Fourteen
Zagan
Noir Vault is no place for the weak, nor is it for the merely wealthy.
This casino? It's a den of monsters, hungry for blood, cloaked in the skins of rich men and powerful leaders. Their claws stay sheathed when they’re out in the world, but here, they indulge freely in their vices, bartering power for secrets, for leverage over one another.
After a certain point, money isn’t the thing that makes a man powerful anymore. It’s information. Leverage. Favours owed to you and only you. That’s what separates the men who make it from the men who end up dead.
Noir Vault’s exclusivity has a price: entry isn’t for the faint-hearted. Every guest knows the rules because they know they’re being watched by someone worse than themselves. The thought keeps them in line.
There’s no space for innocence here—nothing pure, nothing fragile. Which is why she sticks out like a sore fucking thumb.
She's sitting on a barstool, cupping a hot drink the bartender must have served her. Her cheeks are pink, and the tip of her nose, too. Her big, innocent eyes watch Eero as he fills her in with whatever story he’s dredged up, and she listens, actually listens.
I never see that. It’s rare enough to find Eero socialising, but for him to voluntarily stick around and talk? That's damn near impossible. This time, he offered before I could even give him a reason. Maybe he thought he was doing me a favour by babysitting her.
It’s good.
Better for me.
Because when Ara’s around, I’m distracted, off-balance. She’s the only woman who’s ever tested my control like this, the only one who has me fighting urges I thought I’d killed long ago.
Once, I prided myself on discipline. I wasn’t the type of man who had to dip his cock into any woman in reach. That’s for my soldiers, the ones who can’t control the monster in them. Me? I don’t play those games. I fuck to get it out of my system and then show them to the door.
I hate it when people touch me. Close proximity alone is enough to set me on edge and make me want to snap necks and get rid of every hand in sight. I’m hardly what they would call a gentleman.
But Ara? Ara is different. I don’t only want to fuck her into oblivion; I want to consume her. I want her on my bed, moaning beneath me, her skin under my teeth while I rut into her. I want to see that blush spread down her throat, over those tantalising curves. I want to hear her gasp, cry out, scream, her voice hoarse as she falls apart, as I mark her.
The thought makes me pause.
Where are these thoughts coming from? And why the hell can’t I ignore them?
I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn distract me.
I’ve got business with Dark Accord members in a few minutes, and I need my head on straight. But I can’t focus, not when she’s out there. Even inside the warmth of the casino, she still hasn’t taken off my coat.
I watched her earlier, her nose dipping to the collar, inhaling. I thought I was imagining it, but she shook her head again, like she’d caught herself. Her little mannerisms amuse me, against my better judgment. She’s downright adorable, a fawn trapped among jackals.
Adorable. I never thought I’d have something like that in my dictionary or would ever even find a use for it.
I can see the patrons eyeing her from their tables, trying to figure her out. Women come here, sure, but they’re here because they know how to play the game. It’s obvious Ara doesn’t belong, and it’s just as obvious she’s got their attention.
They won’t approach her, though, not with Eero at her side. My executioner may seem to be having his fun, but even the densest men here know he’s as dangerous as they come. It’s a rare man who’d risk crossing Eero.
Then I hear her laugh, a sound that pierces the damn soundproof walls. For the first time, I don’t mind. Her laugh seeps into my head, pushing the chaos to the edges. Her presence has this strange effect on me, both soothing and irritating, something I can’t allow myself to understand.
A knock at the door. I don’t turn. I don’t have to.
I know it’s Iblis who steps inside, barely hesitating before making his report. But he stops himself for a moment, as though he’s reading the shift in my mood.
I watch as she holds my coat closer, smiling as she drags her fingers over the material. I remember how she felt under me, small yet solid, unlike any of the women who run in my circles. She’s curvy, the kind that makes a man insane, but she’s more than that. The memory of how she felt, how ready and trusting she looked, alone has me nearly crushing my glass in my hand.
“Josephine’s here,” Iblis murmurs.
I don’t even turn.
“Not today.”
Not ever, maybe.
