Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Emery
Inever promised Matteo I’d stay away.
He told me to.
Demanded it.
Like leaving me behind was some noble sacrifice.
As if shutting me out of the war would somehow keep me safe. But I’d already spent half my life dancing on the edge of a blade.
But what Matteo didn’t know… well actually what none of them knew, was that I already had a card to play. One my father left behind.
Long before Matteo ever showed up at that diner, full of fury and hands that made my body betray every ounce of common sense, I was already surviving.
Already moving. Before the ropes. Before the threats.
Before his cock slipped between my thighs and turned my world sideways, I had already learned how to run.
How to disappear. How to hide in plain sight.
When I bolted from my old life, I didn’t grab much. A box, some cash, and whatever scraps of me that hadn’t been shattered yet. And at the bottom of that box there was a flash drive. Small. Black. Unmarked.
My father’s carelessness turned out to be my salvation.
I didn’t open it right away.
Didn’t even breathe near it.
I kept it buried, tucked between old clothes because something about it made my skin itch.
But I waited. Because opening it meant facing whatever the fuck was inside, and I wasn’t ready. Not then.
At first, I didn’t know what kind of poison lived on that drive.
Didn’t dare to look. Just shoved it to the bottom of my bag, pretending it wasn’t burning through the fabric, pretending it wasn’t ticking with every breath.
But months later, alone in some shitty motel, living off vending machine dinners and silence, I finally cracked it open.
And fuck me… The files weren’t just incriminating. They were lethal.
Bank accounts soaked in blood money.
Bribes stacked like bodies.
Kill orders signed off with no hesitation.
It was all there. Enough to collapse the whole kingdom Alessandro De Luca built in blood and bullets. Enough to put a target on my back that would never fade.
I didn’t just find secrets. It was power. Enough to bring down an empire.
And when the time came, I’d be ready to make it bleed. I had my match—my goddamn firestarter.
One strike, and I’d burn it all to the ground.
I transferred every file to a secure drive, buried it behind walls of encryption so thick even the devil himself would struggle to claw through. I told myself I was just being careful. That I’d never need it.
But I’ve learned hope is a fragile lie. So I prepared. Just in case.
When Matteo dropped me off and told me to stay hidden, he shoved a burner phone into my hand. Said if he didn’t return in six hours, it meant his father had killed him. That I was to run. That he loved me with every broken, bloodstained piece of himself.
But you know what… I’m done fucking running. I’m not leaving him to face the wolves alone. Not when I know how sharp my teeth are.
The moment that burner hit my palm, I knew I could crack what I needed, pull the access, unlock the file. My bullet, locked, loaded, and aimed. This time, I shoot first.
By the time I reach the slaughterhouse, my legs are trembling, lungs clawing for air like they’re trying to tear out of my chest. Sweat slicks my back, my shirt glued to me—damp, choking, suffocating.
I ran the whole way. Didn’t think. Didn’t stop. Just kept moving. Like if I slowed down for even a second, the weight of it all would crush me into the ground.
The late afternoon sun hits the rusted roof in hard streaks. Dust hangs thick in the air, curling in the light like ghosts too tired to haunt anymore. My boots crunch over gravel as I press against the warped metal siding, every nerve in my body stretched tight and screaming.
Inside, voices echo. Low and rough, the kind of sound that promises pain. The kind that means blood will follow. I can’t make out the words yet, but I don’t need to. My gut already knows, plus I didn’t come here to listen.
I slip in closer. Quiet and precise. I’m not Emery right now.
I’m every sharp edge my father forged without realizing it.
Every sleepless night. Every wound I stitched shut with my own hands.
I’m the result of his betrayal. The weapon he never saw coming.
And make no mistake—I didn’t come here to fucking beg.
I move toward the open doorway. The air slams into me, a fist to the gut. Blood, sweat, rot. It hangs heavy, soaked into the walls, steeped in memory. My lungs twitch, ready to choke, but I don’t let them. I won’t give them the fucking satisfaction.
Then I see him.
Matteo.
On his knees. The king’s son, brought low, a fucking traitor to the throne. And towering over him stands his father, Alessandro. The monster in the crown. A goddamn executioner in silk. He presses the gun to Matteo’s forehead, not hesitating, not blinking. A baptism in lead, blood, and betrayal.
Matteo’s face is bloodied, streaked with defiance. He’s not broken. Not begging. It’s that kind of fuck-you fire that dares you to pull the trigger. Watching him kneel like that… shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes burning with wildfire rage, it splinters something deep in my chest.
I grip the doorframe, the pressure in my hands the only thing anchoring me upright, fingers digging into the splintered wood.
Every muscle in me coils, pressure building in my chest, ready to detonate.
To run in there. Scream. Tear the fucking world apart.
But I don’t. I force it down, bury it deep.
Because this isn’t the moment for feeling. It’s the moment for control.
I draw the burner from my pocket, hands shaking like they already know I’m stepping into a blood-soaked final act. One tap. That’s all it takes. One fucking tap, and the empire crumbles.
I suck in a breath, hold the burner screen out in front of me, and brace. The second I cross into the slaughterhouse; it’s like the world splits down the middle.
Every gun in the room snaps toward me, metal mouths hungry to shred through flesh and bone. Shouts explode. Orders barked, panic ricocheting, rage and confusion colliding in the air like static.
And then… stillness.
Alessandro doesn’t move. He only presses the barrel harder against Matteo’s forehead, as if deciding whether to end it right here.
But I know he sees the countdown. It pulses across the screen like a throbbing vein, each second not a threat, but a vow.
A slow, deliberate unveiling of everything he’s tried to bury, poised to go public.
“What the fuck is this?” he growls.
