The Constantine family owned land and managed large-scale businesses. That was the guise carefully crafted to cover up generations of bloodshed. Caius was the current heir and the owner of one of the most feared underground mafioso syndicates. The ladder that led him here was made of thorns and broken glass. He had shed every molecule of himself to become the man he was now.
He looked out over the city, eyes heavy and heart heavier.
Why do I still feel this weight in my chest?
He was a man stripped of emotion. Every feeling had been sabotaged by his father. He was no longer human; he did not feel happiness anymore. The world on his shoulders seemed to eat him alive. Was there any redemption for him? Or was he truly a lost cause?
"Master," Mr. Griffin entered the room.
"Yes, Toby." Caius had sent him to watch Odette, just to make sure she was safe. "How is she?"
The butler bowed. "She and the young master ate their meals today."
"Did you arrange all the necessities for her?"
"Yes, Master."
Caius allowed himself a small smile. "Thank you, Toby. You may leave."
Alone in his office again, a thought crept across his mind. He had never known what it felt like to share a meal with another person. Time dragged slowly. He sighed in exhaustion and turned back to his work—when suddenly...
BANG!
Alerted, jolted into action—
BANG! BANG!
One after another, the sounds grew louder. Screams echoed through the halls, slamming into his ears.
"Sir!" One of his men burst in. Caius was already on his feet, gun in hand, striding out of the room.
"The west branch broke through—"
He walked faster, past the white walls as smoke began to fill the corridor. From within the haze staggered Griffin, his clothes in tatters, his leg bleeding.
Caius's heart sank. The scent of blood hit his nose.
"Griffin. Tell me."
"Sir!" The butler collapsed onto the floor. "The young master got shot! I saw blood—I... I was walking, I heard him scream, and I... I..."
By the time his men had gathered, the enemy's target lay in ruin. Buildings stood shattered, ambulances rushed in, and doctors in white coats carried maids and guards scorched and torn by the explosion.
The empire he had built on black money reeked of blood, gunpowder, sulfur, and screams.
"I'm sorry, Caius... I didn't know."
His eyes burned with rage. Passing shattered walls and portraits of men and beasts, he felt himself hollow out.
"I'm keeping the baby."
He was a failure. His enemies had crept into his home, harmed his people, and touched what was his. How could he call himself worthy? The hatred grew heavier with every step. He gripped a silver dagger, curved at the end. This was not a fight for guns. He would not rest until the ones responsible were cut to pieces by his own hand.
"He would be your brother... I was meant to be your wife. I'm sorry."
Blood would be spilled. Justice would be carved.
As he passed the guard lodgings, his men rose to greet him, but he waved them down.
"See that there are no casualties left unattended. Compensate all my men," he ordered Lionel, his second lieutenant.
"Don't kill him, please."
Caius walked closer to what remained of the house—no roof, half the walls blown away. He did not know whether to laugh or to scream. He did not even feel close to the boy...
The group of men halted at what was once the entrance.
No sign of Gideon.
Face contorted with anger, Caius seized Griffin by the collar. "You said he was shot—where is he?"
The butler gasped for air, trembling. "I heard his screams, Master. I swear I did."
"Here!"
From the other side of the room, muffled through the dust and smoke, a small voice laced with panic called out.
"I'm here."
It was the boy.
Releasing Griffin, Caius strode forward through the wreckage. An odd sense of absence gnawed at his chest. Something was missing, and he missed it. A hollow void ached inside him.
On the floor lay Gideon, his leg bleeding at the knee.
"Master!" The men rushed to aid the boy, but Caius stopped dead in his tracks.
There, just a step further, lay a woman unconscious on the ground.
Her.
"You—" His voice shook. A strange weariness washed over him.
"You said it was Gideon who was shot!" He turned on Griffin, throwing him to the floor.
The butler followed his gaze. Odette lay sprawled, hair covering her face, her hands bloodied with scratches. The violet blouse she had worn was soaked a dark magenta from the wound on her shoulder.
A deep wound.
One bullet.
For the first time in his life, Caius stood frozen—overwhelmed by something he had never known before.
Fear.