Josephine was my usual, someone I’d call on when I wanted no strings, but tonight, no one’s getting me hard except for the woman dangling her feet as she giggles into her cup. An image strikes me out of nowhere: Ara, on her knees, looking up at me with those wide eyes, her ravishing mouth sucking my dick, taking all of me in.
I push down a growl. No, that image isn’t leaving any time soon.
“Is this because of a certain professor?” Iblis has the nerve to ask, but I don’t answer him.
It’s been his and Eero’s game to rile me up, to get a rise out of me. They’ve never managed it, and I’ll be damned if they do now.
My gaze sharpens on her as she sits there, open and defenceless, not a hint of fear in those doe eyes of hers. Her glasses slipped down her nose, and she didn’t push them back. That’s how I know she’s relaxed, like she’s safe here. Like she doesn’t know where she is. She is still high.
She did empty a whole fucking bottle of brandy, after all. She did gain some senses, but not enough. I wish I could’ve left her on the pier, but I couldn’t. And it fucking irks me that I’m not good at controlling the urges to keep her safe whenever she is around.
I had never been a protector, only a killer. But this woman, this damn fucking woman. This feeling is new and it needs to be gone.
Eero gets closer, leaning in towards her with that cocky smile of his, and I feel a flash of something sharp, violent. His hand reaches around her shoulder, and I snap. The glass in my hand shatters. I don’t even notice the blood dripping down my wrist.
I see the light flash on the screen on my other wall and resist the urge to punch something.
Iblis murmurs something about Vessar and Morvain being on call, and I bite down the curse that rises up my throat. Damn them both. Vessar, I can tolerate. He keeps his business out of my city, at least most of the time. But Morvain? Every time he opens his mouth, he’s got something to say that makes me want to pull a gun on him, the same as I did last time. No doubt he’ll try to provoke me again.
I look over to Nico. “Break his hand if he touches her again,” I order.
Nico nods silently, disappearing out the door.
The screen hums to life, and the video chat begins. I sink back in my chair, watching as Vessar’s and Morvain’s faces fill the screen, exactly as unwelcoming as I expected. Vessar looks sharp in his usual suit, nodding with that arrogant calm he loves to pull off. But Morvain? His face is just as smug and punchable as ever.
The Dark Accord binds us all—an alliance forged decades ago to shield us from rising power and the ambitions of others. Charon Vessar's ancestors proposed it, cementing their legacy as the architects of the Accord. Morvain and Vessar are the last to hold their positions by that legacy, while the rest of us have earned our place through blood and fire.
Devlin’s name will join the ranks, and I’ll ensure it. This isn’t just a symbolic gathering of dangerous men—it’s a fortress, a web of power that strengthens all our empires. Together, we’re untouchable. Anyone foolish enough to strike at one of us declares war on all.
“We appreciate you agreeing to the meeting on such short notice,” Vessar starts, his voice dripping with politeness.
I barely acknowledge him. Axel Morvain’s face is set in something close to rage, but for once, that anger’s not directed at me. A nice change of pace, but it barely registers. Whatever’s bothering him, I couldn’t give a fuck—at least not yet.
Iblis steps back behind me. Vessar’s cold, blue-eyed glare shifts to Iblis for a second, an unspoken disapproval flashing across his face before he masks it. The man’s always had a stick up his ass about my having Iblis here in meetings. Apparently, it’s “against protocol.” But Charon can shove protocol up his pompous arse.
My command’s mine to run however I damn well please.
Amon Falkor’s image appears in a separate box at the bottom of the screen. Of the entire accord, he’s the only one I can tolerate. He’s got a way of keeping to himself, only involving only when absolutely necessary. There’s a respect in that—he’s earned his place at the table, just like me, by seizing the throne, not by inheritance.
Morvain’s complaints about “self-made men” are empty words. Both Falkor and I have more power that would leave them with losses they cannot rise from. Vessar may not like it, but he knows having us as allies is better than enemies.
“So, what’s so urgent you needed me to drop everything, Vessar?” Amon’s voice cuts through the screen, his tone making it clear he doesn’t appreciate being dragged here, either.
Axel clears his throat, his face twisted in barely concealed anger. There’s something new in his expression, though—a tension I haven’t seen in him before. It piques my curiosity, and even Iblis shifts uncomfortably beside me.
