The moment I see Enzo collapse, everything inside me shatters.
Not the sound of the chaos around us. Not the screaming crowd or the sirens in the distance. Just him. Small. Vulnerable. Unable to rise. Declan O'Reilly standing over him like a predator over wounded prey, fist raised for another blow that could break ribs, crush organs, end everything that matters to me.
My chest tightens. A storm of adrenaline, fear, and unfiltered rage surges through me like lightning. Every carefully constructed layer of Noah Aslanov - calm, composed, controlled - dissolves in that instant. This is the trigger I've dreaded for twenty-one years. The moment my monster claws its way to the surface and refuses to be caged again.
This is the monster I've been trying to keep locked away all this time. The violence that lives in my bones, the darkness that my father saw in me as a child and tried to beat into submission. The part of me that doesn't just want to hurt people who threaten what's mine - it wants to destroy them completely.
Declan looms over Enzo, aggression dripping from every motion. But instinct - raw, honed, unstoppable - takes over. My body moves before my mind can reason. I don't think about family politics or consequences or the careful balance we maintain here. I don't think about anything except the fact that someone is hurting what belongs to me.
I strike. Throw. Lock. Transition. Every movement precise, a mixture of lethal efficiency and controlled fury. Years of training condensed into seconds of violence. The o-goshi throw sends Declan flying. The transition to ne-waza puts him on the ground where I can control him. The rear naked choke cuts off his air supply with technical precision.
I'm not thinking about ethics or protocol. I'm thinking about possession. Protection. Claiming. The monster isn't a shadow anymore - it's tangible, fierce, and completely mine.
When Declan finally goes limp in my arms, I feel nothing but heat in my veins and the clarity of absolute power. My eyes seek Enzo immediately, chest heaving, golden gaze locked on mine. Shock. Awe. Acceptance. Desire. All of it reflected back at me like looking into a mirror.
The world narrows until it's just us. The unleashed force. The undeniable truth of what we are together.
Around us, I can feel the weight of attention. Luka's jaw tightening as he processes what he just witnessed. Mikhail's dark eyes calculating, trying to understand why I let the monster free. Matteo helping Enzo to his feet, questioning everything he thought he knew about Russian family dynamics.
Their stares are knives, dissecting, analyzing, trying to comprehend how the quiet Aslanov heir just choked out an Irish enforcer in front of half the families on this island. I meet every glance without flinching. No hesitation. No doubt. Only raw honesty in every movement and look.
Because there's no taking this back. No pretending it didn't happen. No stuffing the monster back in its cage and hoping everyone forgets what they saw.
The sirens are getting closer. Families are clearing out, extracting themselves from a situation that's spiraled beyond anyone's control. But I don't move. Can't move. I'm still staring at Enzo, watching the way he looks at me like I've finally become what he always knew I could be.
"We need to go," Mikhail says quietly, his voice cutting through my focus. "Now."
I let him guide me toward our car, but I can't look away from Enzo. Even as Matteo helps him into their vehicle, even as the parking lot empties around us, our eyes stay locked. Like we're having an entire conversation without words.
And then I see it - that smile. Sharp, satisfied, predatory. His lips move, barely a whisper, but I can read the words on his mouth: "There he is. There's my monster."
The possessive phrase sends heat racing through my veins. Not shame or regret, but recognition. Because he's right. I am his monster. The violence I just unleashed, the darkness I finally let free - it belongs to him as much as it belongs to me.
I see you, his gaze says. I see exactly what you are.
And for the first time in my life, that doesn't terrify me.
The ride back to campus is suffocating. Tension fills every inch of the car - the unasked questions, the restrained shock, the measured scrutiny of men trying to understand what they just witnessed. Luka drives with mechanical precision, but I can see his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Mikhail sits in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at me like I'm a stranger wearing his cousin's face.
Why now? I can practically hear their thoughts. Why that level of force? Why risk exposure for him?
Each mile feels like a battlefield. Each glance a duel. But I don't retreat from any of it. Don't apologize or make excuses or try to minimize what happened. Because minimizing it would be another lie, and I'm done lying.
"So," Mikhail says finally, his voice carefully controlled. "You want to explain what that was?"
"Declan was going to hurt him."
"Since when do we care what happens to Italians?"
