Damian Wolfe
The call came through encrypted. Only three people in the world had that line.
Bishop didn't speak — just handed me the phone, his jaw locked tight.
I pressed it to my ear.
Static. A breath. Then a voice.
"She made contact."
Not Aria.
Everett Vale.
A slow, vicious smile unfurled across my face.
"Good," I murmured, pacing to the window. Rain clawed at the glass, furious and relentless. "Let her think she's winning."
"She's emotional. Reckless."
I leaned my forehead against the cold pane, watching the city churn below me.
"She's vulnerable," I corrected softly. "And vulnerabilities... are meant to be exploited."
The voice on the other end hesitated.
"Orders?"
I closed my eyes for a long, slow heartbeat.
Aria's face flashed behind my lids — dripping rain, eyes full of rage and hurt.
Beautiful.
Broken.
Mine to break further.
Mine to rebuild.
"Keep the mother alive," I said. "For now."
"And the girl?"
My fingers curled into a fist against the glass.
The answer was simple. Brutal. I didn't even hesitate.
"Apply pressure."
I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the leather sofa.
Bishop stood by the fireplace, silent as a goddamn tombstone.
"She's making mistakes," he said finally, watching me carefully.
"No," I said, pushing away from the window. "She's showing me where the cracks are."
And soon?
She'd come running right back to me.
Not because she trusted me.
Not because she wanted to.
But because there'd be nowhere else left to go.
And when that moment came — when Aria Vale finally understood the true price of survival —
I'd be the only one holding the coin.
---
I didn't have to chase her.
Not yet.
Some wars were won with bullets.
Others were won with silence. Waiting. Watching.
I poured myself a drink — whiskey, sharp and burning — and leaned against the glass wall of the penthouse, staring out at the city bleeding light through the rain.
Behind me, Bishop moved like smoke through the room, checking silent alarms, exits, sightlines.
Everything was ready.
The elevator chimed.
Jasper stepped out, rain dripping from his coat, his mouth tight with barely contained tension.
I didn't turn as he approached.
I just took a slow sip and said, "Drink?"
He hesitated.
Masking it well — but not well enough.
"Sure," he said.
I poured for him, handing the glass over, feeling the shift in the air the second our hands almost brushed.
Fear.
Loyalty.
And something else.
Distraction.
"How is she?" I asked casually, swirling the whiskey in my glass.
"Aria?" he said automatically — too quickly, too blank.
I smiled faintly.
"Who else?"
He cleared his throat, covering poorly.
"She's...managing," he said. "After everything earlier."
Earlier.
Interesting.
Because Jasper didn't know what had happened at the warehouse.
He didn't flinch when I mentioned it.
He didn't react at all.
Which meant either Aria hadn't told him—
—or Jasper had his head so far buried in another problem he wasn't paying attention.
Either way, it was a weakness.
And I collected weaknesses the way other men collected trophies.
I took a lazy step forward, closing the distance between us, letting the weight of the silence drag him down.
"Managing," I repeated, voice almost kind. "Good. I'd hate to think I broke her so soon."
Jasper stiffened — not at the threat.
At the name.
At her.
He was protecting her. Fiercely.
But not from me.
Not really.
No, Jasper Vale was distracted by something bigger.
Something he wasn't ready to say out loud.
And that meant Aria wasn't just bleeding.
She was alone.
I smiled, cold and sure.
"Tell her," I said, my voice sinking to something lethal, "the clock is ticking."
I turned away, dismissing him without another glance.
Behind me, the elevator chimed again as he fled.
Bishop stepped out of the shadows, arms folded, sharp-eyed.
"He's hiding something," Bishop said.
"Yes," I murmured, staring down at the glittering sprawl of my kingdom. "And when the time comes..."
I let the thought trail off, savoring it.
"When the time comes," I said finally, "he'll lead us straight to it."
Because loyalty was just another weapon.
And sooner or later,
every weapon broke.
---
Bishop didn't wait for my command.
He stood at attention, silent, patient — the blade ready to be unsheathed.
I finished my drink in one slow swallow and set the glass down with a soft *clink* on the marble counter.
"Keep eyes on Jasper," I said, voice even. "If he breathes wrong, I want to know."
Bishop nodded once, crisp.
"And while you're at it," I added, my tone sharpening like a blade sliding across a whetstone, "I want everything on Everett Vale."
A flicker of surprise — expertly masked — crossed Bishop's face.
"She's in play again," I said, answering the question he didn't dare ask.
"And I want to know why she's back and who's standing behind her. Allies, enemies, debts. Monarch operatives, foreign players, family ghosts — I don't give a damn. Turn over every stone."
Bishop's mouth curved into the ghost of a smile — ruthless, eager.
"As you wish."
I turned back to the windows, watching the rain devour the city.
"You find her weaknesses," I said, soft and final.
"And when you do, when you do—"
I smiled, a razor's edge cutting through the words.
"...we tear her apart."
Behind me, Bishop slipped away into the shadows like smoke.
I stood alone in the penthouse, heart beating slow, methodical.
The game wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
And this time?
I was going to destroy everything they loved to the ground.