Coward.
I stare out the window, watching the city thin into ruggedcountryside, and soon enough we’re making the last familiar turn that will lead us to Fabian’s stronghold.
I glance down at my phone clutched in my hand, jaw clenching. Still nothing from Dhimitër. The last text he sent was the one confirming they’d arrived at the abbey. They’ll be fine.Shewill be fine. Dhimitër is with her, along with four of my best men.
But the sick, twisting knot in my gut doesn’t ease up even slightly.
I haven’t worried about someone like this since Elira was in danger, and I don’t know how to handle it. And truth is—it’s not just fear that she’ll get hurt. It’s the thought of her leaving. Once she has Kayla, she won’t need me. Won’t need to stay. She’ll disappear, taking her sister with her, like these past few weeks meant anything.
The realization tightens my chest more than I’d like to admit.
I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter if she leaves. She was just a convenient pawn, a tool I used to get to Fabian’s secrets.
But she managed to slip under my skin anyway, and somewhere along the way, she stopped being just a pawn or warm body to distract me from grief. Fuck, I should have been more careful with my words to Dhimitër yesterday. Should have known Katie wouldn’t leave the room when dismissed like some obedient subordinate. I shut my eyes briefly as the expression on her face as she stood in that doorway replays in vivid detail.
I hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. Not exactly. But now it might be too late to fix that misunderstanding. And if she dies thinking I only ever used her—if I lose her before I can make things right?—
I shove the thought out of my head. Not now. And she will be fine. There’s no other acceptable outcome.
The gates to Fabian’s estate finally come into view, and I situp straighter, forcing myself to stop thinking about Katie or the danger she might be facing right now. I need to focus.
We slow at the entrance, but when Fabian’s guards see who it is, they wave us through without question.
I’m Fabian’s nephew, after all. Still mourning the recent loss of my father. They have absolutely no reason not to let me in. They haven’t gotten the memo yet about what’s coming, but they will—soon.
Our cars pull up in front of the main house, and I step out, taking in the meticulously maintained courtyard. Everything looks exactly as I remember.
I adjust my jacket and signal to my men. They fan out behind me in loose formation, hands close to their weapons but still holstered. We don’t want to start the fight before the trap is fully set. Timing is everything.
The front door swings open and Janick, Fabian’s second-in-command, steps out with a tight smile already in place. “Roan Përmeti, what a surprise. What brings you here today?”
“My uncle has been unreachable the past few weeks,” I say smoothly, capitalizing on the plausible excuse I prepared. “So I’m here to see him in person.”
Janick’s lips thin almost imperceptibly, but he steps back from the doorway, allowing me and my men in without further questioning.
He leads us through the familiar halls into the massive dining room where Fabian is seated at the head of the table like a king at court, breakfast laid out in indulgent excess. He looks up as we enter and smiles warmly, as if this is a planned family brunch.
"Ah, my grieving nephew," he drawls, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "I wanted to attend Afrim's funeral, truly. But I was too caught up with business matters. You know how it is."
I narrow my eyes at him, unamused as I take the seat acrossfrom him. Without a word, I pull the ledger from my jacket pocket and hand it to Janick, signaling for him to pass it to my uncle since the pretentious table is far too long for me to simply throw it at him.
Fabian raises a curious brow as he accepts the ledger from his man. “What is this?”
“Your secrets are out, Fabian. You fucking traitor," I say with dark satisfaction, voice hard as stone.
His brows pull together for a moment, then he chuckles like I made a joke. “Very funny, nephew. I’ll excuse you for calling my name in that disrespectful tone.” He opens the ledger casually, his eyes quickly scanning the first page, and the lingering smile on his face dies.
He flips through the rest of the pages, faster now, confirming what I’ve already read what feels like a hundred times, the color slowly draining from his face. "This proves nothing," he finally says, but his voice is tight with barely controlled panic.
"Is that or is that not your handwriting?"
He hesitates, gaze darting from me to the ledger to the men behind me and back again, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head. “It—it was forged!” he blurts, eyes lighting up with false triumph. “You think I’m stupid enough to write all this down?”
Predictable. And it won’t work on me. I smirk as I lean forward. “You did.”
He exhales sharply, scrambling to regain lost ground. “Even if I did... what exactly are you going to do about it? If you kill me, my men won’t let you leave here alive.”
“That ledger signed your death certificate, Fabian. It spells out in meticulous fucking detail how you made me and my sister orphans and almost destroyed my father’s empire. You’re genuinely stupid if you think I’ll walk out of here with you still breathing.”
