I need the next part done right.
I stand at the sink tucked into the corner of the prep room, rolling up my sleeves. The water runs over my hands as I steel myself for what comes next. It isn’t the blood that bothers me. It’s the waiting. The anticipation of the intel he could give me.
Lars steps into the room behind me, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t speak right away. He doesn’t need to. I can feel the weight of his stare.
“Are you sure about this?” he finally says.
“I wouldn’t be down here if I wasn’t.”
“You can still get answers without drifting this far into the dark.”
I dry my hands and turn, meeting his gaze. “If you’re about to question my commitment to this?—”
He holds up a hand. “Not your commitment. Your clarity.”
I narrow my eyes. “Say what you mean.”
“You’re unraveling,” Lars says, blunt as ever. “You’ve been holding it together for days, but your patience is gone. And this—” he gestures around the room, the tools, the chair, the guard, “—feels more personal than strategic.”
“It is personal.”
He nods. “That’s what worries me.”
I step closer. “You think I’ve lost my edge?”
“No,” he says. “I think you’ve sharpened it to the point that you’re willing to cut yourself open just to feel something.”
I don’t respond.
Lars exhales, eyes softer now. “Enzo. You’ve gone after enemies before. You’ve taken down families, exposed traitors, flipped soldiers without blinking. But this—Zara—it’s not just about revenge. You’re obsessed.” Lars shakes his head. “And if this ends in blood? If we burn everything we’ve built, if men die, all of the destruction just to save one woman?”
I step in, chest to chest. “Then they die. For something that fucking matters. For my family line.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back away.
I continue, “I might be obsessed, but I’m willing to risk it all, Lars. She breathes life into me. Without her, my bloodline will die because there won’t be another woman who can take her place.”
He watches me carefully. “That’s a dangerous kind of obsession.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But she’s mine. And they took her.”
Lars drops his arms to his side. “So what’s the plan then?”
“I bleed the truth from that guard. Then we move. Small team. Quiet. Surgical.”
“No scorched earth yet?” he asks, half-smirking.
“Not until she’s out.”
Lars nods. Then his hand drops to his side, and he unhooks the ring of keys. He tosses them to me. “Then do it. But don’t take too long. There’s only hours left now.”
I turn toward the door. “Let’s see what information we can get from this asshole.”
The morning sunslinks in like a predator, casting long, golden fingers across the marble floor of the bridal suite. It shouldn't be this bright. It shouldn't be this warm. It feels like mockery—like the universe is smiling while I’m prepped for a new prison.
The suite is opulent in that garish, overcompensating way the Kavanaghs are known for. Gilded mirrors. Velvet drapes. A chaise lounge no one actually sits on. Every inch screams power and wealth, a performance for the outside world.
Three women flit around me like I’m some kind of sacred object. One is curling my hair into soft waves that cascade over my shoulders. Another dusts powder across my cheekbones like she’s brushing a canvas. The third stands by the rack where the dress hangs, inspecting every pearl as if one might suddenly fall out of place. They move efficiently, methodically—silent, obedient. Not once do they meet my eyes.
