Chapter 277
Devon’s POV
"This person who hired you," I said when he finished. "Could you identify him if you saw him again?"
"Maybe? If I saw his eyes, the way he moved..." He struggled to articulate it. "He stood like military, you know? Real straight, coiled up. Like he was ready for something."
I exchanged a glance with Marcus, who was already typing notes. Military training narrowed the field considerably. Not much, but enough.
I studied the prisoner, reading truth in his posture, genuine fear in his eyes. This wasn't the mastermind. Just a desperate man who'd made a catastrophic choice for money.
Part of me wanted to kill him anyway. Wanted to make an example that would resonate through every dark corner of this city. But the larger part—the part that had to think strategically, that had built an empire on calculated moves—knew better.
"Marcus," I said quietly. "Arrange transport to the nearest precinct. Anonymous tip about a wanted felon."
Marcus's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Sir?"
"His family." I looked back at the man. "Put a security detail on them. Discreet. Until we're certain they're safe."
The prisoner's face crumpled with relief and confusion. He'd expected death. I'd given him life.
Not mercy. Never that. But practical strategy.
"I don't make war on innocents," I told him, my voice flat. "But if you speak about tonight to anyone—police, lawyers, priests, journalists—you'll discover I have a very long memory and considerable resources." I leaned in slightly. "Your children are seven and five. Think about that before you consider talking."
"I won't, I swear—thank you—"
I was already walking away, collecting my coat from Lucas at the door. The prisoner's gratitude followed me into the corridor like smoke.
"Get him cleaned up first," I told Marcus as the door sealed behind us. "Make it look like a routine traffic stop arrest. And Marcus? Find that bartender in Brooklyn. Someone there might remember more."
"Already on it."
We walked in silence toward the elevator. My mind was already three steps ahead, calculating possibilities. Military bearing. Dark eyes. Someone with training and access to cash.
Someone who knew my schedule well enough to time this precisely.
"So," Marcus said carefully. "If the timeline was only disclosed the day before, the target couldn't have been you. Your schedule's too secure, too variable."
"But Aria's isn't." The words came out harder than I'd intended. "She follows predictable patterns. Office, home, client meetings. Anyone watching her would know her usual routes."
The implication hung between us like a blade.
"Which means someone wanted Miss Harper dead specifically," Marcus finished. "The Harper household has obvious motive. William have reason—"
"And my family." I cut him off, stepping into the elevator. "Isn't fond of her either."
The doors closed. I watched the floor numbers climb, thinking of the various people who had motive to hurt Aria.
Victoria Harper, who'd lost everything because of Aria's investigation.
Scarlett Harper, rotting in a Miami jail cell because of Aria's testimony.
William Harper, facing trial for his wife's murder because of Aria's evidence.
My mother, who'd explicitly told me to end things with Aria.
My brothers, who viewed her as a threat to family stability.
The list was disturbingly long.
"Twenty-four hours, Marcus." I kept my voice level despite the rage simmering beneath. "I want a full report on everyone who had means, motive, and opportunity. That includes my mother and brothers."
"Boss, with respect—we have almost no leads. The burner phone is probably at the bottom of the Hudson—"
"Then drag the river if you have to." I turned to face him, letting him see the cold fury I usually kept locked away. "Someone put a price on her head. Someone who knew enough about her schedule to time this precisely. Find them."
Marcus's expression was troubled. "And when we do?"
My hands curled into fists inside my coat pockets.
"When we find them," I said quietly, "I'll handle it personally."
The elevator opened onto Eden's main floor. Music pulsed faintly from the club above—life and laughter and people who had no idea what happened in the levels below.
Marcus risked another question as we walked. "She's important to you. Miss Harper."
It wasn't really a question. I answered anyway.
"She's mine. That makes her important."
"With respect, sir—I've worked for you seven years. I've seen you with women before. This is different."
The Bentley was waiting outside, Lucas already behind the wheel. I paused at the door.
"She's carrying my child."
"It's more than that."
I looked at Marcus then. Really looked at him. He'd been with me through everything—building Kane Tech from nothing, the family wars, the hostile takeovers, the threats and violence that came with power. He knew me better than most.
"She makes me weak," I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty. "I should send her away. Cut ties, arrange generous support, move on." My voice dropped. "Instead, I'm planning a wedding and threatening anyone who looks at her wrong."
"Love isn't weakness, Mr. Kane."
My laugh was harsh. "Says the man who's never been in love."
"Maybe not. But I know you, Boss. And I've never seen you like this—protective, possessive, almost..." He searched for the word. "Vulnerable."
I slid into the Bentley without responding. Lucas pulled into traffic, heading uptown toward my building. Toward Aria.
Vulnerable. The word stuck with me.
I'd built my entire life on control. On being three moves ahead. On never letting anyone close enough to hurt me.
Then Aria Harper had stumbled into my hotel room in a maid's uniform, all nervous determination and desperate schemes, and somehow she'd slipped past every defense I'd constructed.
Now I couldn't sleep without her. Literally couldn't sleep—the insomnia that had plagued me for years only abated when she was near. And more than that, I didn't want to sleep without her. Didn't want to wake up without her body warm beside me.
I was addicted. Dependent. All the things I'd sworn never to be.
My phone buzzed. Another message from my mother, likely demanding answers about my engagement. I ignored it.
But then another message came through. Different number.
"Still awake. Come home safe. —A"
Something in my chest loosened. She'd been angry when I left tonight, humiliated by my refusal to negotiate her freedom. But she was still there. Still waiting.
Still mine.
I typed back: "Soon. Sleep."
Her response came immediately: "Can't sleep without you."
Three simple words, and suddenly the exhaustion crushing me felt lighter. She needed me. Not my money, not my protection—me, specifically, the way I needed her.
"Come back now," I typed.