“It’s Cruxis,” Axel says through gritted teeth.
I suppress the flicker of interest that surges through me.
The memory of Cruxis lingers like an old scar. Everyone here knows what the name signifies: death, stealth, and an absurd level of skill. The kinds of people you call when all other options have failed. I remember my own short-lived intent to join them.
They were and still are a legend, practically untouchable. And I liked that. But then came Crescenzo bastards, dragging me in the opposite direction. It feels like another lifetime now. These days, I don’t need Cruxis. That door closed the second I committed to the Dark Accord.
No regrets. Cruxis now sits on the other side of my ambitions—a shadow I no longer need or want.
The fuckers keep a low profile, but whenever they show up, they leave bodies. Not just any bodies—targets that someone’s been willing to pay a hell of a lot to see dead. As far as I know, they have no allegiances, no visible ties to anything or anyone. Like phantoms, the Cruxis assassins appear, fulfil their contracts, and fade away without a trace.
“What about them?” Amon’s voice is wary, his gaze sharpening.
Axel’s eyes shift, his anger intensifying. “They killed my uncle.”
For once, I have to respect the quiet rage settling over Axel. Whatever else he is, he’s always taken family seriously, even if that family’s long been fractured and full of resentment. But to mess with a Morvain family member? Cruxis doesn’t usually play in our territory. They’re damn expensive, and I’ve always assumed they don’t cross us unless absolutely necessary.
I ask the question anyway. “Why?”
Axel’s response is reluctant. “Fuck if I know.”
Charon leans forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I received an encrypted email today.”
Amon raises a brow. “What?”
Charon straightens his suit and flicks a glance at the rest of us. “I held off mentioning it until we were all here. It appears to be from Cruxis’s in-charge.”
Axel’s face twitches, though he keeps his temper under control. Barely.
“Go on,” he snaps.
Charon gives a nod. “It’s best I forward the email to each of you.”
A moment later, my computer chimes with the new email. I open it, seeing the Cruxis emblem—the scorpion’s tail stabbing into its own head. Dark, twisted, just like I expected. My eyes skim over the message, taking in each line with growing annoyance.
To the Brothers of the Alliance,
In the aftermath of your recent loss, we offer our condolences, though we regret the circumstances that necessitate this message. The death of Lev Morvain has undoubtedly stirred the waters, and clarity must be brought to the situation.
It has come to our attention that Cruxis has been implicated in this affair. There is truth to your suspicions, though not in the way you might believe. Two of our own have severed ties and pursued their own interests. Cruxis, as an organization, does not operate on individual whims, nor do we sanction rogue actions. Let it be understood: the assassination of Lev Morvain was not the will of Cruxis.
In light of this, we extend a word of caution. The individuals responsible are among the most formidable in our ranks. Engaging them will require more than mere skill; it will demand precision, patience, and wisdom. Their motives remain unknown to us, and we will not involve ourselves in their hunt.
This is as much as we can offer. Proceed carefully.
A spike of fury hits as I finish reading. Typical Cruxis—washing their hands clean. They don’t give a damn who they’re selling this to or what damage they cause. They claim neutrality, but they’re cowards hiding behind encrypted messages, letting rogues run wild in our cities.
“Despite one of them screwing us over, they offer no real help,” Axel hisses, his eyes blazing.
“They weren’t offering assistance. This is diplomacy, meant to keep them safe from our retaliation.” Amon cuts in, his voice cool and measured.
“Why would they risk our wrath and let go of the only safe they have?” Iblis mutters, more to himself than anyone else talking about the rouge assassins.
Charon tilts his head. “They’re looking for something. Something important enough to risk our attention.”
“If Cruxis warns us to back off, then we’re looking at highly trained bastards who aren’t going to be easy to catch,” Amon shakes his head.
“What were the deals your uncle was involved in that might come back to bite his ass, Morvain?” I look at Axel.
Despite his wanting to rage, Axel grits his teeth. Even his crazy head understands that my question is a valid one.
“Nothing that would gain the attention of a fucking assassin,” he grits out.
