Chapter 32
Roman
As Costa pushed through the crowd of noisy drinkers, Osman paled so drastically he could have passed for a ghost. His eyes darted frantically, searching for an escape.
Flanking Costa were several other Timehunters, their expressions hard and predatory. They swept their gazes across the tavern like wolves scenting their next kill.
I leaned toward Osman, keeping my voice low. “Get up. Move toward the back wall. Then disappear into the crowd. We’ll find you. We’ll help you.”
Osman stumbled, knocking over his chair with a loud clatter. A moan of distress escaped him as he hurriedly righted it before vanishing into the mass of bodies.
Costa’s head snapped toward the disturbance. His calculating eyes locked onto our table, his lips curling into a smirk as he strode toward us.
Marcellious and I casually picked up our ales, taking long, unbothered swigs.
Costa stopped beside us, his shadow stretching over the table.
“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice like rusted iron. “I know you.”
His finger jabbed in my direction.
I lifted my gaze, arching a brow in mock surprise. “What a wonder to see you! I told you—we’re explorers. Our quest has led us to this part of the world. What brings you here?”
Costa ignored the question, his eyes narrowing. “Where did your friend go?”
His gaze swept the room like a predator hunting wounded prey.
“Oh, him?” I said, swirling my ale. He excused himself to relieve his bladder. He’ll be back shortly.” I flashed a casual smile and took another sip.
The air was thick with smoke and the sting of liquor, voices clashing in a chaotic symphony. Yet, despite the noise, Costa’s presence pressed down like a tightening noose, his energy coiled and lethal.
He glanced over his shoulder, muttering something to his men. They nodded and peeled away, disappearing into the crowd. When he turned back to Marcellious and me, I repeated my question.
“What brings you here? This is a long way from Italy.” I lifted my mug and took another swallow.
Marcellious leaned back in his chair, exuding boredom, though I knew better. He was tracking Costa’s every move, ready to strike if necessary.
Costa studied us. “I heard rumors of gold in these caves,” he said. “Thought I’d see if I could increase my wealth. Restoration of my villa cost me a small fortune.”
“I can only imagine,” I said, feigning camaraderie. My fingers twisted idly around my mug on the worn wooden table. “Haven’t heard a thing about gold. Perhaps we should explore together.”
And once you’re deep enough in the cave, I’ll kill you. The thought echoed coldly in my mind—a silent promise I didn’t dare speak aloud.
You’re here for the dagger—just like me.
I kept my gaze pinned to the table, pretending only mild interest in the conversation.
Costa didn’t reply.
Marcellious drained his ale, sighed, satisfied, and stretched lazily.
Costa’s eyes shifted toward him. “Who’s your companion?”
Marcellious straightened, drawing himself up, meeting Costa’s gaze with a glare. “The name’s Marcellious Demarrias,” he said, a low rumble that carried through the tavern.
His fingers drummed against the table—like a death march.
Costa curled his lips in disdain, his eyes lazily assessing Marcellious. “You look like you’ve just been dragged out of the jungle,” he drawled.
Marcellious fluttered his thick lashes. “Why, thank you.”
Costa’s expression darkened.
“And you,” Marcellious continued, voice syrupy sweet, “look like a—”
“Marcellious,” I warned, cutting him off.
Costa’s smile was all teeth—sharp, glinting, predatory. “No, no. Let him speak. I’m quite curious—what do I look like?”
Marcellious tilted his head, smirking. “Like an Italian prick. Even your accent reeks of pretense.”
The air between them crackled with unspoken threats, thick as a brewing storm.
I clenched my jaw, exhaling. Marcellious had no idea who he was provoking.
Or maybe he did.
During our travels, I had told him about the Timehunters—about Costa.
I glanced across the table at him.
A flicker of a secretive smile played at the corners of his lips.
He knew. He was toying with him.
I flexed my fingers before curling them into fists. “I’m afraid I know very little about you, Raul. I told you all about my passion for exploring and finding artifacts. Might you share something interesting about yourself?”
