DRAKE'S POV
The guard opened the car door at the mansion, and I walked past, heading straight for the house. Maids bowed in the corridor, but I ignored them, continuing upstairs with Chamberlain following behind.
"Sir, I'd like to speak with you," he said.
I stopped and turned. "Tell Aaron. He can relay the message," I said, stretching my tired muscles. "I'm sleepy."
Chamberlain frowned, rubbing his hands together. "Nicolas and Estella were here," he said softly.
I wasn't surprised. I knew they'd come after I'd publicly refused Catherine. "Did you let them in?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Good. No message?"
"No, sir."
I waved him off and continued up to my room. I opened the door. The room was dark and immaculate, the sheets freshly changed.
I sat on the bed and opened my nightstand drawer. I tapped a hidden panel, and a coded compartment was revealed. After punching in the code, it opened with a soft click. I reached inside and pulled out a small cell phone. I closed the compartment, arranging everything back into place. Not even Aaron knew about this phone. It was a perfect copy of my old one from when I was Jake, a replica I'd had a hacker create to transfer all past data to the new phone.
I heaved a ragged sigh, the phone feeling heavy in my hand as I slid it back into its compartment. The guilt was a physical weight in my chest. I pulled my other phone from my pocket, the one reserved just for her, and dialed Heather's number. The call connected so fast it made my heart ache—she had been waiting.
"Hello," I said, my voice barely a whisper, a silent apology woven into the word.
The line was quiet. The silence was louder than anything she could have said.
"Hello?!" I called out, my voice thick with a sudden panic.
Then she chuckled, and the sound of her laugh was a balm to my raw nerves. "Hello, Drake. I've been expecting your call." Her voice was soft, fragile. "Why were you ignoring me? Was it because of the bodyguard? Please don't ignore me like that." Her plea was a low sob, and it twisted the knife in my gut.
A wave of shame washed over me. I had been ignoring her, but not for the reasons she thought. I was a ghost in her life, watching from the shadows, knowing I couldn't get too close. "Sweetheart, I wasn't ignoring you. How could I? You mean more to me than you can possibly imagine." I said the words, but they felt weak against the sound of her quiet weeping.
"I'm sorry for the confrontation earlier," she said, her voice laced with regret. "My bodyguards just get... super protective. It's my parents' fault."
"Don't blame yourself," I replied, standing up to shed my sweaty shirt, as if the physical act could release the tension. "They're just doing their job, keeping you safe. I can't blame them for that."
"Hmm, you're taking their side," she accused, and I almost smiled, picturing her adorable, angry pout.
I collapsed onto my bed, the soft thud a quiet echo in the empty room. "Nah, I'm not taking anyone's side," I quickly defended. "I just mean... they have to keep you safe while I'm focused on other things."
"Focused on other things?" she asked, her voice laced with hurt. "I'm your best friend, Drake. What could be more important than me?"
My heart clenched. I couldn't help but smile, a sad, bittersweet curve of my lips. "Nothing is more important than you," I admitted, running a hand over my face. "Are you really jealous that I might have other important things to do?"
"Are you insane? Me, jealous?" she scoffed, and I could hear the fight return to her voice. "That's unheard of."
"Okay, sweetheart, I believe you," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "The almighty Heather doesn't get jealous."
A comfortable silence fell between us, but it was fragile. Then she broke it with a question that felt like a punch to the gut.
"Drake, are you a bad guy?" Her voice was low, trembling with a mix of fear and curiosity.
I sat bolt upright, every muscle in my body tensing. My mind raced, but a mischievous smirk slowly spread across my face. "I'm not a bad guy, Heather, but I'm not a good guy either." I waited, listening to her silence. "Why do you ask? Did someone bother you?"
"No, no one bothered me, but Marcus says you're a Mafia king and that Mafia are bad," she explained, her voice steady now, resolute. "He's scared I'll get hurt because of you, but I don't want to believe it. I'll believe anything you tell me. I know you're the son of the Xavier tech company, but... I know there's something else. Something mysterious about you."
I let out a long, shuddering sigh, threading my fingers through my hair. "I don't mind you lying to me, Drake. I'm going to believe it," she said, her voice unwavering. "I'll believe you, but you have to promise me you'll never let me go just because you think I'll be harmed."
"Are you trying to seduce me with a pickup line?" I asked, trying to crack a joke, to break the solemn weight of her words. "God, how could a voice sound so... seductive?" I muttered, more to myself than to her.
"I'm serious, Drake. Tell me a lie. I want to hear it. Promise me, please." Her voice was a desperate plea. "I'm not joking, even if you think I'm out of my mind."
I couldn't lie to her. Not about this. "I can't lie, Heather. I am the Mafia king, but no one knows," I said, my voice a low rumble of assurance. "No one would ever dare hurt you because you are mine. But you have to promise me you won't ever leave Marcus's sight."
"I promise." She giggled, and I felt the tension in my shoulders finally ease. "Are you coming over tonight?"
"I can't, Heather. I have something I have to deal with," I replied, the truth feeling like a heavy burden.
"Okay. I understand," she said, and a new kind of sadness touched her voice. "But when you get home from killing bad guys, don't forget to teach me to hold a gun."
I hummed in agreement, a bittersweet ache in my chest. "Bye, Drake."
"Bye, sweetheart," I said, bringing the phone to my lips, a silent kiss goodbye.
I tossed the phone aside and lay flat on my stomach, the exhaustion finally hitting me. How was I going to keep this lie going? How could I ever be sure she wouldn't be in danger because of me?
The question was impossible, but the answer was simple. I had wanted to leave her, to protect her by staying away. But now... now I knew that was impossible. We were bound, always meeting at the end of every road. From now on, I would be the bad guy. I would make sure any threat that dared to touch her was eliminated, no matter the cost.
