25. Reth #3
"At first I thought Valeria and I were on the same page where Sophia was concerned." He glances back at me, just briefly. "We weren't. I understood that quickly. For me, Sophia was an anchor. The thing that would finally make you reachable. Make you capable of choosing freely."
I narrow my eyes. “Choosing what freely?”
“Me.”
I scoff. “I would never choose to be your fucking weapon.”
He glances at me. “Love and revenge are the two greatest motivators.”
“You thought if you let me keep her and hand over Valeria I’d what? Pledge my undying loyalty to you?”
He doesn’t reply. Merely smiles, which is reply enough.
Then he gazes back out the window. "It didn’t take long for me to realize that for Valeria it became something else entirely.
It stopped being about the weapon, the asset.
" He looks at me directly. "It became about the man.
And my wife's obsession with owning him. "
A chill runs down my spine. Flashes of her in that cell with me, her voice coming from the hole in Mary’s throat. I clench my fist, think about the woman waiting for me upstairs. The only anchor I need. The one who keeps me in the present.
I clear my throat. "So you decided your wife is dispensable?”
"When she killed Mary, yes." Flat. Plain.
"Not because Mary's death was the moral line.
Because Valeria killing Mary told me she'd lost the thread entirely.
She was no longer operating strategically.
She was operating from jealousy. From possessiveness.
And a woman operating from those things becomes unpredictable in ways that are expensive for everyone around her.
" He turns from the window. "She damaged you beyond what was useful.
She created a situation that was attracting attention we couldn't contain.
And she did it because she couldn't stand the idea of you choosing something she didn't give you. So I put a stop to it."
“When it suited you,” I remark.
"Yes." No hesitation. No apology. "When it suited me and when it was the right thing to do simultaneously.
Those two things were true at the same time.
They've been true at the same time about most of my decisions where you're concerned.
" He looks at me steadily. "I'm not asking you to forgive the calculation.
I'm asking you to consider that the calculation and the caring were never mutually exclusive. "
Ian makes a sound. Low. Disgusted.
"Something to add?" Rowan glares at him.
"Just admiring how you can make thirteen years of using a person sound almost reasonable when you put it in the right order."
Rowan’s expression doesn’t change. He simply leans back slightly, fingers steepled, regarding Ian with the clinical detachment of a man examining a specimen under glass. “Sentiment is a waste of time and oxygen. It clouds judgment, weakens resolve, and accomplishes nothing.”
“And it makes you a dick.” Ian crosses his arms, challenging. “A small dick, though, ’cause only a man compensating that hard needs to break a kid just to feel like he’s got a big swinging pair.”
Rowan stares at him unblinking. “Charming.”
Ian flashes a bright, shit-eating grin. “Thanks. I do try. Though I gotta say, for a guy with such refined taste in suits, your personality’s still off-the-rack. Basic. Cheap. Slightly itchy.”
I look at Rowan. At the man who found me bleeding on a floor when I was fourteen, who made a calculation and a choice and has been running both ever since.
Every word, every calculated pause, every “gift” he laid on the table has been positioned like a chess piece over years—decades, maybe—to put Valeria in checkmate.
Remove her leverage. And take her family empire.
I start clapping, rhythmic, empty, taunting.
“Bravo,” I mock. “I got to give it to you, you play an enormous game, Rowan. Marrying a woman for her family's power, waiting with the infinite patience of someone who knew she’d destroy it eventually. And now you’re handing her to me because you no longer have use for her. ”
Rowan steps up to me, eyes fixed on mine. “My wife’s obsession with you made her a liability, and she is no longer of any use to me.”
“What’s the deal, Rowan?” I cross my arms, widen my stance.
He smirks, all-knowing, glances at the piece of paper, at Ian, and then back to me.
"You and I have reached the end of the line.
" His eyes hold mine one last time, and for just a second—just one—something moves behind them that isn't calculation, but awe.
Pride, even. "I built something remarkable and am content to leave it standing. "
With that, Rowan walks toward the front door. He stops at the threshold, one hand resting on the frame, and turns back to face me. His expression is calm, almost contemplative, as if he’s savoring the final moment.
“I’ve waited a long time for you to become dangerous enough to be worth saving.”
The words settle between us like a blade laid on the table, and I watch him leave, every instinct in me firing, crackling, knowing that tonight…was the last time I’ll ever see Rowan Capello.