Costa sighed deeply and slumped into Osman’s vacant chair. “There’s not much to tell. I’m a wealthy Italian businessman.”
He grabbed Osman’s half-finished ale and downed it in a single gulp. Then, lifting his empty stein, he waved it in the air. The barmaid, ever attentive, scurried over.
“Get us all another. I’ll buy,” Costa said.
Marcellious and I drained the last of our drinks and slid our tankards toward her. Without a word, she gathered them up and hurried away.
Costa’s expression grew distant as if gazing into the past. “A long time ago, I was married,” he said, his voice quieter now. “My wife brought me great happiness. We had a beautiful child together.”
I frowned, watching him carefully.
Why was he telling us this? Was he drunk?
Costa’s scowl deepened. “Even though my wife brought me happiness… I loved someone else.”
A shadow crossed his features, his fingers tightening into fists.
“But she loved a monster.”
A chill prickled down my spine.
The only monster I knew went by the name of Balthazar.
A furrow of pain deepened between Costa’s brows. “Our son—my wife’s and mine—we lost him.” His jaw tightened. “He was killed. I loved him more than anything. I tried everything to erase the pain, but nothing worked. It was unbearable.”
The barmaid reappeared, shoving her way through the crowd. She set three fresh tankards on the table, waiting expectantly.
Costa tossed a few coins onto her tray without looking. She scooped them up and disappeared.
Lifting his mug, he took a deep swig, draining half of it in one go. Then, unexpectedly, a strangled sob tore from his throat.
“So much pain.” He swayed slightly in his seat, his eyes distant. “Losing a child is hell. You can’t understand it unless you’ve lived it.”
Didn’t I know it?
I said nothing.
“But my lover…” Costa’s gaze turned glassy. “She returned to me.”
He closed his eyes as if reliving the moment.
“She was the love of my life. I always knew she would come back. And when she did, I knew I had found a way to ease the pain of losing my son.”
His eyelids snapped open, and his piercing gaze locked onto mine.
“Do you want to know what I did?”
I blinked, masking my unease. “Of course. Marcellious and I are always up for a good story, aren’t we?”
Marcellious snorted. “We live for stories.”
Costa, lost in his world, ignored the sarcasm.
“My lover wanted to poison her child—the one she bore,” he said, his expression bending into something cruel and bitter. “I loved her. I would have given her the world. But she chose him instead.”
A vein pulsed in his neck, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
I tried to piece together his story, but something felt missing—something crucial.
“What was your paramour’s name?” I asked carefully.
Costa’s eyes narrowed, studying me.
Then, with a breath, he spoke.
“Her name was Alina.”
He let out a short, hollow laugh—void of joy, void of anything but bitter mockery.
Alina.
My hands pressed into the table, steadying myself against the fury crashing through me. He was talking about Alina.
Which meant the child she wanted to poison… was Olivia.
A murderous impulse coiled in my gut, the urge to rip Costa limb from limb nearly overpowering.
Marcellious must have noticed—I felt his subtle shake of the head—a silent warning.
I dragged in a breath, forcing my pulse to steady.
“So,” Costa continued, licking his lips like a cat savoring a freshly caught rat, “I struck a bargain with her… with Alina.”
I gritted my teeth.
“I told her,” Costa went on, his voice almost giddy with dark delight, “to give me a child, and in return, I’d help her poison her daughter.”
The world tilted.
I clenched the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turned white.
Again, Marcellious shook his head—his message clear—Not now.
I forced my jaw to unlock, my voice coming out steady despite the white-hot rage burning inside me.
“And did she oblige? Did she give you a child?”
Costa’s lips curled into a secretive smile. “Oh yes, she did. Alina bore me a son.”
My blood turned to ice.
Another sibling?
How many were there?
I flexed my hands, trying to keep them from shaking. “And where is this son today?”
Costa arched a brow as if the question amused him. “My son?”
“Yes,” I said, keeping my tone neutral despite the fire in my veins. “You just told me you and Alina had a son.”
