Chapter 12
Aurelia
“Ihave to kill him now.” Elijah’s words are precise, like he truly doesn’t have another option.
“Or you could fuck me instead,” I retort, positioning myself in front of the gun.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. So I ease the stakes. “Even if you just kiss me, Elijah. Then it’s even, you’ll have a reason not to kill him, and he’ll have a reason not to tell Enzo or anyone else.”
He still says nothing, but his jaw is tense and when I glance down, his finger is tapping on his leg again.
So I keep going, keep pushing. “I don’t need a wedding ring, Elijah. Hell, you know I barely tolerate you anymore. This isn’t like when I was sixteen.” I raise my hand on top of the gun, lowering it for him. “Kiss me once. Then we’ll pretend it never happened.”
Keeping his eyes locked on mine, his anger is targeted at the boy behind me. “Get the fuck out, Leo.”
I hear the steps and the door behind Leo, he took that order quick.
Elijah places his gun on the table beside me and walks forward, each step pushing me into the wall until my bare back presses against the cool surface.
“Once and then never again,” he whispers.
His lips hover over mine, and I nod, causing our lips to brush.
His hand slams into the door behind me, and finally, he lets his eyes filter down my body.
“Fuck it.”
The words barely leave his mouth before his lips crash into mine. The sound dies between us, swallowed by the heat. A shudder escapes me, my body finally getting a taste of his.
I tilt my head to allow him more access, my tongue wrapping around his.
His hand threads into my hair, grabbing at the strands and tugging until I gasp, while his other hand clasps my breast in a tight fist. The space between us disappears, his body pressing me back, his breath mixing with mine until I can’t tell whose pulse I’m feeling.
I claw at his back, needing more, but in what feels like seconds, he tears himself away, leaving the air crackling between us, every nerve screaming for what’s suddenly gone.
I breathe heavy, hating him for actually being able to pull away.
“It never happened, Ace.”
He grabs his gun, leaving with an ease I can’t imagine. Because what the fuck.
That kiss was amazing, everything I’ve been wanting for so long.
I mean, was it as good as my first kiss with the boy wrapped in shadows? No. But was it still earth-shattering? Absolutely. So I have no idea how I’m supposed to pretend that didn’t happen.
* * *
The shed is colder than the gym, colder than the courtyard at dawn.
That’s the point.
No distractions. No warmth. Just me and Enzo.
As soon as the swelling started to fade, I was rotated to weapon training. Two days with Elijah, then two with Abraham, our brutal combat specialist whose idea of motivation is dislocating your shoulder mid-praise.
Now I have Enzo for mental fortification. This is the one part of my conditioning that my deranged father never allowed anyone else to touch.
Only Enzo is trusted to break me. Because only Enzo can put me back together.
The walls are bare except for two things: a clock and a mirror. Floor to ceiling, one-way glass. I’ve never asked who’s on the other side. Dante. Maybe Elijah. Maybe Abraham, cataloging every move for a report.
But Enzo never looks at the mirror. His eyes stay on me.
Always me.
He’s already sitting when I’m ushered in, long legs crossed, hands folded, posture relaxed, treating this as a casual meeting, not the most brutal upcoming hours of my week. He doesn’t wear black like the others. He wears grey or white. The colour of smoke.
It’s deceptive. That’s his weapon. Enzo doesn’t need fists or knives. He has words, memory, and silence.
And me.
He has me.
“Sit,” he says, nodding to the single chair across from him.
I obey. The guards slip out, locking the door.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing but the hum of air through the vents. I know better than to speak first. That’s not how this works. He sets the rules. I survive them.
Finally, he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. His eyes—those same blue ones that stare back at me in every reflection—pin me in place.
“You still dream of her?”
I swallow. He doesn’t have to say the name. He never does.
“Sometimes.”
It comes out confident, and I’m proud of that.
“What does she say?”
“She doesn’t.” I keep my chin high. “She’s quiet.”
Enzo tilts his head. “Interesting, and what about him?”
I shake my head no.
“That’s not true, Ace.”
I don’t answer.
