Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Idon't remember leaving the medical wing.
One moment I'm standing in that room, her words echoing through me. The next I'm in the east corridor, then the north wing, then somewhere else entirely, moving through my own compound without direction or purpose, just the desperate need to be elsewhere.
You told me about Luciano. How he controlled you, used you, treated you like property. You told me that, and then you turned around and did the same thing to me.
My legs carry me to the training room.
I don't realize where I'm going until I'm there, standing in the doorway, staring at the mats where I first tested her. Where she moved with that fierce precision, adapting to my attacks, refusing to be intimidated by my age or power. Where I first understood that she was something extraordinary.
The room is empty now. Silent. But I can see her everywhere, ducking under my strike, countering with that sharp elbow, the flash of satisfaction in her eyes when she almost took me down.
I walk to the center of the mats and stop.
My hands are shaking. I notice it distantly, the way you notice weather through a window. A fine tremor that starts in my fingers and radiates up through my arms. I curl them into fists, but it doesn't help.
I am not your property. I am not yours to command.
Her voice. But underneath it, another voice. Older. Colder.
You belong to me now, Massimo. Every choice you make, I allow.
The memory slices through me without warning. Not a gradual recollection but a violent intrusion, Luciano's face swimming up from the depths where I've buried it, his cold smile, his elegant hands that could break bones without effort.
I start pacing. Can't stop.
The training room is large, but it feels too small. I walk the perimeter like a caged animal, my footsteps silent on the mats, my mind churning through fragments I've spent centuries trying to forget.
A stone room. Chains on my wrists. Luciano circling me slowly, explaining in that patient, reasonable voice why I needed to submit.
"I'm not punishing you, Massimo. I'm teaching you. You'll thank me eventually. They all do."
I pace faster.
My foot catches the edge of a mat, and I stumble. Catch myself against the wall. Stay there, palm flat against the cool surface, breathing hard despite not needing air.
How long have I been in here? Minutes? Hours? The compound is silent around me, the deep silence of late night.
"You're learning," Luciano said, after I stopped fighting.
After I'd been broken so thoroughly I couldn't remember what defiance felt like.
"This is what caring gets you. Weapons to be used against you.
Weaknesses to be exploited. Love is a leash, Massimo.
The sooner you accept that, the less you'll suffer. "
Massimo. A name I haven’t heard in centuries since I’d chosen a more modern version of my name.
I push off from the wall and resume pacing. The shaking has spread from my hands to my whole body now, a fine vibration, like I'm coming apart at the seams.
I trusted her with that story. Trusted her with the worst thing that ever happened to me. And then I proved myself no better than the monster I described.
It's not optional.
My own words, less than an hour ago.
You don't have to ask. It's not optional.
You belong to me now. Every choice you make, I allow.
The parallel is so clear I don't know how I missed it. The same assumption underneath both statements: I know better than you. Your autonomy is mine to grant or revoke. Submit, and I'll call it protection.
I've become him.
The realization buckles my knees. I sink onto the mat, head in my hands.
"Maximus?"
The voice comes from the doorway. I jerk upright, instinctively reaching for composure, for the mask I've worn so long it feels like my real face.
Marcellus stands at the threshold, his expression shifting from concern to alarm as he takes in whatever he sees on my face.
"I've been looking for you for two hours," he says carefully. "You weren't in your study. Weren't answering comms."
Two hours. I've been in here for two hours.
"I'm fine," I say, and my voice comes out rough. Scraped raw.
"You're not." He steps into the room, moving slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. "What happened with Celeste?"
I laugh, and the sound is hollow. "She told me the truth. I didn't want to hear it."
He stops a few feet away, close enough to talk but not crowding. He knows me well enough for that.
"What truth?"
"That I've been treating her the way Luciano treated me." The words come out flat. Dead. "Control disguised as protection. Choices taken away for her own good. The same justifications, the same assumptions, just wrapped in prettier language."
Marcellus is quiet for a long moment. I can feel him studying me, assessing the damage.
"She said that?"
"She didn't have to say it in those exact words. She compared me to him. Said I told her about what he did, then turned around and did the same thing." I stare at my hands, still trembling. "She's right."
