Chapter 20 Chapter 20

Chapter 20 Chapter 20
~ALLISTER KANE DEANDRE~

I knew I had pushed beyond the limits. But it wasn't the first time I had done so. I had men killed in far more gruesome ways, and I'd painted cities in blood. Why then did it bother me so much now for just one woman? One I definitely resented?

"You seem lost in thoughts, Re Nero." Mario said, noticing my worry. I didn't reply.

The timer had begun counting ever since Brienne entered under the ground. It was down to just five minutes. If she wasn't able to move and turn it off by the time it elapsed, her airflow would be cut off, sealing her inside.

I made the rules and my men awaited to see the results. It was going to end in two ways. Either in her death or her survival. But, I noticed a part of me growing weary by the minute, wondering what would happen if the time did elapse and she didn't make it out.

My men expected me to leave her to her death then and turn my back away. But could I?

For someone who had wanted to kill me since the first day we met, I should resent her far worse and show no mercy. But there was a tug in my chest making me doubt my core. Many feared me because i was merciless in my dealings, killing without a thought. I was known as the Deandre ruthless beast. Yet, there I was, tempted to act against my reputation.

The underground chamber of the old and abandoned warehouse had a stiffling humidity, the air heavy with the metallic tang of rust, and wet clay. 

My boots scraped against the floor as I paced the elevated platform. The grave below that was lined with concrete had been covered up with loose soil, with the coffin underneath it. Mario loomed nearby, along side other men, their broad shoulders casting  long shadows under the harsh glare of the overhead bulbs.

4:58, the timer on the outside showed. I clenched my fists, the leather of my gloves protesting with a soft creak. Why this hesitation now? I'd designed these bridal trials myself, drawing from the ancient Deandre rituals that father had taught us. Trials meant to forge unbreakable loyalty from the women who dared enter our bloodline. The converging walls spiked with iron nails, and this burial were a bit over the edge, but it was meant to test her mind's strength and if it could fight the paralysis.

She had killed three of our men in her vengeful haze, and the assassination had earned her own swift execution. I was meant to kill her during the Russian roulette. Yet, I spared her, redirecting the shot and sacrificing one of our men in her place. Death was too lenient. I craved her torment, the slow unraveling of that defiant spirit in her. Or perhaps that was the excuse I gave myself for hesitating.

Mario cleared his throat, his voice thick in the tension. "Boss, the vital signs are dropping. Her heart rate's erratic. If we don't—"

"Shut it."  I growled, my voice slicing through the hum of the ventilation fans. The chamber's walls, slick with condensation, seemed to mirror the sweat beading on my brow. 

Memories assaulted me... Her performance at La Rosa Nero, the way her lips commanded the client's surrender, how her eyes locked on the one-way mirror, challenging me silently. The heat of her body during the retrieval of that poisoned lipstick, cuffed and exposed, her gasps a symphony of resistance and unintended allure. And now, buried alive, paralyzed in the dark. Did she feel the air thinning like a noose around her? 

The tug in my chest twisted sharper, a betrayal from the merciless core that had built my empire. I had erased rivals without remorse. I had snuffed out Cassandra Sanchez’s  life for her fathers betrayal. I had killed far more than i could recount.  Yet, there I stood, an architect of chaos, faltering over a Vonberg witch who'd vowed my end from our first encounter.

1:52. 

The air grew thicker, or perhaps it was my imagination, the chamber closing like the coffin itself. She still hadn't reached the switch yet. Memories of her flooded back again. How hunger had stirred in me low and unbidden. A forbidden heat I fought with all my restraint to suppress that night at the suite... her body arching under the toy's intrusion, defiance mingling with the flush of unwilling response. She was a weapon, sharp and double-edged, cutting into my control. Death would end the game too soon; I needed her alive, seething, her plots twisting around me like vines. 

1:12. 

My hand drifted toward the override, fingers hovering, the metal cool against my skin. The men shifted, sensing the fracture. I couldn't break. Not yet.

0:58. 

The final seconds clawed at me, each one a razor tearing at me. I should turn away, let the seal engage and let the air cut off. But the tug became a roar, visions of her lifeless form igniting a panic I'd never known. 

0:42. 

