Chapter 39

**ALEXANDER**

"Who sent you?"

No answer.

I nod once to Leo, who steps forward and slams the heel of his boot into the man's back, forcing him flat to the floor with a pained grunt.

"I walked away from a half-naked woman writhing beneath me, just to deal with you,"

I mutter, crouching beside him, my voice a low, dangerous hiss against his ear.

"Can you even begin to imagine what kind of fucking mood that puts me in?"

I grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back.

"So here's how it's going to go," I say, my voice unnervingly calm—flat, too quiet, the kind of silence that presses down on you like a suffocating weight, making men beg for mercy before they've even realized they've crossed the line.

"You get one shot. One."

His throat jerks, the bob of his Adam’s apple betraying the fear that’s slowly creeping into his eyes. It's a beautiful thing, really—watching a man realize he's in over his head.

"Make it count. Who sent you?" I ask again, my tone slow, methodical... like a predator circling its prey.

His lips tremble, parting to form words, but nothing comes. Only hesitation. The stench of cowardice thickens the air.

I let my lips curl into a cruel, humorless smile—a razor-sharp curve that doesn’t promise mercy, only the satisfaction of knowing the inevitable.

"Fine." My voice is as cold as ice, yet it holds a subtle threat—a promise of what’s to come.

"Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

With a flick of my wrist, I release his chin, the movement disgusted as though he’s no more than a nuisance to me. I rise slowly, fixing my cuffs with cold, deliberate precision. Every motion is a statement of control.

“Start with his fingers,”

I say, my voice a sharp command, cutting through the room like a knife’s edge.

Leo doesn’t need to be told twice.

I glance down, my expression souring as I sigh.

“Didn’t anyone bother cleaning up the last mess?” I murmur, the edge in my voice cold and pointed.

“You know I can’t stand dirty floors.”

Blood’s a bitch to scrub out of marble. You’d think with all the money I throw at this place, someone would invent a stain-resistant floor by now.

I take a step back, the dried blood beneath my boots a grim reminder of the life I lead. But even with that filth underfoot and the trembling intruder kneeling before me, my thoughts keep circling back to her.

She’s the chaos in my mind, the one thing I can’t control. Every time I try to focus, to drown out the noise, her face—her defiance—screams at me from the dark corners of my thoughts.

It’s maddening. And I can't shake it.

She’s the storm I can’t escape.

Alina.

Her voice, her fire, that spark of defiance—it gnaws at me, clawing through my thoughts, even now, with blood on the floor and a life hanging by a thread. It’s maddening, and it’s the kind of chaos I can’t get rid of.

The storm I didn’t try to avoid—no, the one I walked straight into.

And no matter how this night ends, I know I’ll go back to her.

Because her fire doesn’t push me away—it pulls me in. Fuels the darker parts of me.

The parts that want to shatter her pride, chain her spirit, and claim every inch of her.

Not forever.

Just until I’ve drained every ounce of fight from her…

Until the inheritance is signed over…

Until I’ve had my fill of her body and broken her down to nothing.

“No… no… I—no one sent me, I was just… I came to steal, that’s all. Just that…” His voice trembles, but it's the desperate lie, the panic in his eyes, that jolts my mind back to the room.

I watch him closely, my gaze cold and calculating, studying every twitch, every hesitation.

His voice shakes with every word, but the lie is flimsy—pathetic.

Leo doesn’t even dignify it with a glance. He simply rolls his eyes and steps toward the desk, his silence colder than any verdict a court could deliver. Loyal. Efficient. Unforgiving.

The sharp metallic click of the black case opening cuts through the room like a blade. A sound that promises pain.

And in this room, promises are always kept.

The man’s trembling intensifies the moment Leo unlatches the black case. He flinches at the sound, like he already knows what’s inside. Maybe he’s heard stories.

Maybe he’s seen what happens to people who lie to me.

Leo doesn’t rush.

He lifts the lid with reverence, like he’s done this a hundred times before—and he has.

Rows of carefully arranged tools glint under the low light, each one sharp, polished, and precise. Instruments of truth.

I say nothing as Leo selects a thin, hooked blade. The kind that doesn’t kill. Just persuades.

“No one sent me,” the man stammers again, desperation creeping into his voice.

“I swear—I was just—stealing, I swear—”

Leo hums faintly. “Which is worse, you know. Lying and stealing?”

I crouch again in front of the man, staring into his panicked eyes. I let the silence sit long enough to crush him.

"Please... mercy... I beg you."

The plea hangs in the air, but I can’t help the small laugh that rises from my chest.

Mercy. That word doesn’t exist in my world.

"I gave you a chance," I say softly, my voice colder than ice, each word deliberate. "You wasted it."

I rise from my seat, the sound of my boots tapping against the floor a rhythmic reminder of the power I hold.

"He's all yours," I say, my tone indifferent, almost bored. "I have more important matters to attend to."

The man's begging begins anew, his words tangled in a frantic jumble of fear, desperation, and regret. But Leo remains silent, his movements precise and calculated, as he methodically begins his work.

The man's screams start to fill the room—raw, desperate—but there's no disarray. No chaos. Just the clean, surgical precision of control. My control.

.........

Even with the moron wailing behind me—bleeding all over my damn floor—it’s her face that lingers.

That fiery glare, that sharp tongue, and that maddeningly sexy defiance.

The woman who’s burrowed under my skin in less than two days.

Alina Santini.

The name tastes like trouble, and damn if I don’t want another sip.

She shouldn’t matter.

She’s leverage.

Collateral.

A means to an end.

Nothing more.

But even as the intruder groans in the background, blood seeping into the floor like a damn crime scene, my mind refuses to let her go.

Her voice, the way it shook when she spat "Never" in my face—fucking sexy.

I take a slow sip, the burn of whiskey filling the empty spaces in my chest. The glass feels heavier than it should, like it’s tainted by the same thoughts I can’t shake.

I rest my forearm on the bar, trying to ground myself in the present, but all I can see is her. Her.

She shouldn’t have this power over me.

No one should.

And yet here I am, standing in front of a half-dead man, jaw tight and hands twitching, all because I can't stop thinking about how her pulse raced when I touched her.

How her breath hitched when I held her, her body arching toward me, even as her words were nothing but poison. Even as she fought me every step of the way.

I should be focused on this bastard. Instead, I'm standing here, haunted by her defiance, the way she made me feel like I was the one trapped, like I was the one about to burn.

She hates me.

She should.

But she hasn’t broken.

Not yet.

And that’s the problem.

Her defiance is like a poison in my mind, crawling through every corner, making space where it doesn’t belong. The longer she holds out, the more it eats away at me.

I want her broken—her resistance crushed beneath the weight of my control. The sooner I break her, the sooner I can rid myself of the constant ache she’s causing.

After I’ve had my way with her, of course.

Once she’s bent to my will, once her fire is extinguished, I’ll be done with her. She’ll no longer have a place in my thoughts, no longer have power over me.

I’ll make her mine—completely—and then I’ll forget her.