Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
KAI
There was a particular kind of violence that served a purpose, and a particular kind that was just cruelty wearing a business suit.
I'd spent years telling myself I knew the difference. That every brutal act I committed fell on the right side of that line. That I was somehow better than my father because I had rules, boundaries, things I wouldn't do even when ordered.
But lately, staring at my reflection while washing someone else's blood off my hands, I wondered if that distinction was just a comfortable lie I told myself to sleep at night.
Maybe we were all monsters. Maybe some of us just had prettier justifications.
My phone rang at eight in the morning. Father's name on the screen made my jaw clench automatically.
"We have a situation." No greeting. Never a greeting. "One of the dealers in the east territory has been skimming product. Selling on the side. Big operation. Needs to be handled personally."
‘Personally’ that was a code for killing everyone.
"I'll take Marco and a few—"
"Take the girl."
My hand tightened around the phone hard enough the case creaked. "No."
"That wasn't a request, Kai. That was an order."
"She doesn't need to see—"
"She needs to fear us. Fear this family.
Understand exactly what we're capable of.
" His voice went cold. Flat. "You've been too soft with her.
Making her comfortable. That ends now. She needs to see what happens when people cross us.
She needs to understand that running would be worse than staying. "
"Father—"
"Take her with you. Make sure she has a clear view. I want her to understand completely what kind of family she's marrying into. Do I make myself clear?"
The line went dead.
I stood there, phone still pressed to my ear, trying to control the rage building in my chest.
He wanted me to traumatize her. Deliberately. Wanted me to destroy whatever fragile trust we'd built by making her watch me execute someone.
And I couldn't refuse. Couldn't tell him no without risking Lia. Without tipping my hand about how much Aria actually meant to me.
I remembered last time. The warehouse. The way she'd looked at me after I'd shot that dealer in the leg. Horror. Disgust. Fear.
And I was about to make it infinitely worse.
I stood outside Aria's door for a full minute, hand raised to knock, trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to say.
Hey, want to come watch me execute someone? It'll be fun.
Jesus Christ.
I knocked. Heard her call out for me to come in.
She was sitting by the window, sketchbook in her lap, pencil moving across paper in quick, confident strokes. Sunlight caught in her dark hair, made her skin glow. She looked up when I entered and smiled—that real smile that made something in my chest ache.
"Hey. I was just thinking about you." She turned the sketchbook to show me. A rough sketch of the garden, perfect and beautiful. Just like her.
"What do you think? I'm trying to capture how the light hits the roses in the afternoon but—"
She stopped. Must have seen something in my face.
"What's wrong?"
Everything. Everything was wrong.
"You need to get dressed. Something you don't mind getting dirty. We're leaving in twenty minutes."
I used the exact words I did last time because I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I was going to traumatize her again. She understood as her eyes widened in fear.
Actual fear.
The smile faded. "Leaving? Where?"
"I have business to handle. You're coming with me."
"Kai, no. Not after last time. I don't want to see—"
"This isn't optional." The words came out harsher than I intended. "You need to understand what that means. What this life actually is."
She stood, crossing her arms. "I understand plenty from last time. I don't need to see more people get hurt—"
"Yes, you do."
God, I didn't want this. Didn't want her to see me like this again. Didn't want to watch the light in her eyes die a little more.
But I had no choice. None at all.
"I already know what kind of family I'm marrying into, Kai. I know the evil that exists here. I've seen enough."
Her words hit like physical blows. The casual way she said evil. Like she'd already categorized me. Already decided what I was.
It hurt more than I wanted to admit. More than I'd ever let show.
"You think you know." I kept my voice level. "But you don't. Not really. And stubborn as you're being about this—which is actually kind of cute—it doesn't change the facts. You're coming with me."
"Cute? You think this is cute?" But I saw color flood her cheeks. Saw the way her pupils dilated slightly.
"Yeah. You get this little wrinkle right here—" I tapped between her eyebrows. "—when you're being difficult. It's adorable."
"I am not being difficult, I'm being reasonable—"
"This is the last time." The words came out quieter. More honest than I intended. "I promise. This is the last time I'll ask you to witness this shit. But it's my father's order. He wants you there. And I can't refuse him without—" I stopped. Couldn't finish that sentence. "Please."
