Page 57 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

“Then tell me.”

His smirk twitches. “Would that change anything?”

I let out a soft chuckle, slow and measured. “No. But it would amuse me.”

A pause.

Then Hugo’s eyes darken. “He was a bastard. The old boss. People like to paint him as some martyr now, but they forget what he was.”

I say nothing, waiting.

Hugo’s fingers twitch at his side before he folds them into a loose fist. “He ran things like a goddamn dictatorship. You were either loyal, or you were dead. No in-between. I was a kid—fourteen—watching him burn through men like they weredisposable.” His smirk deepens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Turns out, he wasn’t fucking untouchable, either.”

I arch a brow. “And you?”

Hugo holds my stare, unwavering. “I did what I had to.”

“I don’t give chances to those at risk.”

His lips curl into an expression between a smirk and a snarl. “And yet, you’re standing here. Listening.”

He’s right.

And I fucking hate it.

Because I need what he’s offering.

I need to find the rat before this whole thing spirals into something worse.

But trusting Hugo Bianchi?

That’s a fucking trap in itself.

He watches me carefully, reading every thought behind my eyes.

“This isn’t a trick, Castellano. You want to find the bastard leaking your business? You need me.” His voice drops lower, smooth like silk hiding a blade. “All I ask in return is one favor.”

I let the word settle.

Favor.

That word is more dangerous than a bullet.

A favor means debt. Owing. A leash that never really comes off.

I take a slow step forward, closing the space between us. “I don’t owe anyone.”

Hugo studies me. Then—he chuckles, a slow, knowing sound.

“Not yet.”

He steps back, his eyes gleaming with menace and impatience.

Because he knows.

He knows I’ll come back.

They always do.

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