Chapter Two Hundred And Thirteen

Chapter Two Hundred And Thirteen
Miles’ POV

The morning of their wedding tasted like metal.

The safe house was quiet, too quiet for the kind of war I was planning. A single bulb burned above the table, throwing harsh light over guns, ammo, printed blueprints of the venue, and a black invitation card with their names stamped in gold.

THEODORE BLACK & CAMILLE STEELE
A union of power, legacy and love.

I stared at those words until the letters blurred.

Love.

They made it sound clean. Holy. Beautiful. The world would sit down, clap, and smile while she walked down the aisle to another man. They would forget the woman who once wore my ring. They would forget the man I used to be before lies, poison, and betrayal dragged me under.

My phone lay on the table, screen down, next to a loaded magazine. I had been waiting for one call. One confirmation. One word from the only people crazy enough to pull this off with me.

The Eyeless Wolf.

The kind of organization that existed in whispers and coded messages. Men who blew up governments and made it look like accidents. Their symbol was stamped in black ink on the back of my hand-drawn map: a wolf’s head with no eyes.

They were supposed to take care of the chaos while I dealt with Camille and Theo.

All I needed was that call.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the encrypted phone buzzed against the wood.

I felt something tight loosen for the first time that morning. I picked it up and answered.

“Miles Banks,” I said, voice steady. “Tell me you’re in position.”

Silence hummed on the line for a breath too long. Not the usual controlled silence of trained killers. This one felt heavier. Off.

Then a man’s voice spoke, calm and distant.

“Mr. Banks. The deal is off.”

My mind went blank for one second.

“What did you just say?” I asked, the words coming out low.

“The deal,” he repeated without emotion. “It’s terminated. We won’t proceed.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “You don’t terminate anything without my permission.”

“We do,” he replied, “when our primary client overrules you.”

Ice slid down my spine. “Primary client?”

“The Patron,” the man said. “Your father contacted us at dawn. He ordered us to cut all operations linked to you. We follow him.”

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

My father. Lying in a hospital bed with poison in his veins. My father, who should have been too weak to speak, much less pull strings. My father, who had spent my entire life shaping me into his weapon and then discarding me.

He had picked up the phone and taken everything back with one order.

“He’s half dead,” I said slowly. “You expect me to believe…”

“He is recovering,” the man cut in. “And he’s still the Patron. His words stand. We don’t cross him.”

My jaw tightened so hard pain ran through my teeth. “You made a deal with me.”

“And now we’re unmaking it,” the man replied. “Walk away from this, Mr. Banks. There will be no support. No extraction. No explosives. No cover.”

Anger burned through my veins, hot and choking. “Do you understand what you’re doing? I paid, I gave information, I gave access…”

“And you will not be compensated,” he said, still calm. “Your father has taken responsibility for the loss.”

Of course he had. He would rather burn my plans than risk his own name being dragged into my war.

“You’re choosing him over me,” I said quietly.

“We’re choosing survival,” the man replied. “We don’t go against the man who built half the criminal underworld. You’re dangerous, Mr. Banks, but you’re not him.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

My grip tightened around the phone. “If you back out now, you make me your enemy.”

“We already have enough enemies,” he said. “We’re not adding the Patron to that list. This is our last contact. Destroy this line. Forget you ever heard of us.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a moment.

Then I hurled it across the room.

It hit the wall, bounced off, and crashed to the floor, screen cracked and flickering. The sound echoed in the empty house, then faded into a silence that felt almost mocking.

The Eyeless Wolf had abandoned me.

Not because of the risk. Not because of morality. Not because what I was planning was insane.

They had abandoned me because my father snapped his fingers.

Even half-dead, he owned them more than he had ever owned me.

I straightened slowly, every motion controlled. No shaking. No panic. Just a cold, hard awareness settling into my bones.

Fine.

If the wolves wouldn’t run with me, I would run alone.

I grabbed my other phone, the one my men answered, and dialed.

A guard picked up at once. “Sir?”

“Report,” I said.

“We’re outside the hospital,” he replied. “Watching the Patron’s wing. Doctors say he is stabilising.”

Of course he was.

“And you’re still under my command,” I asked, “or did he decide to replace me there too?”

Silence crackled through the line for a second too long.

“Sir…” The guard hesitated. “The Patron… he gave a direct order this morning. He said no one moves on his behalf until he says so. He wants to speak to you himself when he’s stronger.”

“Did I ask what he wants?” My voice dropped. “I asked if you’re under my command.”

Another pause. Smaller. Sharper. “We are loyal to you, sir, but the situation…”

“There is no ‘but’,” I said. “Listen carefully. You answer to me. You move when I say. You breathe when I allow it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

But his fear told me the truth.

My father had his hooks in them. Quiet. Deep. Old.

Even the men I thought were mine were standing on a line drawn by someone else.

I ended the call before I did something stupid, like order them to prove their loyalty with blood.

The room felt smaller now. The walls closer. The air heavier.

For the first time in a long time, I stood in the center of my own disaster and realised something simple and brutal:

I was alone. No allies. No empire.
No father. No wife. Just a man with a gun, a detonator, and too much history to walk away.

My gaze fell to the wedding invitation lying on the table.

I picked it up and ran my thumb over Camille’s name.

She should have been sitting in a penthouse beside me instead of standing at an altar beside him. She should have been rebuilding our world, not burning me out of hers. She should have been wearing my ring, carrying my child, sharing my bed, whispering my name.

Instead, she had chosen to rise without me. To love without me and also to live without me.

I set the invitation down and reached for the gun. The weight in my hand steadied my breathing. I slid a magazine in with a clean, practiced motion and checked the safety.

Then I picked up the small black detonator and turned it over in my palm.

The Eyeless Wolf was gone, but I still had my own explosives. Smaller. Rougher. Not part of any grand network. But enough to blow a section of a wall, enough to turn a celebration into a nightmare.

My reflection stared back at me from the dark window, eyes shadowed, jaw tight, suit jacket half-buttoned.

There was a time I recognised the man in the mirror.

Today, I wasn’t sure I did.

“You don’t get to win,” I told the stranger in the glass. “Not you, Father. Not Theo. Not Camille. Not without me taking what is mine back.”

I walked out of the safe house and into the sunlight. The day was warm, almost beautiful. The kind of day people chose for happiness, for vows, for new beginnings.

Somewhere across the city, Camille was getting into a car in white and lace, hair shining, eyes bright, believing the world had finally stopped trying to break her.

Somewhere beside her, Theo was preparing to take a wife he didn’t deserve. He thought his guards, his men, his wolves, his careful plans would be enough.

They didn’t know what a man with nothing left to lose was capable of.

I stepped into my car and closed the door.

The engine rumbled to life.

If I couldn’t have Camille in this life, I would make sure no one kept her peacefully in theirs.

The world thought it was watching a love story today.

They had no idea they were also watching the last hours of a man who had decided one simple thing:

If I couldn’t sit at their altar, I would bring fire to it. As I drove toward the wedding, one thought beat steady in my chest, louder than the engine, deeper than my rage: betrayal never warns you, and today I would return every single one.

They were expecting an army, a full strike from every direction, but they were wrong. I was going alone, no allies, no shadows, no warning and the cruel beauty of it was simple: they would never see me coming