The question hangs in the air between us. Loaded. Dangerous. The kind of question that could reshape family alliances depending on how I answer it.
"Since one of them became worth protecting."
Both my cousins go very still. I can see Luka's eyes flick to me in the rearview mirror, sharp and calculating. Mikhail turns in his seat to face me fully.
"Worth protecting," Mikhail repeats slowly. "Noah, what exactly is going on between you and Enzo Moretti? Don't tell me you done fell for his shit."
I don't know. Everything. Nothing. Something I don't have words for yet. Something that started in a basement fight ring and has been consuming me slowly ever since. Something that made me willing to risk everything to keep him safe.
"It's complicated."
"You need to uncomplicate it then." Luka's voice carries that edge of authority. "Right fucking now."
I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. Try to find words for something I've never admitted out loud. Something I've barely acknowledged to myself until tonight.
"He sees me. Really sees me. Not the heir, not the perfect son, not the weapon they've shaped me into." The words taste like freedom on my tongue. "He sees the parts of me that everyone else is terrified of, and he's not afraid."
"What parts?" Mikhail asks quietly.
I open my eyes and meet his gaze. "The parts that just choked out Declan O'Reilly."
The silence that follows is deafening. My cousins processing what I just admitted. What I just revealed about myself. About what I'm capable of when someone threatens what I care about.
"How long?" Luka asks finally.
"How long what?"
"How long have you been lying to us about what you really are?"
The question hits like a physical blow. Because that's exactly what I've been doing. Lying. To most of my family, to myself. Pretending to be something safe and manageable when I've always been something else entirely. Mikhail knows - he's always known. But everyone else? I've been hiding from them for twenty-one years.
"Not many people know the real me," I admit. "But Mikhail does."
Luka is quiet for a moment, then says, "I should take offense to that, but from what I saw today..." His words cut off for a second. "And I thought I'd been holding back most of the time, but you..." He trails off, shaking his head.
We pull through the campus gates in silence. Past the dorms where normal students live normal lives without worrying about family wars or blood debts or the kind of violence that changes everything. Past the buildings where I used to pretend I was just like them.
Those days are over now.
"People saw what you did," Mikhail says as we park. "Word's going to spread."
"Let them ask."
"Noah." He turns to face me fully. "This isn't a game. This is serious family business. What you did tonight could start a war."
"Good."
Both my cousins stare at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe that's what this feeling is - the slow dissolution of everything I used to be, replaced by something honest and dangerous and completely uncontrollable.
"Good?" Luka's voice is deadly quiet. "You think war is good?"
"I think honesty is good. I think finally admitting what we really are is good." I lean forward, meeting both their gazes. "We're not diplomats. We're not politicians. We're killers. All of us. The only difference is some of us are honest about it."
"And you've decided to be honest."
"I've decided to stop lying."
We sit in the dark parking lot for another moment, processing what this means. What I've revealed. What's changed. Then Mikhail's phone buzzes.
"Viktor," he says, checking the message. His face goes grim. "He wants to see you. Now."
Viktor Aslanov. The name alone makes my stomach drop. At twenty-six, Viktor is everything the Aslanov family represents - cold, calculating, utterly ruthless in service to family interests. He's been running Russian operations on this island for three years, and even our father back in Moscow respects his judgment. More importantly, even I - as the heir - am expected to defer to his authority while I'm here.
Viktor is our equivalent to Luca Moretti on the Italian side. The enforcer. The one who makes hard decisions and ensures family discipline is maintained. The one who decides whether family members who step out of line get corrected or eliminated.
"Where?"
"The estate. He's already there."
Of course he is. Viktor's probably been coordinating damage control since the moment the first sirens started wailing. Probably already knows exactly what happened and is deciding how to handle the fallout.
"You don't have to face this alone," Luka says quietly. "We can come with you."
I look at my cousins. These men I've known my entire life. Who've watched me grow up quiet and controlled and completely contained. Who just saw me become something else entirely.
"No," I say finally. "This is mine to handle."
Because it is. What happened tonight, what I revealed about myself, what I'm becoming - all of it is my responsibility. My choice. My truth to own.
The drive to the estate takes fifteen minutes through empty streets. Fifteen minutes to process what I'm about to face. Viktor's interrogation. His judgment. His decision about whether the monster I've unleashed serves family interests or threatens them.
