The dawn didn't bring light; it brought a bruised, gray haze that clung to the windows of the penthouse. The storm had passed, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy and expectant. Drake hadn't slept. He sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, his shirt unbuttoned, watching Alisha as she cleaned the blood from her favorite blade with a silk handkerchief.
The possessive tension from the night before hadn't dissipated; it had settled into their bones. Every time she moved, his eyes followed her with a territorial hunger. He had spent his life losing things—his childhood, his peace, his dignity. Hewouldn't lose her. Even if she was the one who had brought the match to his empire.
"Silas is at the estate," Alisha said, her voice raspy but steady. She didn't look up, but she could feel Drake's gaze burning into her skin. "The old family house. The one with the cellar."
Drake's jaw tightened so hard the bone looked ready to snap. The cellar was where Silas had tried to delete Drake's soul. It was the site of the Wright family's greatest sins.
"He's waiting for me," Drake said, standing up. He crossed the room in silence,stopping until he was close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around the back of her neck, pulling her into his space. "He thinks he can use you to get to me. He thinks I'll hesitate because he knows what you mean to me now."
Alisha leaned into his touch, her eyes defiant. "Then let's show him that having something to lose only makes us more dangerous."
They left the city in a black armored SUV, the engine a low growl beneath them.Drake drove with a focused, lethal intent, his hand resting on Alisha's thigh a constant, heavy reminder that she was his. He didn't care about the laws Silas had broken or the money he had stolen. He only cared about the fact that Silas had laid a hand on what belonged to Drake.
"If he tries to take you," Drake murmured, his eyes fixed on the road, "I will burn that house to the ground with him inside it. I don't care about the evidence. I don't care about the legacy."
"I know," Alisha replied, her hand covering his. "But I want to be the one to turn the key. He took my father's life, Drake. Heused your trauma to build his throne. I want to see him fall from it."
The Wright estate loomed through the mist like a gothic tomb. The iron gates were open, an invitation that screamed of a trap. As they pulled up the long, gravel driveway, the house sat in total darkness, except for a single flickering light in the basement window.
Drake killed the engine. The silence was absolute. He turned to Alisha, his expression a mixture of dark obsession and raw vulnerability.
"Stay behind me," he commanded, though they both knew she wouldn't.
"In your dreams, Wright," she whispered.
He pulled her into a hard, bruising kiss—one that tasted of iron and the coming end. "When this is over," he said against her lips, "I'm taking you away from all of this. To a place where there are no secretaries, no boardrooms, and no brothers. Just us and the wreckage we made."
Alisha pulled her knife. "Then let's finish the wreckage."
They stepped out into the cold morning air, two predators walking hand-in-hand into the mouth of the beast.