Chapter Fifty-One
Stefano
“ARE YOU SURE YOU don’t want to come in?” Lucy asks as we pull up to her place. “I promise I’ll be a good little pet.”
“I’m sure.”
She pouts. It’s cute. Would’ve definitely worked on me pre-Soraya. “Well, if you change your mind…” She leans in and leaves a kiss on my cheek. “You have my keys.”
Once she’s safely inside her house, Oscar asks, “Black Gold or villa, boss?”
“Not sure yet. Just drive.”
My phone buzzes in my hand…
Lorenzo: Gio told me to check on you. What’s going on?
Me: No idea. Gotta ask him.
Lorenzo: Something Raya related?
Me: When are you coming back? You’ve been in LA over two weeks now. WTF are you doing there?
Lorenzo: I’ll take that as a yes then.
Me: She’s here. I can feel it.
Lorenzo: Sure, whatever. Long as you don’t go running off for weeks again. Standing in for you sucks. Hate all that diplomacy and socializing.
Me: Nah. I’m done chasing.
Lorenzo: Good. I’ll be back on Sunday.
As I pocket my phone, the dashboard clock catches my eye.
4:44 AM.
“Oscar, how long’s that dash clock been stuck?”
“Oh, uh, it got like that a few hours ago,” he replies. “I’ll get it fixed in the morning. Sorry about that, boss.”
A silent chuckle shakes me. “You’re listening in on me, aren’t you, little liar? Well, hear this, there’s only room for one narcissist in this relationship. And that’s me. I’m not playing your game anymore. When you’re ready, come home.”
Oscar gives me a concerned glance in the rear-view mirror. “Uh, you okay, boss?”
A deep laugh rolls out of me, full and real. I’m feeling more and more energized by the second. “Fucking delighted, Oscar. Take me to Black Gold.”
I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Sanders.
Me: Cancel Kyle Canyon visit.
I already know who our new city friends are.
~
DAWN’S CREEPING IN by the time I get home from a long but eventful night at Black Gold. But I’m far from tired, wired with energy. Fucking great things have been happening over the last few months. Big wins that should’ve had me feeling on top of the world, but never did.
Now, all of a sudden, I can feel my pulse again. Strong and steady, thrumming under my skin, reminding me I’m alive.
My phone rings.
Lucy. Again.
I send it to voicemail, same as the last twenty times she’s called tonight. She knows how this works. When I need her, I call. Not the other way around.
I shrug off my jacket, roll up my sleeves and pour myself a stiff finger of whiskey. Then settle onto the couch with a hard-boiled mystery, the kind where the world’s black and white, the rules are simple, and every bastard who crosses the line pays for it.
My phone buzzes on the side table.
A text from Jenkins, head of surveillance.
Jenkins: Ran routine check on Lucy Rainford. Thought you would want to be notified of this…
There’s a video attachment. I hit play.
Overhead surveillance footage view of Lucy’s living room fills the screen.
She’s on her couch watching TV. Two figures in black burst in.
Fast and precise, one grabs and restrains her, holding her in place.
The other drags up her shirt, exposing the “Castello’s Property” tattoo inked on her side, then presses a small device against the ink and holds it there for several minutes.
When they’re done, they straighten, look directly at the camera, and salute. Then walk out, leaving Lucy in a crumpled heap.
Well. That explains the twenty-plus missed calls.
They burned out Lucy’s tattoo. And there’s no question who’s behind it. No mistaking The O’s men. Those motherfuckers are built different.
I had Lucy inked as Castello’s Property after the Vale mess. Not for kicks. But as a reminder, a clear line in the sand for her. So she knows where her allegiance lies the next time war comes knocking. That’s all.
Does Soraya think I’m with her? Is that why she won’t come to me?
I pull up Lucy’s number, but my thumb hovers over the call button. I should check on her… But if I do, I’m walking right into Soraya’s trap.
That move was to send a message, stake her claim. Last night, I told Soraya I was done chasing her. So if I go running to Lucy now…the next visit she receives might not be as harmless.
Message received, Soraya. You don’t like to share.
~
DAYS FLY BY with nothing from her. No subtle signs, no violent messages.
Or maybe I’ve just been too damn busy to notice. The Volador launch was a hit, and the events that followed demanded my undivided attention. Then came a fresh batch of girls at the villa. Then Bratton and Angelina Bachmann dropped in for a weekend visit—we pulled out all the stops for them.