4 HOURS LATER, UNDERGROUND THE SIGIT BASEMENT.
I walked down the tunnel, the gut-wrenching smell of damp earth and decay churning my stomach. Rats squeaked, scurrying around my feet. Aaron walked ahead of me, his torchlight cutting a path through the darkness, illuminating the thick spiderwebs that hung like eerie curtains.
This place was hidden for a reason. It held a secret no one was supposed to find, and if they did, I wouldn't hesitate to eliminate them. Aaron and I moved until we stood before an old, unassuming cement wall. I whistled a familiar, complex tune, a low tone audible only to us. "Open sesame," I said.
The wall immediately shifted, its blocks rearranging like a matrix puzzle before sinking into the surrounding walls. Aaron held his position, guarding the entrance, while I stepped inside. A tiny empty space greeted me. An AI named Arya scanned my features: my original electric-blue eye color (I had removed the gray contact lenses), my hair, a blood sample. After a voice test, I entered a secret password known only to me.
"Sequence complete. You may enter, Master," Arya's voice said.
I nodded as a door opened with a hiss, releasing a plume of smoke. Aaron followed me in after securing the entrance.
The room we entered was far from a prison cell. It had its own library, a pool, a couch, a desktop computer, a full kitchen, and likely a bathroom. I maintained my composure, stepping inside. Drake wasn't in sight, which meant he was either preparing an ambush or was in his private lab dissecting the specimens I'd sent him.
Unlike his parents, Drake had always aspired to be a surgeon and a doctor. He had a high IQ, despite being a high school student, and a lover, Amanda Boyles. But the Ivanovich family had destroyed all his dreams, attacking his parents on their way home from a Mafia conference. He hadn't inherited his parents' killer instinct, but he was a born killer nonetheless—cunning as a fox and deadly with any weapon.
I stood firm, my ears tracking every sound, while Aaron positioned himself beside me, his gun ready. We advanced toward the couch, but I stopped mid-step, kicking it. The couch, and everything else in the room, was covered in poisonous needles. I let out a low chuckle and turned toward the kitchen.
"Drake, come out. I know you're here. Don't make me come to you, or you'll regret it."
There was no reply. Suddenly, a poisonous needle shot toward my head. Aaron lunged forward, deflecting the attack with a dagger. I calculated the needle's trajectory and Drake's possible location. He continued his attacks, but Aaron deflected each one before firing a bullet. The needles stopped.
Drake launched himself at me, but I was faster. I brought my gun to his head, my finger on the trigger, waiting for a move. None came. He laughed like a madman, trying to push the gun away, but I held it steady. "Nice try, Jake. You're improving," he said, a hint of surprise in his voice.
"Likewise, Drake," I replied, keeping the gun in place. "And don't ever call me Jake. I hate that name."
He chuckled. "Then what should I call you? A British rat that heads for Spain will always be a British rat."
We engaged in a silent standoff, glaring at each other. When he made a move, Aaron placed a gun to the side of his head. "I wouldn't make that move if I were you, sir," Aaron warned. Drake raised his hands in defeat.
"Alright, I see you've turned my trustee against me. How touching," he said dramatically. I didn't reply to his antics. "Okay, Mr. Poker Face, at least put the fucking gun away and let's talk like cousins."
I lowered the gun, stashing it in my waistband. "In the Mafia, you don't trust anyone," I said, a scolding note in my voice. He smirked. "Time is precious. The next time you play a silly trick to waste it, I won't hesitate to shoot you." My eyes landed on his forehead, the threat hanging in the air.
He was stunned for a moment before he grabbed Aaron by the shoulder, trying to tackle him. Aaron easily subdued him. "Wow, Aaron's suddenly improved," Drake mocked, struggling to pull away. It was futile.
I crouched down, meeting his gaze. "I warned you, didn't I? Tell me one reason why I shouldn't end you right here." I looked at his silver eyes, which were as always unreadable and devoid of fear. "You always walk right into death traps. You don't always get to survive," I teased.
"But I don't die, do I?" he asked, sliding out of Aaron's grip. He stood up and pointed a gun at him. "Your strength is formidable, but you're lacking focus and agility." He tossed his gun to Aaron. "You must train to maintain focus and agility using the ancestral technique."
"Yes, sir!" Aaron said, standing up and moving behind me.
"Such a good puppy," Drake teased. My face tightened in anger, and I glared at Aaron, who bowed his head in shame. "So, would you care for a cup of coffee or whiskey?"
"The only thing you'd serve is scorpion poison and grenades," I replied, my voice flat. "I'm here for the reason you called."
He chuckled, clearly not taking me seriously. With a clap of his hands, the room's atmosphere changed. The bright, lively space transformed into a dimly lit lab. Rows of computer screens cast an eerie glow on dissected human corpses and full-body tanks where individuals were submerged in green fluid. The air filled with the combined scent of decay and antiseptic. Drake walked past it all unfazed, but I struggled to maintain my composure at the gothic sight.
The bodies of the Mafia leaders I had killed were here, and it looked like he was having fun experimenting with them. A robot with a woman's face—Drake's lover, Amanda—approached us. He held out his hand and whispered to her.
"This is Amanda, my beautiful muse and companion," he introduced. The robot curtsied respectfully. "She's a military-grade robot, capable of functioning beyond human capacity. She also powers this lab, so you don't want to mess with her. She has a lot of skills."
Amanda walked over to us, a light from her forehead scanning our bodies. "Sequence complete. Drop all weapons," she said. Drake gave us a withering look, daring us to cross her.
We dropped our weapons, even the ones hidden in our briefs. Amanda walked back to Drake, granting us full access to the lab.