The realization hits cold and sharp. This was a test. He gave me just enough leash to see if I’d hang myself with it.
“You had no right!”
“I had every right.” He leans closer, his face inches from mine. “This is my house, my organization, my operation. You’re here because I allow it. You breathe because I’ve decided keeping you alive serves my interests better than the alternative.”
Tears gather despite every effort to hold them back, frustration and fear blurring together. “I found the files about Ethan. The containment protocol. You knew they were going to kill him.”
“I told you that already.”
“You didn’t tell me you approved it! I thought you’d just… turned a blind eye.” My voice breaks despite myself. “The recommendation went through your channels. Sartore asked permission and you let them.”
Felix’s expression doesn’t shift, but something flickers behind his pale eyes. “I didn’t approve Ethan’s death. It would have happened with or without my involvement.”
“Semantics.” I try to wrench my wrist free; his grip doesn’t budge. “You could have stopped it. You could have warned him, pulled him back, done something—and you chose to let my brother die because it was easier than getting involved.”
“I chose to avoid a war that would have killed dozens and ended with Ethan dead anyway.” His other hand moves from the desk to cup my jaw, tilting my face up so I can’t look away.
“Please,” I whisper, hating how my voice trembles. “Please let me go.”
Felix’s thumb brushes across my cheekbone, catching a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. The touch is almost gentle, incongruous with everything else about this moment.
“You have no idea what world you stepped into,” he says quietly, his breath warm against my forehead. “The files your brother left behind, the networks you’ve been trying to reconstruct, that’s not political corruption you can expose through transparency reports. It’s organized crime infrastructure that’s been built over generations. Senators, shipping routes, offshore accounts, enforcement structures that make people disappear when they ask the wrong questions.”
“Then let me leave.” My pulse races beneath his hand, visible and vulnerable. “If I’m such a threat, if I don’t understand what I’m dealing with, let me walk away and forget everything.”
“You wouldn’t forget.” His grip shifts, fingers threading through my hair at the base of my skull. “You’d go straight to a journalist, or federal prosecutors, or someone you think could help. Within forty-eight hours, you’d be dead. Sartore’s people are watching for exactly that move.”
“So I’m supposed to stay here? Be your prisoner indefinitely while you—” I can’t finish the sentence, the reality of it too overwhelming.
“While I keep you alive.” He leans closer, so close our mouths are almost touching, breath mingling in the shrinking space. “Which is more than anyone else in this world will do.”
The proximity shifts something volatile in the air between us. My heart hammers against my ribs, fear mixing with awareness I don’t want to acknowledge. His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there long enough that heat floods through me despite everything.
I wait for him to close the distance, to turn this restraint into something else entirely. Part of me wants him to, wants the anger and fear to tip into something simpler and more dangerous.
He doesn’t kiss me.
Instead, his mouth curves slightly, something dark and satisfied in the expression.
“Good,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I like when you beg.”
The words land like a slap. I shove against his chest with my free hand, but he’s immovable.
Felix steps back then, releasing my wrist but not my gaze. The sudden absence of contact feels abrupt, leaving me cold where his body was pressed against mine.
“You’re not leaving this estate,” he says, tone shifting back to controlled authority. “Not today, not next week, not until I’ve neutralized the threat Sartore represents. Accept that now, or keep fighting and make yourself miserable. The outcome won’t change.”
He picks up the notepad I dropped, scanning the filenames I copied with clinical detachment. Then he tears the pages free, folds them precisely, and tucks them into his jacket pocket.
“Dinner will be sent to your room at six.” He moves toward the door, dismissing me without another glance. “I suggest you eat it this time.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click, the lock engaging automatically.
I’m alone in his office, breathing hard, tears drying on my cheeks.
Chapter Eleven - Felix
The council room sits three levels below a members-only club that’s hosted Bratva business since the seventies. Soundproofed walls, reinforced doors, no windows. A single table dominates the space, polished wood scarred with decades of decisions that shaped the organization’s trajectory through legitimate fronts and violent enforcement.