Two eventful, fast-paced weeks of meetings, deals, negotiations, strong-arming, and a bit of bloodshed.
Then, out of nowhere, I jolt awake from a midnight nap in my office at Black Gold. Heart hammering, breath short. Borderline gasping as a deep, agonizing ache rips through my chest with brutal force, as if it’s been lying in wait for the perfect moment to hit. To catch me off guard.
What the fuck...
Suddenly, it all feels too quiet. Static. Lonely. Empty. Dark.
An intense, soul-squeezing yearning slams into me.
Fuck.
I’m here again. Right back where I was before I met her. Craving death. Done with living. Ready for it all to end.
How the fuck has no one killed me yet? Am I really that good at life? At surviving? After all the shit I’ve done, all the enemies I’ve made, no one’s had the guts to walk up and shoot me in the fucking face?
My Ruger calls to me from the coffee table. One bullet. Just one bullet and I could have it. Blissful nothingness.
Fuckingfuck.
I need her.
To live, I need her.
My body is moving before my mind can catch up. Next thing I know, I’m in the back alley behind Black Gold, ripping the car keys from Oscar’s hands.
“Boss, please, let me drive y—”
I slam the door in his face, shutting out his protest. It’s been ages since I drove myself, but I need to go alone. If I’m right about this, then bringing anyone along could be a fatal mistake. Collateral damage.
Heart hammering, I throw the car in reverse and peel out of the alley. Time to face the drive I’ve been avoiding.
The landscape shifts from city lights to wilderness. Until I’m deep in pines and peaks. Until the looming, unyielding thirty-foot wall comes into view. A fortress set against the thirsty, forested mountains.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and press the gas, speeding forward. The roads grow wilder, rougher. Pine trees stretch high overhead, rugged peaks rear in the distance, and I swerve around scattered shrubs and jagged rocks on the dry, uneven earth.
Then…static.
The radio crackles, garbled noise spilling through the speakers. A second later, the dashboard flickers. Then everything cuts out.
Cursing under my breath, I slam my palm against the wheel and crank the key. Once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing.
It hits me then…this is the same point where our drones malfunctioned and spiraled from the sky. Whatever shorted them out is killing my car too.
On foot it is, then.
I open the door and step out into the night, taking a hard look around before I start walking.
I’ve had my suspicions about this place since the moment the walls went up.
To get permits for walls this high, you’re either the government, or you own the government.
And when even Red Cage Investigations—the people who can dig up dirt on God himself—refused to offer details, no matter the price?
Yeah. My suspicions locked in on the latter.
What kind of king doesn’t know who’s living in his city?
Truth is, deep down, I knew. But kept hoping to be proven wrong. Didn’t want to accept it. That it was her. That she’s been this close all along. Watching. Knowing. And still choosing to stay away.
Didn’t want to face the sting of rejection again. To be left waiting like some fucking lovesick fool.
Love had always been my worst fear. The idea of someone having that kind of power over me? Over my reactions, my emotions? A goddamn nightmare.
Never, I told myself. Not me. Not in a million years.
And yet, here I am. Everything I swore I’d never become.
It was easier to believe she was off somewhere in the Italian Alps. Rejection stings less when there’s distance. But when she played her little games two weeks ago, reminding me she’s watching, it was everything my bruised pride and ego needed.
Pathetic, isn’t it? To be that desperate for scraps of her attention.
And yet without it? Might as well put a bullet in my head. Because without her, there’s nothing left for me in this world.
Only her.
I trek up the uneven path, my Brioni oxfords protesting with every damn step. Definitely not built for this terrain.
As I reach the wall, I activate the chip embedded in my arm. I keep it muted ninety-nine percent of the time. But Soraya did say something about it also being an access key.
Time to test that theory.
There’s no obvious gate, no clear entrance. So I press my palm to the cool surface and start trailing the perimeter, step by step, listening for anything, searching for a hollow point.
Until…
Beep. Click.
A door-sized section of the wall retracts upward.
Bingo.
I walk through. But barely five feet in, I hit a second wall, identical to the first. Before I can curse, the one behind me seals shut, and another section ahead retracts, opening the path forward.
Again, I walk through. And there it is, engraved into a boulder to my left: ThreeFours.
Son of a bitch.
