Chapter 19 #3
“Is that what she told you?” Phineas laughs. “You poor bastard. She’s playing you, just like she played me. It’s what she does. The helpless victim act is just foreplay for her.”
Owen mutters a warning, but it’s background noise now.
“She’ll get bored with you too,” Phineas continues. “Especially since you’ve dragged that mousy little sandwich girl into your bed. What’s her name? Grace? So desperate for attention, she’ll let anyone fuck her.”
The red haze descends before I can stop it. Two long strides and I’m on him, fist connecting with his jaw, chair tipping backward with the force. I catch it before it falls, keeping him upright, my face inches from his.
“Say her name again,” I growl. “I fucking dare you.”
Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. He spits, a pink glob landing on the concrete floor. “Which one? The frigid wife or the desperate whore?”
My fist connects again, harder this time. Something cracks, his nose, or my knuckle, I don’t care which. I grab his throat, squeezing just enough to restrict air without cutting it off completely.
“Listen carefully,” I say, voice deadly quiet.
“If anything else happens to either of them, if they get so much as a paper cut, I will make you beg for death. I will take you apart piece by piece, and I will keep you alive through all of it. And if Liliana wants to, I’ll let her fucking watch as I drain the life out of you. Do you understand me?”
Phineas wheezes, eyes watering, but his bloody smile doesn’t fade. “Perfectly.”
Hands grip my shoulders, pulling me back. Owen’s voice cuts through the rage. “Victor. Enough.”
I release Phineas’s throat, stepping back. My knuckles throb, skin split, and bleeding.
“We’re done here,” Matteo says. “For now.”
Phineas coughs, sucking in air. “You should ask her about the scars on her inner thighs,” he calls after us. “The ones she gave herself. Ask her why she did it only after we fought. Ask her about the games she likes to play.”
I make a move to turn back, but Owen’s grip on my arm tightens. “Don’t. It’s what he wants.”
We walk toward the exit, Phineas’s voice following us. “You think you know her, Serrano? You don’t know shit. She’ll destroy you like she tried to destroy me. It’s what she does.”
The metal door clangs shut behind us, cutting off his words.
The security guards eye my bloodied hand but say nothing as we walk past. Owen hands me a handkerchief without comment.
“He’s lying,” I say, wrapping the cloth around my knuckles. “About Lili.”
Owen nods. “Of course he is. It’s what abusers do, twist the narrative, make their victims seem unstable.”
“He didn’t react to Harper’s name,” Matteo notes. “Not even a flicker of recognition.”
“No,” Owen agrees. “That might be genuine. Or he’s a better actor than we thought.”
I flex my injured hand, pain centering me. “The fact that he knew Grace’s name and that I’m sleeping with both women is unsettling. He’s playing games. Trying to get under our skin.”
“And succeeding,” Matteo says pointedly.
I don’t argue the point. He’s right. I lost control exactly as Phineas wanted.
“The main question remains,” Owen says as we reach the edge of the property. “If he’s not behind Harper’s overdose, who is? And what was he implying about someone setting him up? My baseline analytics say he was at least partially telling the truth there.”
“Misdirection,” I say. “He’s trying to turn us against each other.”
Matteo doesn’t look convinced. “Perhaps. Or there’s something bigger happening that we’re not seeing. Perhaps he’s not the head of the snake like we thought.”
We walk in silence toward the car, each lost in our own thoughts.
I lean against the hood of the car, unwrapping Owen’s handkerchief to examine my split knuckles.
The skin is already swelling, blood seeping from the cracks where Phineas’s teeth cut into me.
Worth it. Completely worth it. I flex my fingers, testing the damage.
Nothing broken, just bruised. Unlike Phineas’s face.
“That went well,” Owen says dryly, opening the trunk and pulling out a first-aid kit.
Matteo stands a few feet away, phone in hand, presumably updating Luke on our progress. His expression is neutral, professional, but the tension in his shoulders tells me he’s not happy with how things played out.
“He was pushing my buttons,” I say, not quite an apology.
“That was the point.” Owen takes my hand without asking, cleaning the wounds with an antiseptic wipe that stings like hell. “And you let him succeed.”
I don’t pull away, letting the pain sharpen my focus. “Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if he’d talked about Bellamy like that.”