“Oh, him.”
Costa leaned back, exhaling dramatically. Then, with a wicked smirk, he said, “I’m afraid he didn’t make it, either.”
I stilled.
His smirk widened.
“I experimented on him with my poisons,” he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I thought he was strong enough to endure, but I was wrong.”
He lifted his tankard and drained the last of his ale.
I sat frozen, reeling.
He experimented on his son.
For what?
To punish Alina for having a child with another man? To prove something? Or just because he could?
The sickness coiled in my gut, a seething, unbearable disgust.
Costa was beyond a monster.
He was a disease wrapped in human skin.
“Speaking of poison,” Costa mused, swirling the dregs of his ale. “You recall how Count Montego and I spoke of the Timeborne and my exclusive society?”
“Vaguely,” I said, still reeling from the revelation that not only had he been Alina’s lover, but he had experimented on their child.
His child.
“Why don’t you join us?” Costa said, beaming like a salesman peddling fine silk instead of death. “An explorer such as yourself must find himself in all parts of the world. You could be a tremendous asset to the organization.”
“Not if it involves poisoning the people I love.” My ale churned like bile in my stomach.
“Oh, that.” Costa waved a dismissive hand as if erasing a speck of dust. “I must master the craft—understanding plants’ properties, refining poisons’ art. A noble pursuit.”
Then, with no transition, his face darkened. “Alina left me.” His jaw tightened. “She abandoned me with our son.”
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a bitter rasp. “She promised she would stay. That she’d help me raise him. But she vanished, leaving me to deal with a child alone. What was I supposed to do?” His lips curled. “I needed to experiment on someone… and Angelo was available.”
My breath caught.
Angelo.
Costa leaned back with a cruel smile. “In the end, Alina got what she deserved. Her monster of a lover killed her ruthlessly.”
My stomach twisted.
He wasn’t just psychotic. He was something far worse.
“I don’t want to be a part of your society,” I said, shoving my chair back. I’d heard enough. Too much. “Well, it’s been a pleasure running into you. I wish you the best of luck in your quest for gold.”
I stood and extended my hand out of politeness—or maybe to see if he would take it.
Costa blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Where are you going? I thought we were having a pleasant conversation.”
“Be that as it may,” I said, retracting my hand, “I have a wife at home. We both do.”
I nodded toward Marcellious.
Costa’s expression turned playful, almost angelic, making the filth that spilled from his mouth all the more vile.
“Ah, yes, your beautiful wife, Olivia. A shame threesomes aren’t in vogue these days, or we could have a fine romp.” He tilted his head, studying me with mock innocence. “Unless, of course, you’d like to arrange something… discreet.” He smirked. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
A low, wicked chuckle rumbled from his throat.
“Not in a million years,” I said, suppressing the urge to break him.
I shot a glance at Marcellious. “Shall we?”
Marcellious pushed to his feet, eager to leave this wretched conversation behind.
But an icy chill cascaded down my spine before we could take a step.
Something was wrong.
I looked toward the entrance.
Two figures stepped inside, their presence suffocating the room like death descending over a battlefield.
Balthazar.
Tristan.
They prowled forward, their eyes fixed on us.
Marcellious stiffened beside me.
“Fuck,” he muttered, stepping back between two drunken patrons as if their presence could shield him.
Balthazar’s eyes locked onto Costa and me, his mouth curving into a dangerous smile.
“My, my, my,” he crooned, his voice honeyed with malice. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Then his gaze floated past me, landing on Marcellious.
The moment stretched, thick as blood.
And then—
“You!”
The tavern went silent as Balthazar’s voice turned to a venomous hiss.
His expression twisted with fury.
“You fucking bastard.”
The air turned electric with his rage.
“You little bitch.”
Patrons froze in place, watching the unfolding scene with wary curiosity.
Balthazar’s hand clenched at his side, fingers twitching as if itching to wrap around Marcellious’ throat.
“You fucking betrayed me.”