“It’s best to look into it all the same,” I say. “Before any of us incurs more losses.”
Axel gives a tight nod. Just then, I hear the faint buzz behind me—a message that puts Iblis on edge, his entire posture going rigid.
“What is it?” I snap.
“Victor suspects they might be in Besall.”
His words hit me like a blow, though I keep my expression impassive.
“They’re in my territory?”
Iblis nods, his voice steady.
“One of our men found a shipment—advanced weapons, Cruxis-made.”
I hear collective curses behind me from the screen while I rein in the rampant beast that wants to paint the streets red with the blood of assholes who snuck into my territory. With an intent of carnage and upheaval in my city. Locking this cargo would do shit because they wouldn’t be stupid enough not to carry enough. If I’m not wrong, this must be only one of the many they have procured.
“I’ll send over my men,”
I turn to pin Charon with a withering glare. One that makes even grown men run with their tails tucked between their legs. Charon does stop whatever the fuck he thought to do, looks at the screen and clears his throat under my glare.
“I can look after my own, Vessar,” I growl.
“Of course.” Charon nods.
I don’t care if Vessar’s family is the one who forged the alliance and he thinks he is some sort of prince here. It is a hit on my pride that they would think I cannot find two measly fucking assassins. Even if they happen to be the best of the best. If they’re here, they’ll die here.
“I’ll get back to you after looking through Lev’s deals,” Axel says.
I nod.
“If that is all,”
Amon is the first to leave, followed by the other two. As the screen goes blank, Iblis sinks into the chair opposite me, his face pulled tight with wariness. He knows as well as I do that tracking down these assassins isn’t going to be simple.
This isn’t just another mess that we can clean up with brute force. No, these bastards will be crafty—the kind who could crawl into your city, hiding in the shadows, and no one would be any the wiser. They blend in, pretending to be your friendly neighbour, flirty stranger or even fucking pope, and no one would know. And with elections coming up, Berrett will lose his shit. One wrong move, and it’ll be all over the damn city.
I pace toward the glass wall overlooking the casino floor, my fists clenching as I stare down at the pulse of my territory. Knowing someone has breached my city is one thing, but the idea of them squatting here, plotting in the dark, brings an itch to my skin that I can't scratch.
It hasn’t been long since I took the throne, and every idiot in this country who’s stupid enough to think they have a shot at it is watching, waiting for a chance to strike. Squashing the competition isn’t hard—it’s the constant drain of manpower, and resources, the tiresome grind that I want to avoid.
I glance down, and my irritation heightens, twisting into something darker.
Ara’s down there in front of the roulette wheel, holding my coat with a slight, wicked smile on her face as she sits beside Eero. Nico’s there, too, leaning over her with the kind of rare interest he usually reserves for silent threats.
She leans close to Eero, whispering something in his ear that makes him grin. They place their bets, and Ara pushes all his chips onto three slots. Eero’s eyes nearly pop as he watches her gamble his entire stack.
“Eero’s going to hate her if he loses. He’s a sore loser.” Iblis chuckles.
The handler moves quickly, closing the bets before Eero can pull back his chips. I see Eero glare at the handler, but Ara swats his hand away and frowns. They’re close—too close—and I can feel the irrational possessive anger burning low in my chest.
She’s wearing those damn glasses, pushing them up as she watches the wheel spin, her gaze intent. I know if she were in her right mind, she’d never even step foot in this casino. But tonight, she’s here. And she’s winning. I can almost hear the triumphant roar as the ball clatters to a halt on one of her chosen numbers.
Ara’s on her feet, clapping her hands and laughing, her joy echoing like music that makes me grit my teeth. Eero reaches to hug her, and just before he does, Nico yanks him back by his collar, putting himself between the two. Ara turns to Nico with a wide smile and goes to hug him, throwing her arms around his rigid shoulders like she’s allowed to.
And that’s it.
That’s when the growl rips from me, loud enough that even Iblis flinches.
I don’t care who she’s with—Eero, Nico, or anyone else down there. I’ve had enough of her being passed around like some toy. So many fuckers have tainted the air around her. My patience is gone, as I throw open the door, red flashing hot and bright before my eyes.