Chapter 39

Chapter 39
Derek’s POV –

At that point when her mother’s voice roared and echoed shattering the air, I knew the walls had finally closed in.
One second Sylvia’s lips were against mine—warm, trembling, real—and the next, the entire house erupted into noise.

Her mother’s gasp cut through the chaos.
My father stood behind her, frozen, the color draining from his face.
Sylvia’s fingers clung to my sleeve, and I could feel the panic in her pulse.

I had faced men with guns pointed at my head, but this—the look of betrayal in that stepmother’s eyes—made my chest feel tight in a way bullets never could.

“Get away from her!” her mother shouted. “What have you done to my daughter?”

Sylvia tried to speak, but I stepped in front of her, instinct more than thought.
“Please, Mrs. Navarro,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “This isn’t—”

“Don’t you dare say my name Derek.” Her voice cracked. “You have lied to us. You, your father, this whole family! You think you can corrupt my daughter under my roof?, I am the only fool in this house not knowing what is going on under my roof”

Her words hit harder than I expected.
Corrupt.
If she only knew how hard I’d tried not to drag Sylvia into my world.

My father finally found his voice, low and uncertain. “Martha, calm down. Let me explain—”

“Explain?” she snapped. “Explain that your son is a mafia lord? That you let him touch my child?”

The last word hung in the air, poisonous.

Sylvia flinched behind me.
That tiny movement—that quiet retreat—broke something inside me.

I turned back to our parents parents. “You can hate me all you want,” I said quietly. “But don’t raise your voice at her. She’s done nothing wrong.”

Her mother’s eyes widened, fury and disbelief mingling. “Nothing wrong? You still have guts the justify her actions when she's been sneaking around with you, lying to her own family—”

“Because I told her to,” I interrupted. “Because I wanted to keep her safe.”

My father looked away.
Sylvia's mother shook her head as if trying to make sense of a nightmare. “Safe? From what? From you?”

The silence that pierced through everyone after that question was worse than shouting.

Sylvia’s hand found mine, trembling. Her voice was small. “Mom, please—”

But her mother wasn’t listening anymore. She turned on her husband. “You did this. You and your secrets. You brought this monster into our home!”

I should have stayed calm. I should have walked away.
But hearing her call me that—monster—made something dark rise in me.
Not anger, exactly. Just the cold knowledge of what I really was.

Before I could answer, Sylvia swayed.
Her grip on me loosened.

“Hey—hey.” I caught her as her knees buckled.
Her skin was pale, cold.

“Silvia!” her mother cried, rushing forward.

“She’s fine,” I said, though my voice betrayed the tremor in my chest. “She just needs to sit.”

I lifted her easily, ignoring her mother’s protests, and carried her to the nearest sofa.
Her head rested against my shoulder, her breathing shallow.

“She hasn’t eaten properly in days,” I murmured. “Stress, exhaustion. Let her breathe.”

Sylvia's mother hovered a few feet away, torn between anger and worry.
My father stood in the doorway, rubbing his forehead, the weight of years catching up to him.

For a long time, no one spoke. Only Sylvia’s soft breathing filled the space.

Then her mother said, almost in a whisper, “She doesn’t even look like herself anymore.”

I looked down at her. Even pale and shaken, she was the only thing that looked real in this house.
“She’ll be fine,” I said again, more to myself than to them.

My father moved first. “Martha, go get her some water,” he said quietly.

When she left the room, he turned to me. The lines around his eyes deepened.
“I told you to keep a low profile,” he said under his breath.

“I did,” I answered. “Until the video.”

He nodded grimly. “Abigail?”

“Yes.”

He cursed softly. “Then this isn’t over.”

“No,” I said. “It’s only starting.”

That night, the house refused to settle.
I stayed near Sylvia, watching her sleep on the couch, too afraid to leave her side.
Every sound—the ticking clock, the distant voices—felt like a warning.

Her mother hadn’t spoken to me again after bringing the water. She just stood there, staring at her daughter, eyes hollow. Then she turned and left without a word.

I knew what she saw when she looked at me: the man responsible for the chaos. The outsider who had ruined everything.

Maybe she wasn’t wrong.

I brushed a strand of hair from Sylvia’s face, careful not to wake her.
She murmured something in her sleep—my name, maybe. Or a plea.
It cut straight through me.

When my phone buzzed in my pocket, I slipped into the hallway before answering.
The voice on the other end was low and tense.
“Boss, we have a problem.”

“What kind?”

“A leak. Someone’s been feeding intel to the east side. We think they know where the shipments are going next week.”

“Who?”

“Not sure yet. But whoever it is—they’re close. Too close.”

I closed my eyes. The timing couldn’t be worse.
“I want names,” I said. “And I want them by morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hung up and leaned against the wall, staring at the dark hallway ahead of me.
The house was quiet now, but it felt like the quiet that comes before a storm like something.

Somewhere in that silence, I could feel the shape of betrayal forming—unseen but certain.
I didn’t know it was Abigail yet. Not exactly.
But I could feel her shadow moving.

\---

When I went back into the sitting room, Sylvia had woken up.
She looked small against the couch, eyes dazed.

“Hey,” I said softly.

Her gaze found mine. “What happened D?”

“You fainted. You’re alright now baby.”

She pressed a hand to her temple. “Mom—where is she?”

“She needed some space,” I said. “She’ll come by.”

“I don’t think she ever will,” Sylvia whispered.

I sat down beside her, close enough to feel the tremor in her body.
“She will. They both will. I’ll fix this baby.”

She gave a hollow dry laugh. “This is beyond fixing D.”

Maybe not. But I could try.
I reached for her hand. “You shouldn’t have had to see any of this.”

“I chose to be here,” she said quietly. “With you.”

That single line from her settled over the room like a fragile truth neither of us could bear to break.

I wanted to tell her everything—the danger, the rival groups, the men I couldn’t fully trust—but she looked too tired, too fragile. So I swallowed the words and just held her hand instead.

Outside, the night deepened. Rain started to fall, soft at first, then harder against the windows.

Every drop felt like time running out.

\---

As the night advanced past midnight, my father came back upstairs.
“Derek,” he said, voice rough with no trace of emotions. “You should take her away from here for a while. This house isn’t safe for her right now.”

I looked up at him . “You think I’d leave her here after today?”

He shook his head. “No. I think you’d stay and fight everyone to keep her. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

We faced each other in silence. He wasn’t my enemy. He never had been. But tonight, we both knew that the truth had shifted the ground under all of us.

“Whatever you’re mixed in,” he said finally, “keep it from touching her. Promise me that.”

“I will,” I said. “Even if it would end me.”

When he left, I turned my attention to Sylvia’s side. She was asleep again, her breathing steady.
I brushed my thumb across her knuckles and whispered, “I’ll get us out of this. I swear it.”

The rain outside turned into thunder. Close by , a phone vibrated again—another coded message lighting up the screen.
Movement detected. Possible mole confirmed.

The name field was blank, encrypted. But one word at the end of the message stood out in red.

Rival awakened.

I looked toward the window, the reflection of the storm flickering across the glass.
Whoever it was—whatever was coming—had already started moving against
me.

And in the quiet between thunderclaps, I thought I could almost hear Abigail’s voice, soft and smug, from some unseen corner of the city:

You must dine with Jezebel, you will be mine Derek.