"Maximus."
"She's right, Marcellus. I benched her because I was afraid of losing her. I took away her autonomy because my fear mattered more to me than her choices. That's exactly what he did. Exactly. I've become him."
Marcellus is quiet for a moment. "No. You haven't."
I look up sharply.
"Luciano enslaved you for a hundred and fifty years," he says. "Tortured you. Forced you to do unspeakable things. You benched a woman from field duty because you were scared for her safety." His voice is flat, unsparing. "Those aren't the same, and calling them the same insults what you survived."
"But the pattern."
"The pattern is there," he agrees. "You took her choices.
Used protection as justification. That's real, and it's a problem.
But you're not a monster for being afraid.
You're a man who learned the wrong lessons from his trauma and is applying them badly.
" He holds my gaze. "The question isn't whether you're Luciano.
You're not. The question is whether you're going to keep repeating the one part of him that stuck. "
I let his words wash over me, weighing them.
"What are you going to do?" he finally asks.
"I don't know." I drag my hands through my hair. "Words won't fix this. I already apologized for the bait situation, and then I made it worse. Another apology would be meaningless."
"So don't apologize. Do something."
I look up at him. "What?"
"You took something from her. Give it back." He crosses his arms. "Not with words. With action. Reinstate her field status. Give her the access you've been withholding. Show her you meant what you said about respecting her choices."
"And if she doesn't believe me? If she thinks it's just another manipulation?"
"Then you keep proving it. Day after day, choice after choice, until she sees the pattern change." He pauses. "Or you give up and let her go. Those are your options."
The thought of letting her go sends a spike of pain through my chest.
"I can't." I stop. Start again. "I don't want to lose her."
"Then stop holding on so tight you crush her." His voice softens slightly. "I've watched you for two centuries. I've seen you control everything around you because control feels safe. But control isn't love, Maximus. It's fear wearing a mask. And she sees through it."
Before I can respond, his comm unit buzzes. He glances at it, and his expression hardens.
"What?" I ask.
"Konstantin. His people hit the Decatur supply depot twenty minutes ago. Burned it to the ground. No casualties, the staff evacuated in time, but we lost the entire stock."
The Decatur depot. One of our secondary distribution points. A significant loss, but not crippling.
But the timing, while I've been in here falling apart, Konstantin has been moving.
"He's testing us," I say, my mind shifting gears despite itself. The strategic part of my brain waking up, analyzing patterns. "Probing our defenses while we're distracted."
His people who escaped will have reported back by now. He knows we're destabilized.
"Or he's just opportunistic." I stand, muscle memory taking over even as the rest of me still feels shattered. "What's our response capability?"
"Julian is still recovering. I can mobilize a team, but if we retaliate tonight, we're doing it short-handed."
The old instinct surges, take control, make decisions, issue orders. Keep everything locked down tight so nothing else can hurt me.
But that's the same instinct that made me bench Celeste. The same fear dressed up as strategy.
"Don't retaliate tonight," I say. "Secure our remaining assets, increase patrols, but don't engage. I want a full assessment before we act."
Marcellus raises an eyebrow. "That's... measured. For you."
"I'm trying something new."
He studies me for a moment, then nods. "I'll coordinate the response. But Maximus, whatever you're going to do about Celeste, do it tonight. We need everyone to be functional when Konstantin escalates. And right now, neither of you is functional."
He's right. We're compromised, both of us, and Konstantin won't wait for us to sort ourselves out.
"I know," I say. "I'm going to talk to her."
"Talk?" He sounds skeptical.
"Show her. Talk to her. Whatever it takes." I meet his eyes. "You were right. Actions, not words. I'm going to start with the security center."
The night shift guards snap to attention when I enter.
"Sir. We heard about Decatur. Marcellus has already issued…"
"I'm not here about Decatur." I move to the primary console. "I need to modify an operational restriction. Celeste Moreau. I placed her on inactive field status earlier today."
"Yes, sir. It's logged."
"Remove it. She's reinstated to full active status, effective immediately."
The guard hesitates, glancing at his colleague. "Reinstated, sir?"
"That's what I said."
His fingers move over the keyboard. "Done. She's cleared for all field operations."