Chapter 13
JACE MARINO
I don't know how I got here, but I know where I am—my father's dungeon. The one place I've hated my whole life.
What am I doing here?
How did I get here?
Voices echo at the end of the hallway. I freeze, shivering like the boy I used to be—the boy who always dreaded what waited at the end of this corridor.
"I don't raise bastards."
My father's voice.
My throat goes dry. The black hole I've avoided for years opens wide again, pulling me in.
"You think your brother is coming to save you?"
His voice ricochets off the walls, venomous, vibrating through my skull.
He's got my little brother.
He's got Mateo.
I push myself forward, step by step, until the iron door looms
When I opened the door, Mateo was in the bathtub, half-buried in ice, his small frame shaking. Too small to be in there.
I froze at the threshold of the iron door, the dungeon pulling me back in like it always did. That dark hole I could never crawl out of. My chest locked. I couldn't breathe. My eyes felt like they'd burst. I wanted—God, I wanted—to step forward and scream at my father to stop torturing his own son. My little brother. But I couldn't move.
"Jace."
The voice hit me like a blow to the chest.
"Jace, can you hear me?"
"You've got to be kidding me," another voice cut in, shaky.
"Is he breathing?" The second voice broke, threaded with panic, like they were already preparing to cry.
"Big bro, can you hear me? Oh—he's dead, he's going to die!" Their breath fanned my face.
"Marco, shut up! He's not dead. Go get some ice!"
Silence.
"Marco, get yourself together and go get some fucking ice. He's breathing. Just unconscious."
Then the shock of ice rained down on me. My body jerked, lungs tearing open as I sucked in air, choking on it. I blinked hard, still trapped between past and present, trying to figure out where the hell I was when—
A fist slammed into me.
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Marco's voice cracked. My little brother. Crying. When was the last time I saw that?
A laugh slipped out of me, rough, half-broken.
"What? You've got to be kidding me. Laughing?" Marco's voice went sharp with hurt.
Mateo just squatted in the corner, quiet as always, watching.
"I'm fine," I rasped, not even recognizing my own voice. I cleared my throat. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not!" Marco snapped, breath quick and shallow. "What if we hadn't gotten here in time? You would have been—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I can't have that, Ettore."
My middle name. He only used it when he was really shaken. None of my brothers touched that name unless shit was serious.
"And by the way you reacted—" Marco's eyes flicked to Mateo. "This isn't the first time, is it?"
Silence.
"I'm right." He paused, jaw tight. "I'll be hearing about this. But not now. Your bride's arriving in less than an hour. We're picking her up."
He left the room without another word.
Mateo and I exhaled at the same time, exchanging a glance that said everything.
He knew about my nightmares. I knew about his. We'd vowed not to go to a therapist—because what good would it do? Our father's lessons weren't wounds to heal. They were scars carved deep, branded into us in the name of making us "responsible heirs."
Marco didn't know. He was never supposed to. Despite his tattoos, the muscle, the big-man act—he was the most sensitive of us. Just a baby, no matter how he looked.
And now? Now he was going to find out. And when he did, he'd freak out, smother us with worry, turn his protectiveness into chains.
The last thing either of us needed.
When we reached the airport, something in the air soured.
The atmosphere smelled wrong.
We had company.
Great.
Mateo was walking ahead of us.
He spotted her first. He would—he's the one who's been handling all the arrangements behind my back, while I've been too busy trying not to set the whole world on fire.
She stood a few feet away, waiting, smiling like she actually belonged in this chaos. A flowery yellow dress, soft fabric hugging a narrow waist before falling neatly below her knees. Too delicate for this place. Too delicate for me.
But there is something I can't pinpoint.
"We have company" Marco whispered
"I know" I replied
"Seems like her fathers men" he added
They were stationed just far enough to not seem obvious. Watching. Measuring. Like vultures deciding if they should circle closer.
"Whatever they are, I don't care, we get her to the hotel, clean, and fast. After that, I'll figure out how to kill this whole circus before the wedding" I muttered
"You think you can pull something in a city crawling with your father's men?" Marco muttered low enough only I could hear.
I shot him a glare. "He's your father too."
His mouth twitched into a smirk, but it vanished in a heartbeat. His eyes hardened.
"How about that boy you've got a thing for?"
My chest went tight. "He's fine."
"Does he know about this?"
"No."
"What if he finds out?"
"He won't," I snapped. "Nobody knows except us and Father."
Marco tilted his head. "And Enzo."
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I'd forgotten.
The moment we closed the distance.
She didn't waste time.
She slipped her hand through mine like it belonged there. Too smooth, too practiced.
"Mr. Jace" she said, voice soft, almost sweet—but her eyes… cold steel under the sugar.
She's wearing the mask well.
"Finally." She said
"You know my name. Congratulations."
Her smile didn't waver. "Of course. You're my husband-to-be."
Mateo shifted uncomfortably, Marco smirked under his breath, but I kept my face unreadable.
"You're early," I said.
"Or maybe you're late." She leaned in just slightly, like she was testing me. "Either way, I'm here now. And I don't like waiting."
She squeezed my hand, just enough to make her point.
I wanted to rip it free, but with her father's men watching, the game had already started. And this girl? She was going to make it hell for me.