile appears.
Client Name: Dominic Salvi
My breath catches.
And then the world goes fucking still.
Because I know that name .
That name is a ghost from the past.
My past.
I made it up.
We were sixteen—me and Lorenzo. Drunk off our asses, pulled over in my old black Challenger with beer bottles rolling around the backseat. If his father had found out we’d been drinking and driving?
He wouldn’t have beat us. He would’ve buried us.
So when the cop leaned in and asked for our names, I didn’t hesitate.
“Matthew Cole,” I’d said. Calm. Stone-cold.
Then I added, “He’s Dominic Salvi.” I pointed to Lorenzo.
The officer gave us a look, went back to run the names through his cruiser computer, and I took the fuck off.
We were never caught.
Not then. Not for that.
But ever since… Lorenzo held onto that name.
Used it. Adopted it. Turned it into his mask.
Dominic Salvi became his cloak of invisibility—an alias tied to a ghost of a night that should’ve ended in handcuffs.
And now he’s using it here. In my fucking system.
My entire body goes cold.
Because I didn’t see it. I didn’t fucking see it .
And now he’s not just in my system.
He’s got Sienna.