Fifteen minutes to prepare for the conversation that will determine everything.
The estate sits on a hill overlooking the harbor, all dark stone and sharp angles. Imposing. Defensive. Built to withstand sieges and secrets alike. I've been here dozens of times, but tonight it feels different. More like a fortress than a home. More like a place where consequences are decided than comfort is found.
Viktor is waiting in the main study, standing behind the massive oak desk that's been in our family for generations. He doesn't look up when I enter, just continues reading whatever report is spread across the leather surface.
"Sit," he says without looking up.
I remain standing. It's a small act of defiance, but significant. The old Noah would have obeyed immediately, would have shown the proper deference to family authority.
But the old Noah wouldn't have choked out Declan O'Reilly either.
Viktor finally looks up, dark eyes scanning me from head to toe. Taking inventory of any visible injuries, any signs of shock or regret or the kind of breakdown he might be expecting. He won't find any. I feel more solid, more real, than I have in years.
"Tell me what happened," he says quietly.
"Declan O'Reilly was beating Enzo Moretti. I stopped him."
"How did you stop him?"
"I choked him unconscious."
Viktor's expression doesn't change, but I can see him processing the implications. A Russian heir publicly intervening in Italian family business. Using lethal force against Irish muscle. Exposing capabilities that were supposed to remain hidden.
"That's the sanitized version," Viktor says, his voice cutting through the study like a blade. "I want the full truth, Noah. What really happened? What led to that moment? Because I know you, and you don't just lose control without a damn good reason."
He leans back in his chair, dark eyes never leaving mine. "Start from the beginning. All of it."
"Why?"
The question I've been dreading. The one that requires complete honesty or complete lies, with no middle ground between them.
"Because he's mine."
The words ring through the study like a bell. Clear. Definitive. Undeniable.
Viktor leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Yours."
"No, I'm just finally releasing my monster."
"Since when do we claim Italians?"
"Since one of them became worth claiming."
"And you decided this without consulting family leadership? Without considering the political implications? Without thinking about what it means for your position?"
Each question is a test. Each pause an opportunity to back down, apologize, return to the safety of family expectations. But I don't take any of them.
"I decided it when I realized I'd rather die honest than live as a lie."
Something flickers across Viktor's face. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition.
"The O'Reillys are going to want retaliation. They can't let this stand without losing face."
"Let them try."
"You think you can handle professional killers because you choked out one enforcer?"
"I think I can handle whatever they send. And if I can't, at least I'll know I fought for something that mattered."
Viktor stands and moves to the window overlooking the harbor. For a long moment, he's silent, studying the dark water and distant lights. When he speaks again, his voice has changed.
"The O'Reillys are going to want retaliation. They can't let this stand without losing face."
"Let them try."
"You think you can handle professional killers because you choked out one enforcer?"
"I think I can handle whatever they send. And if I can't, at least I'll know I fought for something that mattered."
Viktor moves to a cabinet and pours two glasses of vodka. Premium stuff, the kind that burns clean and leaves no regrets. He offers me one, but I decline. Need to stay sharp for whatever's coming.
He drains his glass in one swallow, then fixes me with those calculating dark eyes.
"For now, we sit and wait. See if the O'Reillys want to escalate this beyond a campus incident." He sets the glass down with deliberate precision. "But if they make a move - if they decide this requires retaliation - then we're talking about war."
"Good."
"You keep saying that. Why is war good?"
"Because it's honest. Because it strips away all the pretense and reveals what everyone really is." I step closer to his desk. "We're all monsters, Viktor. All predators. All killers wearing human masks. Maybe it's time to take the masks off."
Viktor picks up the second glass, studying the clear liquid like it might hold answers.
"Tell me about him. Enzo Moretti." Viktor sets the glass down and fixes me with a hard stare. "Because you need to understand - most families here have alliances, debts, old connections. Attack one family's people, and you might find yourself at war with half the families on this island."
The question I've been waiting for. The one that requires me to put words to something I've barely understood myself.
"He sees the monster in me and wants it anyway. He looks at the parts of me that everyone else fears and calls them beautiful." The words come easier now, like admitting the truth has unlocked something inside me. "He makes me feel real instead of manufactured. Alive instead of just functional."
"And that's worth starting a war over?"
"That's worth everything."
