Chapter 64: 64

Silas’s Pov

A cigarette burned in the ashtray beside me, smoke curling upward in slow and lazy spirals. Pete lingered by the door, his posture stiff, hands folded behind his back like the good soldier that he was.

Still, he was restless— I could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the faint flicker of hesitation.

His watchful eyes following me as I flipped through the paperwork I had no interest in. He cleared his throat once, then again, until finally I looked up.

“Well?” I asked.

“You need to get out of Rome for a while, boss,” he said finally. “Go back to New York. See your mother… she’s been asking of you, and you know she doesn’t like being ignored.”

I smirked faintly, setting the papers aside. “My mother has never liked being ignored, but I’m sure she’ll live.”

Pete pressed on, cautious but firm. “It’s not just her, Boss. Your business and deals… you’re off your game.”

My eyes cut to him sharply. “Off my game?”

He swallowed, shifted, but didn’t backpedal. Pete was loyal, too loyal to soften the truth. It’s why I kept him.

“Since her,” he continued carefully. “Since Imogen. You’re not sleeping, not thinking straight. She should have been a one night stand, that’s all she should’ve been. But now—”

“Careful.” My voice sliced through his words, low and dangerous.

He went silent instantly.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling smoke through my nose, letting the silence weigh heavy between us before I spoke again. “You don’t talk about her like that. Not in this room. Not anywhere.”

Pete’s eyes dropped. “Yes, boss. Sorry, I overstepped.”

I studied him a moment longer, then flicked the ash from my cigarette. The anger died as quickly as it came, replaced by something warmer— an image of Imogen, her eyes flashing with fire, her defiance every bit as intoxicating as her surrender.

“She’s not a distraction,” I murmured, almost to myself. “She’s the point.”

I rose slowly from my chair, as I closed the distance between us. I stopped just in front of him, close enough that he could feel the weight of my presence, the coarseness behind my calm tone.

“Imogen is not a weakness,” I said, each word sharpened to a blade. “She’s the reason I am sharper, more focused than ever. She’s not just  a random one night stand. She’s the kind of woman who deserves more than this world has ever given her— and I’ll be damned if you, or anyone else, speaks her name like she’s anything less than a queen.”

Pete held his silence, his jaw tight. I saw the flicker of remorse in his eyes, and only then did I lean back slightly.

“Understood?” I asked.

“Yes, boss,” he said, steady now.

Satisfied, I turned back toward the window, Rome glittering like a jewel beneath the night sky. I could already picture her in it— dressed in silk, her laughter echoing, her fire burning only for me.

“Good,” I murmured. “Now set the date. Something private. Candlelight, fine wine, the best Rome has to offer. She deserves nothing less than being treated like a princess every moment she’s with me.”

Pete nodded once. “Consider it done.”

I poured myself a drink, savoring the burn of the liquor before speaking again, more to myself than him as I took a seat.

“She’ll understand soon enough,” I said softly, my eyes fixed on the dark horizon. “She doesn’t need to escape me… she never will, but I’m not her cage— I’m her forever.”

Before the words had fully left his mouth, another guard stepped into the study. His face was strong, his voice clipped. “We have the man.”

A ripple of anticipation coursed through me, hot and electric.

Finally.

I rose from the chair, flicked the cigarette into the tray, and reached for my jacket. The sharp lines of the tailored suit slid over my shoulders like armor as I rolled my sleeves back once, then again, exposing my wrists. The ritual of it sent a shiver of excitement through me.

“Good,” I said, a slow grin forming at my mouth. “I needed this.”

The basement stretched beneath the villa like a beast’s belly— concrete walls, exposed pipes dripping cold, the air thick with the scent of rust and damp stone.

The sound of our footsteps echoed as we descended, each step pulling me deeper into the quiet violence of my world.

When the door opened, the smell hit me first: sweat, blood, the unpleasant stench of fear.

He was there— chained to the wall, wrists rubbed raw from struggling against the cuffs. His shirt was torn, soaked through with sweat. His eyes that were wide, bloodshot, and desperate immediately snapped up the moment I entered.

“Please…” His voice cracked, hoarse. “Please, Mr. Moretti, it’s not what you think. I wasn’t dealing with them. I swear—”

I tilted my head, watching him with cool detachment as I stepped closer. The room seemed to shrink with every pace I took, his breath quickening, with his body jerking against the chains.

“Loyalty,” I said softly, almost conversational. “It’s very simple. You give it… or you don’t. There’s no in between.”

“I am loyal!” His voice broke. “I’d never betray you. Never!”

I let the silence hang for a moment, let him drown in it before I reached for the table by the wall, where steel glittered under the harsh light. My fingers curled around the handle of a blade that was long, slender, honed to a sadistic point.

I lifted it slowly, letting the overhead light catch the edge, letting him see every detail. His breathing hitched, eyes darting wildly between my hand and my face.

I smiled.

“You know why betrayal stings the most?” I asked, dragging the tip lightly across his cheek. A stream of blood dripped  instantly, sliding down the curve of his jaw.

He flinched, a strangled sound catching in his throat.

“It’s because it always comes from someone I trust.”

His pleas rose into unstable wave of  sobs, words spilling over themselves, but I didn’t hear them.

I didn’t need to.

The first cut was shallow,  and deliberate, meant to tease the skin apart and watch him tremble. His scream bounced off the walls— raw and ugly.

The second went deeper.

The third deeper still.

I didn’t rush.

I took my time.

Every movement was precise, controlled, a ritual I knew too well. The blade slid into flesh like silk, the sound of tearing skin mixing with his panicked cries.

“Mr. Moretti! Please! I have a family! Children—”

I silenced him with a sharp slap to the face as the crack of bone-on-bone echoing in the chamber.

He sagged against the chains, sobbing.

“Your family,” I said coldly, wiping his bloodied face across the blade, “will live or die based on your choices. Not mine!”

He whimpered.

I leaned closer, my voice a whisper against his ear. “And you chose wrong.”

The rest was methodical— slashes across the chest, shallow cuts to the arms, a slow dance of agony designed to break him from the inside out.

I didn’t shout, nor did I show any emotions.

I simply worked.

Calm.

Precise.

Detached.

His screams filled the air like music, rising and falling with every stroke— and with each one, the tension inside me loosened, the fucking  edge of frustration was wearing off.

This was control.

This was order.

This was balance restored.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I ignored it at first but the buzzing didn’t stop.

A groan tore from my throat— it was a groan of irritation, and it was sharp and hot. I pulled the phone free, ready to bark at whoever dared interrupt me now.

Pete’s eyes flicked to the screen. He hesitated first, then said softly, “It’s her.”

The world shifted in an instant.

All the fury, all the cold detachment, drained out of me like water slipping through cupped hands.

My lips curved into a smile, slow and genuine, as I wiped the blade clean and set it down.

“Imogen…” I whispered, savoring her name like a child given a new toy.

The chained man whimpered behind me, forgotten.

I pressed the phone to my ear, and for the first time that night, my voice softened. “My love,” I murmured, warmth threading through every word. “You couldn’t have called at a better time.”