I don’t move. Not even when Matteo’s eyes lock onto mine. And there it is, that flash of fear. Not for himself. Not for the gun pressed to his head. But for me.
“You shoot me or Matteo,” I say slowly, “and your entire world burns. Every kill order. Every dirty cop. Every bloodstained dollar, every hidden account, it all goes live. You’re entire fucking kingdom exposed. Every enemy you’ve ever made will pick your bones clean before the sun rises.”
He goes deadly still.
Even his soldiers falter, a flicker of hesitation bleeding into their eyes.
They feel it.
The shift.
The threat.
The moment the ground starts to crack.
“You’re bluffing,” Alessandro growls. But his voice isn’t steady. It wavers, just a fraction. Enough for me to smell the fear bleeding through the cracks in his control.
I tilt my head, eyes locked on his like I’m daring him to move.
“Try it,” I say. “Kill him, and everyone finds out. All of it.”
He doesn’t lower the gun. It stays pressed against Matteo’s forehead, his finger twitching on the trigger. But I see it. The hesitation. The crack. The tremble hiding beneath the monster.
Good. Let him feel what it’s like to lose control.
“You kill either of us,” I go on, taking a few more steps forward, steps that feel steadier than I am inside, “and the countdown ends. Everything goes live. Emails. Videos. Bank records. The whole fucking house of cards comes tumbling down.” My voice shakes, but I force it steady.
Because Matteo’s watching me as though I’m the last thing holding him together, the only thread keeping him from unraveling completely. And I can’t let go. Not now.
Alessandro’s eyes narrow. I see the exact moment the truth lands. The second he realizes I’m not bluffing. That I’d rather burn it all down than let him walk away with the win. And that scares him more than any bullet ever could.
Matteo shifts slightly on his knees, and the corner of his mouth lifts into that cocky, reckless smirk. The one that used to drive me crazy, the one that still fucking gets me.
Even with death breathing down his neck, he’s looking at me as if I’m the brightest thing to ever blaze through his darkness. As if I just set the world on fire, and he’s proud to watch it burn.
I drag my eyes from his, just long enough to meet his father’s.
“Let him go,” I spit, voice low and shaking with fury. “Or lose everything. Your legacy, your power, all of it. Your fucking choice.”
I take another step forward.
Silence.
His father hasn’t moved.
Hasn’t lowered the gun.
He’s testing me, daring me to crack.
I tilt my head slightly, eyes locked onto his, letting the seconds drip like blood from an open wound. Every heartbeat that passes ratchets up the tension, and I know exactly how much it’s killing him to stand still. To hesitate. To let a girl he once saw as powerless hold him hostage.
I stand there, not backing down, every inch of me alive with the weight of this moment. His hand trembles, just a fraction, as he grips the gun tighter. His eyes flash with that sick, twisted pride he’s always had in controlling everything.
I let my gaze drop to the phone in my hand, like I’ve got all the time in the world.
“Eight minutes,” I say, voice flat, disinterested.
“You really think you can outsmart me, girl?”
I meet his eyes and let a cruel smile twist my lips.
“I think we both know I have,” I say, my tone calm. “Because I know you. To prove your power, Matteo would already be dead.” I nod toward the gun, still pressed to his son's head. “But here you are, shaking like a coward, dick shriveled, hands trembling, too much of a pussy to pull the trigger.”
Fury simmers like acid just beneath the surface, waiting to eat through the last thread of control he’s clinging to.
Matteo shifts on the floor, subtle just enough movement to drag my attention.
I flick my gaze to him, and I see it. That same feral heat that has always been our language.
He’s telling me not to stop. Not now. Not when I’ve got this bastard by the balls.
And that smirk… Jesus. That fucking smirk is just another flavor of foreplay.
It shouldn’t thrill me. Shouldn’t make my breath catch, shouldn’t hit me with the force of a kiss meant to bruise. But it does.
“You don’t understand what you’re starting,” Matteo’s father growls, but there’s a tremor in his voice now, as if the weight of what’s coming is finally starting to land.
I arch a brow, head tilting with slow, deliberate intent. “Oh, I understand perfectly,” I murmur. “I’m not just ending this. I’m ending you. And let’s be honest, it’s been a long time fucking coming.”
He steps forward, eyes alight with that special brand of desperation men like him mistake for power. “You think blackmail’s enough?” he spits. “You think that will bury me?”
“I know it will,” I say, my voice cold as I close the distance between us.
“The second those names go live, your world turns to ash. Every backroom deal, every bought politician, every filthy secret you’ve ever whispered into the wrong ear.
All of it will be out and when the vultures see the king bleeding… they’ll feast on your fucking corpse.”
His hand jerks slightly, the gun trembling against Matteo. Good. Let the fucker shake. Let the same fear he shoved down my throat for years rot him from the inside now.
I glance at the phone again. “Seven minutes.”
His lips peel back in a snarl, face twisted with rage and something darker, something like panic. “Stop fucking counting.”
“I’m just giving you fair warning,” I say, voice cold. “That’s already more mercy than you ever gave Matteo.”
My gaze flicks to the body slumped nearby… my father, bleeding out into the cracks of the floor as if he’s trying to seep back into the earth and vanish. For half a second, something inside me twists, claws at my gut, begging me to look away.
Even in death, he’s still failing me.
My eyes drag back to Alessandro. I meet his stare and hold it like a fucking blade to his throat. “Time’s running out. So either kill your own son or let him go. Because in six minutes and thirty-seven seconds, everything goes live.”
Still, even after the threat, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.
I take one step forward towards Matteo, owning the space, and I swear the walls hold their breath.
But the room shifts.
Every man in this room is waiting. Fingers still resting on triggers. Sweat beads on their foreheads.
No one moves, no one dares.
They’re waiting for a command that isn’t coming, from a king already dead, his crown slipping.