Viktor places the glass to his lips and downs the second glass of vodka, then sets it down with finality. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to continue your classes, your training, your normal routine. But you're not going anywhere alone. You're not taking unnecessary risks. And you're sure as hell not meeting with Enzo Moretti without security."
"No."
The word hangs in the air like a gunshot. Viktor's eyes narrow, and for the first time tonight, I see real danger flicker across his features.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. I'm not hiding. I'm not running. And I'm not letting you decide who I can see."
"You're not letting me?" Viktor's voice drops to a whisper, but there's violence underneath it. "Boy, you seem to have forgotten who you're talking to."
I haven't forgotten. I know exactly who Viktor Aslanov is. Know what he's capable of. Know that he could hurt me in ways that would never show up on medical scans, could break me down physically and psychologically until I begged for the privilege of following orders.
But I also know that backing down now would mean going back to being the weapon they shaped me into. And that version of me is dead.
"I'm talking to my cousin. Someone I respect. Someone whose judgment I trust." I meet his gaze without wavering. "But I'm not talking to my handler. Because I don't have one of those anymore."
Viktor goes very still. In the silence that follows, I can hear my heartbeat, his breathing, the distant sound of waves against the harbor rocks. Can feel the weight of a decision that will reshape everything.
Then he smiles. It's not a nice expression. It's the smile of a predator recognizing another predator.
"You really have changed."
"No, I'm just finally releasing my monster."
"And you think that monster is going to keep you alive when the O'Reillys come for you?"
"It's going to have to."
Viktor laughs, and this time there's genuine amusement in it. "Fair enough. But Noah? If you're going to do this - if you're really going to claim an Italian heir and damn the consequences - then you'd better be prepared to fight for him. Because the O'Reillys are coming. And when they do, you're going to have to decide exactly how far you're willing to go to protect what you've claimed."
"As far as necessary."
"Even if it means becoming something you can't come back from?"
I think about Enzo's eyes in that parking lot. The way he looked at me after I'd choked a man unconscious with my bare hands. No fear. No disgust. Just acceptance and something that looked like pride.
"I'm already at a point of no return."
Viktor nods once. Like he's confirming something he already suspected. "Then you'd better make sure you're strong enough to survive what you've started. Because this is just the beginning."
He moves toward the door, then pauses and looks back at me. "I guess you need to prepare yourself."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the study with the weight of what I've admitted. What I've chosen. What I've become.
I walk to the window and look out at the dark harbor. Somewhere out there, Enzo is probably processing tonight's events. Probably thinking about the way I destroyed Declan O'Reilly for him. Probably wondering what it means that I claimed him publicly in front of both our families.
I pull out my phone and start typing before I can second-guess myself.
Are you okay?
Simple. Direct. But it carries the weight of everything I can't say yet. Everything I'm not ready to put into words.
His response comes faster than expected.
Why? Are you worried about me?
I can picture him smirking as he types it. Testing me. Pushing to see how much I'll admit.
No.
But yes. God, yes. I'm worried about him. About whether Declan hurt him worse than I could see. About whether he's processing what happened tonight. About whether he understands what it means that I claimed him publicly in front of both our families. The honesty feels good, even if it's only in my own head. Like finally breathing after holding my breath for twenty-one years.
Then why the text?
Because I want you to remember what I'm capable of. What I did for you. I gave you what you wanted tonight. Now what are you going to give me? The ball's in your court now.
His response takes longer this time.
This changes nothing.
But it changes everything, and I know it. Even as I type the lie, I can feel the truth burning in my chest. Everything has changed. The moment I chose to fight for him, the moment I let the monster free, the moment I claimed him in front of everyone - it all changed everything. I care enough to check on him. Care enough to risk reaching out when I should be maintaining distance. Care enough to take responsibility for his pain.
Care enough to claim him.
We'll see.
The conversation ends there, but the implication is clear. Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow, we stop pretending this is anything other than what it is - two monsters who've finally found each other.
I put my phone away and head for the door. Time to go back to campus. Time to face whatever consequences my honesty has earned.
But first, one last look at the harbor. At the dark water that separates this island from the rest of the world. At the place where we're all learning exactly what we're capable of when the masks finally come off.
The monster is out. It's hungry. And it's mine to control now.
Time to see exactly what we can build together.