His mouth curves—not a smile, not mockery, a shadow of victory.
“Silence confirms it,” he says softly. “You still seek her approval. Even now. Even knowing she’s gone.”
I stiffen. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything.” His tone searing. “Because it makes you weak. It makes you dependent on the impossible. You crave a woman who isn’t here, who will never come back, instead of accepting what you have.”
“And what do I have?”
“Me.”
The word hangs heavy. I hate how it lands in my chest. It’s true. Enzo has been my only constant. My only anchor in a house full of men who would die for me but would never understand me. Not like him. Not like the brother who has seen me at my weakest.
But in this room, he uses that truth against me.
“You want me to love you,” he says, the words weaving between us. “And I do. But love, Ace, isn’t enough. Not here. Not for you. Love won’t save you when they come for you. Love won’t stop them from putting a bullet through your skull just to get Dante’s reaction. Love won’t—”
“Stop.” My voice cracks before I can catch it.
Enzo freezes. Not out of pity. Out of calculation. He notes the slip and stores it away.
“Love won’t make people treat you differently. Love is weakness, and it’s fake, because control is the only thing that matters,” he says finally. “Elijah cares about you, but it’s not love, lust maybe, but he—”
My eyes snap to his. “Don’t.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You think you have power. But you don’t. You have proximity. You have privilege. That’s not power. Power is what I have, Ace. The power to strip you down until nothing is left but the truth. And the truth is—”
He leans forward, dropping to a whisper.
“You are bait. That’s all.”
The words slam into me harder than any blow. My stomach flips. My throat burns. I want to scream that he’s wrong, that I’m more than that. That I’m Aurelia De Luca, not some pawn on his Mafia chessboard.
But part of me knows he’s right.
He knows it too. I see it in the way he sits back, calm again, composed. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or touch me. He’s already under my skin.
The minutes drag. He circles me with questions—some biting, some deceptively gentle.
What did you feel when Dante stopped paying you attention?
Do you think Elijah pities you?
Do you think you will die alone?
Do you think anyone will ever care about you the way a husband cares for his wife?
Each one is a blade. Each one cuts in a new place, carving away the armour I wrap around myself.
By the second hour, I’m trembling. Not visibly—not enough to give him the satisfaction. But inside.
And then comes the final blow.
“Tell me the truth,” he says quietly. “Do you wish you’d died with her that night?”
My breath stutters. Because I’ve thought about it.
I’ve wanted it.
And Enzo knows.
The silence stretches until it suffocates. My pulse hammers in my ears, loud enough that I’m sure whoever is behind that glass can hear it.
Enzo doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just waits.
“I asked you a question,” he says finally. It’s soft, but it still lands. “Answer it.”
I grip the arms of the chair, nails digging in. “No.”
He arches a brow. “No?”
“No,” I repeat, forcing strength into it. “I don’t wish I’d died with her.”
He leans forward, studying me. “Liar.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts in. “Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t hesitate when I bring her up. You wouldn’t lose your breath when I mention her connection to him. You wouldn’t—”
“Stop!” The word rips me raw.
For the first time, Enzo smiles. Not warmth, not kindness—but satisfaction. A strike landed. Another layer peeled back.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Now we get to the marrow.” His tone lowers, deliberate, and cruel. “You’ve clung to ghosts long enough, but I want the truth: who do you love most?”
The question slams into me. I stare at him, stunned. “What?”
“You heard me,” he says, calm as ever. “If your heart had to choose, right now, in this moment, who would it be? Dante, who abandoned you? Elijah, who aches for you but will never touch you? Or me—the one who knows you, breaks you, rebuilds you?”
My throat closes. I want to laugh, scream, deny him the satisfaction, but the words stick.
He leans closer. “Say it.”
I shake my head, clamping my lips shut.
His teeth clench.
My vision blurs, but Enzo’s hand slides under my chin, tilting my face up to his. His touch is gentle—unbearably gentle—but it still burns me with fire.
I don’t answer.
My lips are sealed so tightly they ache, my jaw locked until the bones themselves might shatter. He waits and is patient, making me actually believe he has all the time in the world.