Owen’s hands pause briefly before continuing their methodical work. “I’d have wanted to. But I’d like to think I’d have controlled myself.”
“Liar,” I say, but there’s no heat in it. “You almost beat the shit out of Tobias over her, and he wasn’t even your enemy or trying to hurt her.”
Matteo rejoins us, tucking his phone away. “Luke says everything’s quiet at the club. Carter has the place locked down tight.”
“Good.” I watch as Owen wraps gauze around my knuckles, securing it with medical tape. “What’s your assessment of our friend in there?”
Matteo considers the question. “He’s deflecting. Trying to buy time. But for what, I’m not sure.”
“Agreed,” Owen says, packing away the first-aid supplies. “He’s waiting for something, or someone. That comment about being set up is interesting.”
“Bullshit designed to create doubt,” I argue. “We have him dead to rights on the kidnapping alone.”
“True,” Matteo acknowledges. “But we didn’t get much about the broader picture. Who else is involved, why they’re targeting us specifically.”
I flex my bandaged hand, testing Owen’s handiwork. “So, we go back in. Different approach.”
“Not today,” Owen says firmly. “He’s expecting it now. We let him stew again, and come back when he’s had more time to think about his situation.”
The desert sun beats down on us, the temperature rising with the morning. In the distance, the city shimmers like a mirage, deceptively peaceful.
“We need to talk about what happens next,” Matteo says carefully. “After we get the information we need.”
I straighten, meeting his gaze directly. “Nothing’s changed. He doesn’t walk away from this.”
“Victor…”
“No.” My voice hardens. “This isn’t up for debate, Matteo. Turning him over to the police isn’t an option. Not anymore. He has too many connections, too much influence. He’d be out before the paperwork was filed.”
Owen leans against the car beside me. “And killing him? That’s your solution?”
“Yes.” The simplicity of it feels right. Clean. “He tried to kill Lili. Trinity is in a wheelchair because of him. He threatened Grace. Those aren’t things I can forgive or forget.”
“It’s not about forgiveness,” Matteo argues. “It’s about smart business. We’ve worked for years to build legitimate operations, to minimize the risk to ourselves and our people. This kind of action…”
“Is exactly what’s needed,” I cut him off. “Sometimes the only way to end a threat is permanently.”
Matteo doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes search mine, looking for something, doubt, perhaps, or willingness to compromise. He finds neither.
“We should take this discussion back to the others,” he says finally. “This affects all of us.”
“Agreed,” Owen says, stepping between us. “Let’s table it for now. We need to get back to the club, check on the women, see if there’s any update on Harper.”
I nod, accepting the temporary ceasefire. “Fine. But my position won’t change.”
Matteo’s lips press into a thin line. He doesn’t argue further, but the subtle shift in his posture tells me everything I need to know. This conversation isn’t over, it’s just postponed.
We climb into the car, Matteo taking the wheel again. The silence is different now, charged with unresolved tension. Owen busies himself with his tablet, likely updating security protocols or reviewing surveillance footage.
My mind drifts to Lili and Grace, waiting for us back at the club. For Lili’s sake, I should let the legal system handle Phineas. A public trial, exposure of his crimes, the validation of her suffering. The closure she deserves.
But for Grace’s safety, for both their safety, he needs to disappear. Permanently. No loose ends, no chance of revenge or retaliation.
“We should update Hunter,” Owen says, breaking the silence. “He’ll want details.”
“You handle that,” I say. “I need to check on the girls.”
Matteo catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “And Harper? What’s our plan there?”
“We find out who drugged her,” I answer. “And why. If it wasn’t Phineas, someone else got to her. Someone inside our perimeter. Owen is digging through the security footage as fast as he can.”
The implications hang heavy in the air. A traitor in our midst. Someone we trusted enough to let close to our operations, our people.
“One problem at a time,” Owen advises, though his furrowed brow betrays his concern.
I turn to look out the window as we merge onto the highway back toward the heart of Las Vegas.
The city rises from the desert like a fortress, glittering and deceptive.
Somewhere in that maze of lights and shadows are the answers we need.
The people behind the threats. The next move in a game I’m only beginning to understand.
But one thing is absolutely clear, Phineas Draven’s fate is sealed. He just doesn’t know it yet.