Page 66 of Declan

Injury on the left side.

My eyes flare, my breath catching. My grip falters, and the notebook falls to the floor. My chest tightens as rage explodes within me.

“FUCK!!”

I punch the wall, the impact radiating through my fist. Pain shoots up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the storm in my chest. Connor snatches the notebook from the floor, his eyes darting through its contents.

“Giovanni killed Elva?” he murmurs, his voice a mix of panic and anger.

My mind races, pieces of Viviana’s words snapping together like a cruel puzzle.“It’s bad; it’s really bad,”she had said yesterday. She wasn’t talking about the Russians. It was this. This.

“Look at this part,” Connor says, pointing to the page, but I can’t bring myself to read anymore.

“‘Giovanni killed Elva so one of us could marry him?’” Connor reads aloud, his voice trembling. “Question mark,” he adds bitterly. “Was this the plan all along? Do my sisters know about this?” He takes a steadying breath and continues. “Called Dad today and confirmed the injury on his left side. He is pissed.” Connor pauses, swallowing hard. “That’s the last entry.”

“She called him,” I say, my voice cold and flat. It isn’t a question. This is why Giovanni took desperate measures. He knew.

Fucking hell, Viviana.

“Declan, she was going to tell you,” Connor says, stepping closer. He flips the notebook to the final page and points. “‘Tell Declan tomorrow after dinner.’” His voice falters.

“That’s today. She was going to tell you today. If those bastards hadn’t taken her…”

Every part of me aches raw and hollow. Elva died because of me. Giovanni killed her, and now my wife, the daughter of my fiancée’s murderer, is going to die because of him.

I scoff bitterly, pushing off the wall I’d been leaning on. “I’m going to kill him. Him and his daughters,” I snarl. My body feels like it’s trembling with rage, barely contained. “I’ll kill the entire family.”

“Even Viviana?” Kian asks, his voice low.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and the floor feels like it’s been ripped out from under me. My breath stumbles, and I catch myself against the wall.

“No,” I say, the word coming out hoarse. It’s the only answer I can give. No. I won’t kill her. But the truth looms over me like a storm cloud. I don’t know if I can take her back, either.

My stomach twists as I leave the room and head to my office. Grabbing a bottle, I drink straight from it, the burn doing nothing to numb the ache.

After Elva was found, Giovanni sent his deepest condolences. He came to her funeral. He shook my fucking hand.

I slam into my chair, the bottle clinking against the desk as I take another swig.

Then he came to me with his deal. Desperation in his eyes, pleading that he wanted his daughters safe, insisting that hedidn’t want them to end up like Elva. He even implied Aleksandr was involved. And like a fool, I accepted.

I replay every moment, every word. The way he always talked about Silvana and Bruna but never Viviana. If I hadn’t known his family from way back, I wouldn’t have even realized he had another daughter.

At first, I thought it was a shame that he was embarrassed by Viviana, that she might ruin the family name. But now I understand.

Viviana wasn’t in on any of it. Not Elva’s murder. Not the deal to marry me. None of it.

The memory of his fury when I chose Viviana floods back. That wasn’t just anger. It was something darker—rage, fear that his plan was slipping away. Pure, unfiltered fear.

He knew he had no control over Viviana the way he did over Silvana and Bruna. He needed eyes inside The Irish Consortium. And maybe that wasn’t all he wanted; maybe the plan was to kill us all.

I drag a hand down my face, the realization cutting deep. I’m a fucking eejit.

I rub my temples, trying to steady my breath to calm the storm that’s raging inside me.

One thing at a time.

Elva is dead. I can’t change that. My chest tightens, and the urge to smash something overwhelms me. I swallow hard against the tears threatening to spill, but Viviana—she’s still alive. She’s my priority now.

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