My phone vibrated insistently in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts. I snatched it, the screen illuminating the gloom: Maximus Vonberg. Her father. I answered, wondering if he was aware his daughter was face to face with death.

"Allister," Maximus rasped, his voice cracking with uncharacteristic desperation, the elite facade shattered. "Stop it. Whatever hell you've put my daughter through. Gwen called and said Brienne is facing the end in your trials. She's stubborn, a thorn in my side, but she's my blood and relatively my last heir. I've spoken to Giovanni about it and he backs me. Pull her out. I'll handle her rebellion myself, drag her to the altar if I must, secure the marriage, the alliances. Just... don't kill her. Name your price if you want." 

For some twisted and insane reason, relief surged through me like a dam breaking, washing away the panic in me. Finally, I had an excuse. An external one that didn't include  my personal desire to halt the ongoing trial. Her father had called at the right time and my father's support sealed it. 

I masked my relief and kept my tone indifferent. "I am after all responsible for your first daughter's condition. It'll be particularly cruel to take the life of the second especially with you being an ally. Since my father approves it, I shall have her delivered to you." I said, then ended the call.

"Dig her up. Giovanni approved her fathers plea!'

Shovels struck the soil in a frenzy, as the final seconds elapsed and the vent sealed shut. It took about another two minutes before the coffin emerged, and the lid wrecked open. Brienne sprawled inside, body slack from the paralytic's grip, her skin pale and clammy, breaths shallow rasps that barely fogged the air. Faint marks scarred the wood near the switch, a testimony to her desperate, futile struggles before numbness claimed her. Mario lifted her gently, her head falling limp against his chest, dark hair matted with sweat. I felt tempted to approach her, to touch her, but I stopped myself.

"Get her to the Vonberg estate." I commanded, before turning away.

This feeling I'd seemingly developed for her was poison to my empire. I had always been detached. Not holding anyone too dear to me or caring at all about anyone. It made me more ruthless, more soulless. But noticing cracks in me when Brienne's survival pulled thinner, baffled me. The growing ache I was developing to her body felt like a threat to me too. Because to desire someone was to assert a certain type of control to them that they could use on you. Desire if not controlled, made one reckless. And I could let Brienne of all people have any sort of power or control over me. She lived up to the title of the Viper very well, bringing men to their knees and striking without mercy.

When I reached our estate, all I wanted was to pass out for the night as I had gone days with just little sleep. Perharps it was part of what was messing with my mind. Making me feel like I suddenly cared about Brienne.

But as I descended, a figure moved from the shadows and intercepted my path.  It was Marcello, my brother, his frame full with predatory energy, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, and his eyes gleaming with deceit.

"I see you've had your fun orchestrating my fiancée's bridal trials." He sneered, exhaling smoke that curled like a challenge between us. His tailored shirt was rumpled, his sleeves rolled up as though he’d been pacing the halls in agitation, waiting for my return. We were not brothers by blood, and despite being forged in the same fire by Giovanni, we never developed the closeness of brothers. I preferred being on my own, and I never got in his way. He was the heir to the conglomerate, and I was fine with that. I had no problem with it.

I loved being the Deandre attack beast—killing all those who stood against us. But Marcello was always a ticking bomb. Troublesome and intrusive, he would no doubt cause a massive mess if left unchecked. He got on my nerves on far too many occasions, which was why I rarely associated with him.

Still, I knew I would eventually have to swear loyalty when he became Don.

Until then.

I halted, the night's raw edges sharpening my patience to a knife's edge. "Marcello. I'm really  not in the mood for your talks tonight." I replied, tone indifferent.

He flicked the cigarette away, grinding it under his heel with deliberate slowness. "Did she pass? Or did your twisted rituals finally snap the Vonberg whore? Father muttered about the trials, but you... I know you to escalate everything to madness brother. If shes still breathing, I know it's because you let it be."  He said, stepping closer until the whiskey on his breath mingled with the night's chill.

I held his stare, keeping my expression void. "If you're asking if the wedding proceeds, yes it does. Father has ensured it."  

"We'll see about that."  He hissed, his tone a venomous promise. 

I knew then he was scheming something reckless. A rash decision that would lead to no good. But I couldn't ask what it was. I didn't want to. Why should I bother myself with whatever fate meets Brienne?