A sprawling neighborhood unfolds ahead. Scattered dome-style houses. Amenity buildings. Artificial fountains, lush green lawns, vibrant gardens blooming in perfect defiance and contrast to the dry, rugged terrain outside these walls.
Different. Unexpected. But strangely…peaceful. A paradise carved out of nowhere.
How the hell did they build all this in just one year?
It’s quiet. Too quiet. The chirping nocturnal critters are the only sounds of life. I’m being watched, that’s for sure, but I keep moving, taking it all in.
Minutes pass. And then I hear voices. Laughter and jeering. I follow the sounds around the side of a building. And find several familiar faces gathered around a table, playing cards.
“Oh shit, look who finally showed up!” one of them shouts.
They all swing their attention in my direction. All unsurprised.
“All hail the Nine Lives King!” another jokes. “Said it before and I’ll say it again, Castello, I wanna be you when I grow up.”
Biting back a laugh, I shake my head. “Nice to see you all, too, ballbusters.”
We bump fists, sliding into easy shit-talk and sarcastic jabs.
It’s been a year and a half since Switzerland, but sitting here, running my mouth with them, it feels like no time has passed. Like just another night coming down the hill to shoot the shit with them.
And it’s not until this moment that I realize I missed this, too. This is something I don’t have with my own men, because everyone’s afraid of the boss. But these men aren’t, and that removes the barriers, allows them to be themselves with me, blunt and honest. Refreshing.
After a few minutes, the chatter fades. The jabs stop. And they all just stare at me with knowing smirks.
“For fuck’s sake, are you really going to make me ask?” I say. “You thick-necks are cool and all, but you know damn well I didn’t come here to look at your ugly mugs.”
“Ese, fuck you,” Eduardo fires back. “You think just ‘cause you look like a GQ model you’re better than us?”
I run a hand through my hair. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
He flips me off.
“Head back to the main stretch and keep following the paved path,” White offers, grinning around his beer bottle. “When you see it...you’ll know.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Don’t fuck it up again, Nine!” he calls after me. “Those lives will run out eventually.”
A few more minutes of walking, and the house comes into view. Three stories tall, towering above the rest. Built to impress with sharp lines and smooth curves, designed to boast wealth and power. A warm golden glow spills from the windows, casting a soft halo around the structure. Royalty.
And…
There she is.
Standing at the center of the third-floor balcony, hands on the railing, looking down like a queen surveying her kingdom.
It’s too dark, too much distance between us to read her face, to catch what’s flashing through those beautiful, calculating eyes.
But I don’t need to.
She was waiting. She knew I’d come.
Fingers itching to touch her, I pick up the pace, needing to close the distance.
When I reach the house, I take the curved stairs on the left two at a time. Just as I reach for the handle, the front door swings open.
Soraya’s assistant, Hannah, walks out hugging a cardboard box. Caught off guard by me, she stumbles, pitching forward. I catch her upper arms before she face-plants into the tile.
Her plump cheeks flush deep. “Oh, Mr. Castello! I didn’t know you were—um, do you—”
“Good to see you, Hannah. Talk later.”
I move around her to get inside. Take a quick scan of the layout, then head for the curved staircase on the right, making my way up.
New territory, but I move like I’ve been here before.
The chip in my arm is like a magnet pulling me to her.
Guiding me past rooms and through hallways… straight to her.
Until I reach the balcony.
There she is.
Christ. The magnetic connection from being this close to her is unbearably intense. I quickly deactivate my chip to cut the vibration.
Her back is to me, still looking out. Completely at ease and in control. While I’m a fucking wreck. An emotional disaster.
I step through the open glass doors…then stop. Needing a moment to drink her in.
There are noticeable changes to her. She’s a pound or two thicker, but leaner. Tighter. Solid. Especially where it counts—waist, thighs, ass.
The fuck has she been doing? She’s walking temptation in those shorts and that top.
Her hair’s longer now, fuller, draping down her back. And damn…never thought I’d miss those messy half-braids of hers, but fuck if I don’t.
For the first time in eighteen months, my cock pulsates. Hardens.
I want to fuck her. Ravish her. Wild and crazed. Right here, right now.
No…
That’s a lie.
I want to make love to her. Painstakingly slow. Worship every inch of her. Kiss every freckle. Count every lash. Bow at her altar.
“Soraya.”
She doesn’t turn. Just tilts her head slightly to the side. Enough to let me know she’s listening.
“Let me see you.”