Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aric
My men shove Luca into the underground room. He crashes into the metal chair bolted to the concrete. The impact rattles through the floor. His wrists already cuffed behind him, his cheek split from when he decided to grow a spine too late.
I circle him, slow and measured, my boots echoing against concrete like a countdown he can hear but can’t stop.
Eero lingers against the wall, arms crossed. Tassilo stands by the door like a demon wearing human skin.
Luca tries to lift his chin when I stop in front of him. His jaw shakes despite the effort.
“So.” I let the silence stretch. “You came all this way.”
His throat works. “For Ayanna.”
“Not a smart reason.” My head tilts. “But at least you’re honest.”
I drag a chair forward and sit across from him. I rest my elbows on my knees, my posture almost casual. Calculated calm has always scared men more than shouting.
“You arranged the shooting.”
He swallows. “I did it to free her—”
“No.” I cut him off. “You did it because you couldn’t stand the idea of her with another man. You couldn’t stomach someone else owning what you lost.”
His lips part, but I don’t let him speak.
“You came to my wedding. You breached my home. You brought a gunman into my territory.” I lean closer. “And then you put my wife in danger.” My voice drops. “That’s what ends you.”
“Ayanna wasn’t supposed to get hurt—”
“She could’ve died.” The words cut deeper than I care to admit. “I’ve buried men for less.”
“I swear, the shot wasn’t for her—”
“It was meant for me.” I ease back against the chair. “Yes. I know.”
His jaw sets, and something desperate flickers behind his eyes. “I love her.”
“She’s not yours to love.” The sentence leaves my mouth sounding far more territorial than I intended. Eero’s gaze snaps to me, but I ignore him.
Luca shakes his head as he hisses through clenching teeth. “She doesn’t belong here. She’s not like you. She’s not built for this world.”
“You’re right. She’s not.” I rest my elbows on my knees again and clasp my hands. “But this world bends for what’s mine.” My neck cranes. “And she is mine.”
Something snaps in him, and his desperation curdles into rage.
“Fuck!” He spits the word like venom. “If only the shooter had killed you, she’d come home with me.”
A ghost of a smile crosses my face. “The man you hired to kill me.” My eyes dart between his. “We caught him.”
Luca goes pale. The kind of pale that means he’s doing the math.
“He didn’t talk. Not even after we gave him every reason to.” I pause, letting his imagination do the work for me. “Either he didn’t know who sent him or his loyalty outlasted his body. Either way, he’s no longer breathing.”
His throat bobs. I watch the realization settle behind his eyes. If a trained killer couldn’t survive my methods, what chance does he have?
Tassilo steps forward, ready to crack Luca’s skull on my signal. I lift a hand.
Not yet.
“Tell me who helped you breach my home.”
Luca hesitates, and I settle back in my chair, my tone cool, laced with indifference. “Hesitate again, and I’ll make you pray for the bullet.”
Tassilo wheels a metal table between us. A neat arrangement of gleaming steel, each instrument crafted to keep a body alive long enough to beg for death.
I don’t glance at them. My eyes never leave Luca’s face.
“Someone gave you access. Routes. Timings. Gates.” I cock my head. “Who?”
Sweat beads along his hairline. His breathing turns shallow. His jaw locks. For a man raised among diplomats and royalty, he’s lasted longer than I expected. I’ll give him that much.
“I don’t need you to talk.” I rest my hand on the cold handle of a bone saw. “I have ways of finding answers without your cooperation.”
An involuntary wail escapes his mouth, his legs bouncing uncontrollably.
“You know why they call me the Viking?” My thumb idly traces the serrated teeth, and his eyes track the motion. “Not because I’m Scandinavian or because I like axes. But because my reputation isn’t based on killing people. It’s built on making examples.”
“Examples?” He’s shaking so hard he struggles to breathe.
“You see, the Vikings understood something most men don’t. The dead can’t spread fear. The living can.”
People don’t remember the Vikings because they killed. They’re remembered because the Vikings made an example, left living warnings. Left men alive long enough for everyone else to understand the cost of betrayal, and fear has always been more useful than corpses. Death is quick. Fear lasts.
“You’re a sick sadist!” he hisses. His fists clench, but fear tightens everything else.
“I’m not.” My fingers drum on the metal table, almost absentmindedly. “I’m a strategist, Luca.”
If I enjoyed this, I’d be a sadist. I don’t. I simply understand fear. Even brutality serves a purpose.
“So tell me…” I lean forward, lacing my fingers together. “Should I make an example out of you?”
He breaks, and the tears come all at once. His head bows as though whatever hope he had drains away. Only now does he realize he’s chosen the wrong man to cross.
“Last chance.”
“Please, wait—” His resistance collapses. He lifts his head, and his bloodshot eyes dart to mine, pleading.
“Names.”
“Domenico.” His voice shatters as he blurts so fast I barely catch the name. “It was Domenico Conti.”
The room stills. Eero straightens. Tassilo looks at me like he knows the havoc it unleashed inside me, but I show none of it. No spike in my pulse. No change in rhythm. But internally, something goes off like a controlled explosion.
Domenico isn’t just a traitor. He’s proximity. To Chiara. To the past I’ve cut to avoid collateral. If he orchestrated this breach, Chiara’s either in danger…or already part of the equation.
“And what happens now?” Luca whimpers.
I rise, the stitches pulling tight as I straighten my jacket.
“You don’t die.” I regard him with the same detachment I’d reserve for a body on a slab. “Death is a mercy. You haven’t earned it.”