Something in her expression shifted. Softened. She uncrossed her arms.
"Well. Since you called me cute. And smiled." Her lips quirked up slightly. "Fine. But I'm not happy about it."
Relief flooded through me. I crossed to her, pulled her against me. Needed to touch her. Needed this moment before everything went to hell.
"You shouldn't start something you can't finish." Her hands settled on my chest, fingers splaying across muscle. "Unless you want us to not leave here today."
My hands slid down to her ass, squeezed, then moved up her back slowly. Deliberately. "Who says I want to leave here?"
She smiled, and fuck, that smile. "Promise me something first. Promise me no violence. No shooting. No one gets hurt."
The request made my throat tight. Made lying to her actively painful.
"Sure."
The word came out wrong. Too flat. Too quick.
Her smile faded. She studied my face, searching for something.
I couldn't look at her. Couldn't maintain eye contact while lying directly to her face.
"Get ready. Five minutes." My tone changed. Went cold. Professional. "We need to leave soon."
I walked out before she could question the shift. Before she could see the self-loathing written all over my face.
The drive took two hours. Aria sat in the back seat, staring out the window, not speaking. The silence was suffocating.
Marco drove, occasionally glancing at me in the rearview mirror with an expression that clearly said this is a terrible idea.
Yeah. I fucking knew that already.
The compound appeared—isolated, surrounded by chain-link fence, guard dogs patrolling the perimeter. One of our major distribution points. Or it had been, before the dealer running it decided to get greedy.
Our cars pulled up. Four vehicles total. Marco, Tony, Sal, and six others. Enough manpower to handle whatever resistance we encountered.
The dealer—Vincent something—stood in the center of the compound yard, trying to look casual. Confident. His crew flanked him, all of them radiating nervous energy.
"Stay in the car." I looked at Aria directly. "No matter what you hear or see, you stay in this car. Understood?"
She nodded, face already pale.
I got out. Marco and the others fell in behind me.
"Mr. Accardi." Vincent stepped forward, hand extended. "This is unexpected. If I'd known you were coming, I would have prepared—"
"Where's the product?"
His smile faltered. "The product? It's all here, properly stored, ready for—"
"The product you've been skimming. Selling on the side. Where is it?"
All color drained from his face. "I don't know what you're talking about. There must be some mistake—"
"Search the place." I didn't raise my voice. Didn't need to. "Every building. Every room. Find it."
My men moved with practiced efficiency. I kept my eyes on Vincent, watching him sweat. Watching his crew exchange panicked glances.
Marco emerged from the basement fifteen minutes later, carrying a duffel bag. Opened it to show me stacks of product. Pills, powder, everything our organization moved.
"There's more. Looks like about fifty thousand dollars worth. Maybe more."
Vincent's face went gray. "Look, I can explain. This is all a misunderstanding. My crew, they must have been—"
"Your crew." I moved closer. "You're blaming your crew for your theft?"
"I didn't know! They must have been skimming without telling me. I would never disrespect the family like that. I'll make it right. I'll pay back everything, I swear—"
I glanced back at the car. Aria was visible through the window, face pressed close to the glass, watching.
This was the part I hated most. Not the violence itself—I'd long since made peace with being capable of terrible things. It was making her watch. Making her see the worst parts of me.
Making her hate me a little more.
"Marco. Make an example of the crew."
What happened next was systematic. Brutal. My men moved on Vincent's crew with practiced efficiency. Fists. Bats. Breaking bones. Drawing blood. Making sure the screams carried.
I stood in the center, arms crossed, watching. Not participating but not stopping it either.
Complicit. That was the word. I was complicit in every broken rib, every shattered bone, every scream.
Movement in my peripheral vision. Aria had gotten out of the car. Standing there, hand over her mouth, horror written across every line of her body.
Fuck. She wasn't supposed to see this up close.
Vincent fell to his knees, hands clasped together. "Please. Please, I'll do anything. I have kids. A family. Please don't—"
I pulled my gun. The movement automatic. Practiced.
Aria gasped. Loud enough I heard it over the groans of the beaten men.
I looked at her. Held her eyes while I raised the gun. Put it against Vincent's temple.
Pulled the trigger. While whispering “I am sorry”
The sound cracked across the compound like thunder. Vincent's body dropped, lifeless. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and spreading.