Chapter 21 THE UNDERGROUND ROOM
The room was soundproofed, windowless, and cold enough to bite through a suit jacket.
It wasn’t on any blueprint.
Only three people in the world knew it existed.
And tonight, only two were inside.
Julian stood at the head of the steel table, immaculate as ever, sleeves folded to the elbow as though paperwork, guns, and blood all required the same careful preparation. His expression was unreadable, carved from marble and ambition.
Anton Kade leaned his hip against the table, arms crossed. He was broader than Julian, shaved head, eyes sharp with a soldier’s intuition. If Julian was a scalpel, Anton was a hammer. Together, they ruled an empire the world insisted on calling “legitimate.”
Anton exhaled slowly.
“Desmond Hale recognized him. That complicates things.”
Julian flicked through a file without looking up.
“It complicates nothing.”
Anton raised an eyebrow. “Julian—”
“I said nothing.”
Julian closed the file with a soft thud.
“Hale can recognize faces all he wants. He won’t poke his nose in my business.”
“He certainly will,” Anton corrected quietly. “He was looking at Eli. Because of who he resembles.”
Julian’s jaw tightened, just enough for someone who knew him to notice.
Anton continued, “If Hale starts digging—”
“He won’t.” Julian’s voice was final. “Kill the story instead. Pay off the tabloids. Threaten the ones that can’t be bought. Make it disappear.”
Anton nodded once. He was good at obedience.
“And Hale?” Anton asked. “Do I send someone?”
Julian’s gaze chilled.
“No. Leave Hale alone. For now.”
The silence that followed was heavily thick with unspoken history. Julian rested his palms on the table.
Anton hesitated for the first time.
“Does Eli know yet?”
Julian’s eyelids lowered like a shutter.
“He doesn’t even know the man is alive.”
Anton studied him.
“Julian… when he finds out—”
“He won’t,” Julian cut in sharply.
“And if he does?”
Julian looked up.
The look was cold enough to frost metal.
“Then it will already be too late to matter.”
\---
Eli woke up, from his nap, to emptiness.
The other side of the bed was cool, the imprint barely visible. Julian hadn’t just left early, he’d left without waking him, without a note, without anything.
Typical.
Eli sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his face. His chest felt tight, memories from last night stabbing at him like needles.
You look just like your father.
Your father was the reason I married you.
Eli pressed a shaking hand to his sternum.
His father.
Dead.
He’d always been told the man was dead.
So why had Julian—
He couldn’t finish the thought.
The mansion was too quiet as he walked through it, barefoot, trailing fingers along polished surfaces that didn’t feel like his. He didn’t know how many hours he spent pacing, replaying the gala in his head, trying to stitch together a truth Julian refused to give.
He was pouring himself a glass of water when footsteps approached.
Julian entered the room like a storm contained in a tailored suit.
Eli tensed automatically.
Julian glanced at him once.
“We’re leaving.”
Eli blinked. “Where?”
“A business dinner.”
Eli set the glass down carefully. “Julian, about last night—”
“Later.” Julian was already walking away. “Get your coat. Don’t make me wait.”
Eli swallowed all the questions burning inside him.
He followed.
\---
The “restaurant” wasn’t really a restaurant.
Eli knew it the moment he stepped inside.
The main floor looked normal—linen-draped tables, dim lights, soft jazz. But Julian didn’t stop there. He led Eli past the kitchen, past a locked hallway, to an unmarked door painted the same color as the wall.
A guard opened it from the inside.
Eli froze.
This room had no windows.
No menus.
No staff.
Just a long table surrounded by five men who looked like they collected bodies instead of business cards.
Julian nudged Eli forward with a firm hand to his back.
“Sit.”
Eli obeyed, heart hammering.
Across from him sat a man with sleeve tattoos, a gold ring on every finger, and a smile that felt like a wolf showing teeth.
Marco.
Julian greeted him with a nod.
“Marco.”
“Julian.” Marco leaned back in his chair, assessing Eli with undisguised curiosity. “So this is the husband.”
Eli tried not to shrink under the attention.
Marco smirked.
“He looks too soft for this world. You sure you want him in it?”
Eli stiffened.
Julian didn’t glance at him.
“He’ll learn.”
The conversation moved like knives after that… talk of shipments routed through unmarked docks, a politician who needed “neutralizing,” and a rival faction planning a power grab. The words twisted Eli’s stomach.
Every time someone spoke in code, Julian translated without hesitation.
This wasn’t a “business dinner.”
This was a battlefield? Cult?
And Julian was its undefeated general.
At some point, Marco leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“If your husband wants to survive, he’ll need thicker skin.”
Eli’s throat closed.
Julian’s tone stayed calm, almost bored.
“He will.”
Marco chuckled. “You must be very confident.”
“I am.”
Julian’s eyes, on Eli, were unreadable.
“He adapts quickly.”
Eli’s pulse spiked. He felt trapped in a chair in a room where murder was discussed like weather.
Then someone placed a detailed map of a port on the table. Guns. Routes. Kill orders. A list of names.
Everything blurred.
Sound swam in and out.
Eli didn’t feel his fingertips anymore.
He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until a hand clamped onto his arm—too tight, grounding him with force rather than comfort.
Julian.
“Outside,” Julian said flatly.
Eli stumbled after him into the dim hallway, breathing too fast, hands shaking.
“I—I can’t—Julian, what was that? Who—what— that wasn’t a dinner—”
“It was business.” Julian’s tone was clipped, unimpressed.
“That— that was illegal!” Eli gasped. “Those men—those plans—Julian, I can’t be part of that— I can’t breathe—”
Julian stared at him with cool detachment.
“Then get control of yourself.”
Eli froze mid-breath.
Julian stepped closer, not to comfort, not to soothe, but to impose.
“Panic will get you killed in rooms like this,” he said quietly.
Eli swallowed, trembling. “I didn’t ask to be in them.”
“You married me.”
Julian’s voice was soft as a razor.
“That means you walk where I walk.”
Eli stared at him, chest tight, dizziness creeping back in.
“And next time,” Julian finished, stepping back, “control it.”
He turned and walked away without waiting for Eli to steady himself.
Eli remained in the hallway, heart pounding against the walls of his ribs; terrified, confused, angry… and, worst of all, realizing something he hadn’t understood until now:
Julian wasn’t pulling him into his world.
Julian was preparing him for it.