Chapter 92

Chapter 92
Carlo

“Carlo… wake up.”

A voice. Faint. Shaky. Somewhere in the dark.

I groan, half-asleep. My arm is draped across Blaze’s waist. The sheets are tangled around us. His skin is warm under my palm. It’s still night outside, no light coming in through the curtains.

Then I hear it again—only this time it’s not Blaze’s voice.

It’s rough. Sharp.

“Carlo Davenport. Get the fuck up.”

I shoot up, blinking fast. The room’s full of men. Black suits. Guns. No fucking faces I know.

“What the fuck—” I start to say, but one of them grabs me by the throat, shoving me back against the headboard.

Blaze jerks awake, eyes wide. “Carlo?”

“Don’t fucking move,” the man snarls.

Another pair of hands yank Blaze off the bed. He fights—hard—but there’s too many of them. One of them backhands him across the mouth. Blood splatters. Blaze gasps, struggling against the arms holding him.

“Let him go, you fucking bastards—!” I shout, thrashing, trying to get free.

Another fist to my ribs. Pain shoots through me. I choke.

“Stay the fuck down,” the leader barks. “You move, he dies.”

I freeze.

Blaze is dragged to the middle of the room, half-naked, blood at the corner of his mouth, breathing hard. His eyes meet mine—panicked. Furious.

I try to steady my voice. “What the fuck do you want?”

The leader pulls out a phone and tosses it onto the bed next to me. “Answer.”

I grab it with shaking fingers.

“Hello?” My voice sounds hoarse. Weak.

My father’s voice cuts through, cold as fucking ice.

“If you don’t marry Rebecca in forty-eight hours,” he says slowly, like I’m too fucking dumb to understand, “in court... that boy dies.”

I can’t fucking breathe.

“You son of a bitch,” I whisper. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. You forced my hand with that pathetic little scene at the track. You humiliated this family. You humiliated me. You think you can destroy our name and just crawl into bed with that... trash?”

I clench the phone tighter, blood roaring in my ears.

“He’s not trash,” I spit.

“He is nothing,” my father snaps. “And you are going to fix this. Publicly. Now. Or I will have his body dumped where you’ll never find it.”

My chest is heaving. I look at Blaze again—he’s glaring, struggling, but they’ve got him. Helpless.

Fucking helpless.

I can’t think. My mind is a fucking mess. Rage. Fear. Panic. Shame.

I’ve never hated that man more in my entire life.

But Blaze—he’s still staring at me. And under the fury, the bruised lips, I can see the question in his eyes.

What are you gonna do?

I swallow hard.

“I’ll do it,” I force out.

There’s a pause.

“Good,” my father says. “You will follow my men. You will meet me. And tomorrow at eight a.m., you will be in that fucking court.”

The line goes dead.

I drop the phone.

The leader yanks me up, shoves a pair of pants in my hands. “Get dressed. Now.”

I don’t move at first. My hands are shaking too fucking much. I grab the fabric anyway. Pull them on like a goddamn puppet.

Blaze is still fighting. “Let him fucking go!” I yell, trying to push toward him.

Another man grabs me, shoves me toward the door.

“Carlo!” Blaze shouts. “Don’t you fucking do it—”

I turn my head just as they drag him out. He’s kicking, punching. Spitting blood.

And then they slam the door in my face.

I stand there for a second, fists clenched so tight my nails dig into my palms.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I follow them out.

No choice.

The penthouse is swarming. Black cars wait downstairs. I get shoved into the backseat of one.

The city’s dead at this hour. 4 a.m. Cold. Empty.

We drive fast, no words.

I stare out the window, heart slamming against my ribs. Over and over.

What the fuck am I doing?

How the fuck did it come to this?

I can still see him—Blaze. Blood on his mouth. Hands bound. Eyes burning.

I’m gonna fucking kill him for this.

My father.

I swear on my fucking life.

The car pulls up in front of one of my father’s private offices. Gray stone. Steel doors. No windows.

They drag me inside.

And there he is—standing there in a crisp suit like it’s just another day at work.

His face cold. Smug.

I want to tear it off.

But my legs feel like fucking concrete.

“You’re late,” he says.

I say nothing.

“You embarrassed this family,” he goes on. “You think you can parade your filth in front of the cameras? Spit on your name? On mine?”

I glare at him. “You laid your cards down. I’m here. What the fuck do you want now?”

“You will marry Rebecca. In court. Today.”

I grind my teeth. “You’re a fucking monster.”

He steps closer, voice dropping. “You think I give a shit what you think of me? You do this, or you bury him.”

I flinch.

My throat closes up.

I feel fucking sick.

He nods at his men. “Get him cleaned up. Make sure he’s presentable.”

They grab me again, haul me into another room. Shave me. Fix my hair. Toss a suit at me.

I barely feel it.

I’m numb.

I keep thinking of Blaze’s face. His voice. The way he looked at me last night—like I finally fucking chose him.

And now this.

This is gonna destroy him.

It’s gonna fucking destroy me.

By the time they’re done, it’s almost eight.

I’m shoved back into another car. The courthouse comes into view. Press already gathering outside—my father made sure of it.

Of course he fucking did.

Rebecca’s family is there too. All smug smiles. They know. They fucking know what’s going on.

Rebecca looks at me—dead in the eyes.

No emotion.

No shame.

Just cold fucking calculation.

She takes my arm like we’re two happy lovebirds.

I want to puke.

We walk inside.

The judge is waiting.

Papers are on the table.

A blur.

I barely hear the words.

But I hear the pen scrape as I sign the line.

Carlo Davenport.

Married to Rebecca.

For one thing.

To keep Blaze alive.

That’s all.

I’m dead inside when the cameras flash.

I don’t give a fuck.

All I can think is—

Where is he?

Is he still alive?

Will they let me see him?

What the fuck happens now?

I stand there like a goddamn statue.