“Fine,” Enzo murmurs finally.
He releases my chin, leaning back in his chair as if none of this costs him anything. “If you won’t say it now, you’ll say it later. Starvation makes the tongue slippery.”
The scrape of his chair against the floor is deafening. He stands, straightening his cuffs.
I can’t stop watching him—his shadow stretching across the room, his reflection moving alongside mine in the mirror.
Then he’s gone.
The lock snaps shut behind him.
And I am alone.
* * *
Minutes bleed into hours.
I sit rigid in the chair, still as a statue. My body aches from the tension, but I refuse to fold. If I unravel, he wins. If I speak to the mirror, if I whisper even one name, then everything I’ve held onto means nothing.
But hunger creeps in quickly. My stomach growls, humiliating me already. My throat is dry, my lips cracking, but I press them tighter, tasting the metallic tang of blood where I’ve bitten through the skin.
I start to pace. Then sit. Then stand again. Anything to keep from listening to the gnawing inside me. Anything to keep from hearing his voice in my mind.
Say it. Say the name. Say it, and it all stops.
I shove the thought away, but it keeps taunting me.
By the tenth hour, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve walked from wall to wall. The mirror reflects me back—hair tangled, sweat slicking my temples, a feral creature pacing in a cage.
I wonder if Dante is watching. If Elijah is. If they see me holding the line or if they only see weakness, stubbornness that borders on madness.
By the fifteenth hour, I whisper to myself just to hear a voice. Not theirs. Not his. Mine.
“I won’t.”
Over and over. My new mantra.
By the twentieth hour, I collapse onto the floor, cheek pressed to cold tile.
Every bone in my body throbs. My lips are split, and my tongue is swollen.
I dream of water, of bread, of Elijah’s hand brushing hair from my face.
I dream of Enzo’s hand at my chin, the weight of his eyes burning holes through me.
The mirror hums. Silent. Watching. Waiting.
By the twenty-fourth hour, I am a ruin of myself.
But my lips are still closed.
And when the lock finally clicks, when the door creaks open and Enzo steps back inside, the only thing I have left—the only weapon I’ve managed to keep—is the silence.
I raise my head. My voice is gone, my body trembling, but my eyes find his and hold.
And for the first time, I swear I see something falter in him. Just a fracture.
Not pity.
Not love.
Respect.
“Nikolai Orlov wants to tear you to pieces, wants you to pay for something you had no part in. His father is evil, and his son is his shadow. But if you remain this strong, even if you die, you will die with honour.”
Great, I’m glad I’m making progress.
* * *
Mental training requires Enzo to rip into my psyche, to weaponize every intimate truth I’ve ever told him.
Every secret I’ve cried into his chest, every fear I thought was safe in his hands, he uses to cut into me.
Not because he enjoys it. But because he knows it’s the only way to prepare me for what’s coming. I don’t blame him for that.
He’s the only one who’s ever loved me. Truly loved me.
Everyone else in this house is loyal to me—respectful, obedient, protective—but love? No.
Dante left the second they told him the Orlovs would come for me.
I haven’t seen him in years. Not since the day he realized the cost of keeping me alive would be too high for his heart to bear.
And maybe it was his way of protecting me, but even still…
I know the truth. I’ve always known it. He sees her in me.
My mother. The woman who softened him. The woman whose death took the last drop of humanity he had.
And Elijah only sees a woman he wants to devour, not cherish.
I know he desires me. There are too many moments—the way he adjusts my form in silence, the twitch in his jaw when I flinch in pain, the way his eyes darken when I tease him. It’s not indifference. But it’s also not enough. His kiss proved that much.
Because if the roles were reversed, if he were on that bar and I were the one holding the knife, I would give it all up.
My freedom. My name.
Even my life. Even now. Even after what he did.
I would bleed for another kiss.
For a whisper of what I know he feels but will never say.
But he wouldn’t.
Not for me.
Not for a girl who was gifted and cursed in the same breath.
He wouldn’t risk his rank.
Wouldn’t risk Enzo.
Wouldn’t risk Dante.
Wouldn’t risk anything.