“You forget your place, Cyan. You breathe because I allow it!”
“You see, that’s where we differ.” I smile. “My bark and my bite? They’re the same. Before this is over, I’ll take everything you value.”
“You fucking Irish swine.” Lorenzo explodes. “I was running this world before you were even a damn thought in your father’s nut sack.”
I laugh—the laugh of a man acting as if he has nothing left to lose. “And yet here we are, you scream and all I hear is a dying relic.”
“You and yours will not see the sunrise,” he growls.
“Fucking try it.” I hang up before he gets the last word.
War just arrived Lorenzo lost his son tonight. He’ll lose a kingdom next. I turn to them, my tone turning to steel. “Lock the city down. Get Police Chief Roger on the line. NYPD might suck Lorenzo’s limp dick, but Boston PD still answers to us.” Sebastian nods, already dialing. “Boston is too exposed,” I continue. “Too many civilians. Too many eyes. Send word to the main family. Everyone moves to the Crescent Bay compound. No exceptions. Lorenzo will retaliate. All our people need to be extra fucking careful.”My mind goes to her. Aria will move to the estate immediately. Even if I have to drag her kicking and screaming, so be it. I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone reach her again.
Twenty -Two
“The moment I think I can escape is the moment I realize it was just a dream.” — Aria Boschett.
Iwake with a jolt. My limbs feel heavy, like someone poured cement into my veins. My head throbs with a low, steady pulse. When I glance around, every survival instinct inside me snaps awake. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the room, revealing Boston’s glittering harbor. Sunlight skims across the water like a thousand fractured diamonds…but the beauty does nothing to comfort me. If anything, it tightens the fear coiling in my chest.This isn’t my aunt’s house.
Polished grey walls and cold, minimalist furniture. On one feature wall, a striking sketch of a horse dominating the space—bold and untamed, staring back at me—it all screams Cyan MacBrady. I try to sit up. It takes too much effort. My body feels sluggish, my mind foggy.How did I get here?There’s a vague memory clinging to my mind, a murkiness I can’t outrun. A shadow of someone awful and their unwanted breath on my neck. But the moment I try to grasp it, the memory dissolves, slippery as smoke. The door clicks open, my head snaps toward the sound, and there he is.Cyan.He fills the doorway, a water bottle in one hand. A workout towel slung over his shoulder. He steps inside and sets the bottle on the dresser before dragging the towel across his sweat-slicked torso. His vest clings to him, damp, outlining every rugged ridge of muscle. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, teasing the sharp V cutting down into, I gulp as heat curls low in my stomach. My fingers itch with the desperate desire to touch. The man is my blackmailer, my stalker and my captor, and yet my body has…a magnetic pull to the man ruining my life”.
He looks at me with that intense expression, one part hunger, one part possession, and maybe concern. “You’re awake, Dove. I was starting to worry you’d sleep the day away.”
“Where the hell am I? What did you do to me?”
“You’re still in Boston. This is my home.”
“Your—what? How did I get here? And don’t for a second think I missed that you didn’t answer my second question. What did you do to me?” I enunciate every word.
He hits me with one of his side grins. “We own The Towers. No one gets in or out without my say-so. Not to worry, Aria. You’re safe here.”
“I’m not safe. I’m trapped.”
A muscle flickers in his jaw. “Semantics,” he answers before peeling off his vest, muscles flexing. The discarded fabric drops onto the table, and only then do I see what it lands beside.
The gun stands out, highlighted, the white fabric framing it like a spotlight. A rush of fragmented memories slams into me. Leo’s weight…crushing me, his breath, in my ear my hands comes up to my swollen cheek. His hands touching. The pop of a gunshot…him falling, all the blood and Cyan stood over him like the reaper of death. A razor-wire panic tears through my chest—Cyan’s voice. Then the syringe… my world tilting into darkness after his betrayal.
My hand flies to my arm, fingertips brushing the tender spot where the needle went in. He let Collin drug me. “Yo-u son of a bitch… you…you drugged me.” Just like last night I can’t get air into my lungs fast enough as panic starts to take control.
Cyan moves in an instant. He’s on me, his arms locked around me, hard muscle and heat pinning me to his chest. His scent, mixed with salt and sweat, floods my senses, my cheek pressed to his bare skin. “Breathe, Aria… You’re safe.”
The word safe detonates inside me. I shove him, my palms flat against his chest. My fist slams against him, another blow following, and another, anything to make him feel even a fraction of what’s clawing through me. Cyan takes it. But the panic is too much. I try to pull away from him, my vision blurring, my chest locking tight, and before I can fold in on myself—Cyan’s arms are back around me, dragging me against him. His grip, unyielding. I can’t breathe… I can’t think… and the worst part is that being held by him almost feels like safety.
Twenty- Three
“He says he’d burn the world to keep me safe. Maybe he already has, and I’m the one left choking on the smoke.” – Aria Boschett.
He’s a killer. A man who steals choices and calls it protection. Yet… he’s the only thing keeping me from shattering. My breath comes slower. We sit like this for I don’t know how long, my panic ebbing and leaving a hollow ache in its wake.
“Why am I here? You should’ve taken me home to my aunt’s.”
Cyan’s fingers brush wild curls from my face. His touch is gentle, a dissonant contrast to the strength of his grip. “Because I need you close.” A shiver trails down my spine, dread tangling with gratitude. His conviction isn’t just terrifying. It’s absolute.
“Cyan…” I swallow hard. “Thanks for coming for me.” The words scrape out reluctantly. His gift—the bracelet that should’ve been a shackle, ended up saving my life.
He lifts my chin with a single finger. “Aye, Dove. You’d better believe it. But your gratefulness is unwarranted. I guard what’s mine.” Mine. The word coils hot and cold in my chest. For one reckless heartbeat, I want to lean into him: to let the relief of being held swallow me whole. Then his expression hardens, a predator refocused, his eyes boring into mine. “Now tell me, lass… why the fuck were you in that part of town?” My pulse spikes. Ethan. The FBI. Shit. The truth lodges in my throat like glass. I can’t let Cyan anywhere near it. If he ever finds out who I met… the blood on the streets won’t stop at Leo’s.
His hand is too much; I shove it away like it burned me. “I was going home.” The lie slips out on instinct, and... I need some distance, need something to shove between us before I crack. The memory of Collin holding the syringe flashes into my mind like an answer to my prayers. Me saying no. Then darkness. Now my regret and guilt curdle into something hotter: fury.
