Chapter 28 – Don’t Kiss Me Dualipa

Chapter 28 – Don’t Kiss Me Dualipa


Zorak POV

The door creaked when I pushed it. Dust hit my nose. The air smelled like cigars and old wood. For a second, I swore I heard Cristian’s laugh.

“Who the fuck’s in here?” I growled.

Silence. Then a shadow moved.

I snapped the lamp on.

“Boo.”

She was on the bed, legs crossed, grinning like a damn kid. Dark hair tied back, gun on her hip like always.

“Dualipa?”

She grinned like a damn child, legs swinging over the bed, gun on her thigh, like no time had passed.

My heart slammed against my ribs. “Jesus Christ. I almost shot you.”

She stood and ran to me, crashing into my chest, hugging me tight. Same as when we were kids hiding from our fathers in the poppy fields. She still smelled like gun oil and vanilla, always that strange mix.

“Missed you, asshole,” she said against me.

I let out a rough laugh, hugging her back hard. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She laughed in my chest. “That’s my job.”

I shoved her back a step, staring. She looked the same, but sharper. Her cheekbones cut deeper, her eyes carried more shadows. She’d grown harder, but her grin was still that same stupid grin I remembered from when she used to race me and Verlin through the orchards barefoot.

“You were supposed to be in the States,” I said.

“I was.” She smirked, plopping back on Cristian’s bed like she owned it. “Business was good. Extended the market like you wanted. Weed, pills, a few side hustles. But I brought something better back.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

Her grin faded. She pulled a folded photo from her jacket. Tossed it on the desk.

I picked it up. The edges were creased. My gut twisted.

“Jamarok,” I muttered.

She nodded. “Alive.”

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. “That’s impossible.”

“Not impossible,” she said. “Careless. He’s been hiding in the States. Thought he was untouchable. Thought nobody would notice.”

I stared at the bastard’s face. Older. Harder. Same snake eyes that haunted me since Cristian’s last day.

“Where?” I asked. My voice came out rough, low.

“New York. I tracked him for months. Watched him slither. He slipped up. I got proof.”

I crushed the photo in my fist.

“Last time I saw Cristian,” I said, “he told me he had a meeting with Jamarok. Said Veltrona was planning something big. Something that would shake the country. He was pale that day. Sick. Like he’d been drugged.

Hours later, he’s on that boat, storm hits, he jumps in to save me after the boat malfunctioned and i fell in the water… 

“His hand had trembled when he gripped my shoulder. Cristian never shook. Not once in his life. That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

and  then the Padrelli’s buried him before anyone asked questions.”

Dua’s eyes softened. “And Jamarok disappears.”

“And Veltrona ends up with the Red Box.” I spat the words like poison. “Coincidence my ass.”

” My voice came out rough. “He vanished the day Cristian died.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Funny timing, huh?”

I stared at the picture. Jamarok’s face, older, meaner. Same snake eyes.

“You’re telling me he’s been hiding in the States all this time?”

For a second the room went silent, just dust and memory pressing down.

The memory came back hard, like smoke in my throat.

It wasn’t night. It was broad daylight, hot sun baking the asphalt, when it happened. I had just left a meeting, my phone buzzing in my pocket. The PI was waiting on the other side of town with a lead on Jamarok—the Veltrona snake that vanished the same day Cristian died. I was already two steps ahead, ready to chase it down.

I hit the parking lot, car keys biting into my palm. My head was buzzing with Cristian’s voice, the last time he spoke“They’re planning something big, Zor. Bigger than us.” And then nothing.

I walked fast, every muscle wound tight. My car was sitting there in the sun, gleaming black, waiting. I was ten seconds away from getting in.

And then

She ran into me. Nolie 

A girl. Slim, pale, carrying a damn cello case bigger than her body. She crashed right into my chest, nearly knocked us both over.

“Shit!” she gasped, trying to steady the case.

I snapped, “Watch where you’re—”

But before I could finish, the case slipped, I grabbed her arm, and it stalled me. Just long enough.

The blast tore through the air.

My car went up in fire, a roaring ball of heat that ripped through the lot. The shockwave knocked us both down, glass raining like knives. My ears rang, my lungs burned.

She screamed, clutching her instrument like it was her child.

I rolled onto my side, vision spinning. My car was gone. A twisted skeleton burning in the sun. If she hadn’t run into me—if she hadn’t knocked me off course—I’d be ash.

She didn’t even look back.

And I stood there in the wreckage, heart pounding, knowing I had just been spared by pure accident.

Nolie Hartley. I didn’t even know her name yet. But she’d already saved my life.

Her hand brushed mine. “You were right to keep searching, Zor. Cristian didn’t just die. Someone planned it. And Jamarok’s the key.”

I dragged a hand over my face. Guilt burned me raw. I remembered Cristian’s laugh, the way he shoved my shoulder and called me reckless. I remembered that day on the docks, watching the waves swallow him whole.

I wanted to smash the lamp. Instead I lit a cigarette. Smoke filled my lungs, bitter.

“Good job, Dua,” I muttered.“That bastard was the last one to see Cristian alive.”

“Exactly,” she said, leaning forward. “That’s why I came back. You always said Cristian didn’t look right before the boat. Like he was drugged. Like someone set him up.”

Silence stretched. Her hand brushed mine on the desk. I didn’t move.

“You don’t have to carry this alone, Zor,” she whispered. “It was supposed to be the three of us. Always.”

Her fingers tightenedShe smiled, and before I knew it, she leaned in and kissed me. Quick, soft, like she’d been waiting years.

I froze. For half a second I almost let it happen. Almost let myself sink into that old comfort. But then I pulled back.

“Don’t.” My voice came out sharp.

Her eyes flickered. She laughed it off, like she hadn’t just crossed a line. “Guess I missed you too much.”

“Guess so.” I lit a cigarette, smoke curling between us. “What do you want, Dua?”

She smirked, trying to cover the crack in her voice. “Heard rumors, Zor. That you’re getting married, Crazy bastard..”

I smirked, bitter. “Word travels fast.”

She tilted her head. “You? The one who swore he’d never chain himself? Remember when we were kids—you, me, Verlin—we swore it was just us three against the whole damn world. No wives. No outsiders. Just blood and business.”

I laughed once, harsh. “Things change.”

Her eyes flickered. “Because of her?”

“Nolie,” I said. And just saying her name calmed the storm in my chest. “Yeah. Because of her.”

Dua stared, something unreadable in her eyes. “What about Sirenne?” she asked quietly.

I shot her a look. “Since when do you care who I fuck or marry?”

She smirked, covering the sting. “Since it got messy.”

I barked a laugh. “Story of my life.”

For a moment, silence again. Heavy. The ghosts of Cristian’s room pressing around us.

Then she pushed the photo back toward me. “So what now? You want me to bring Jamarok in?”

I stared at the bastard’s face again. My chest burned with old guilt, old rage.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “Bring him in.”

I ground the cigarette out on Cristian’s old desk, sparks dying fast.

Dua leaned forward. “Careful, Zor. He’s slippery. And Veltrona will notice if he goes missing.”

“Good.” I crushed the cigarette into Cristian’s desk, ash scattering. “Let them notice. Let them sweat. He just came back at the perfect time.”

Her brows knit. “Perfect time for what?”

I leaned close, my voice like steel. “For me to write my name in Padrelli history. For me to prove Cristian didn’t die for nothing.”

I flicked the photo back to her. “Jamarok’s the scapegoat. The key. And when I’m done, the world’s gonna know who really runs this game