Page 8 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

The air between us tightens, thick and heavy, as if the very walls are holding their breath. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I meet his eyes, every muscle in my body taut, ready for whatever game he’s playing.

“What happens in my house is my business,” I say, each word deliberate, an iron warning. “Don’t overstep.”

Ramona leans forward slightly, her voice a soft rasp that cuts through the air like a blade through silk. “You know what they say about secrets, Dominic,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine. “They’re fragile. One crack, and everything spills out.”

Suddenly, there’s a hush. My expression is blank, unreadable. My blood simmers beneath the surface, but I force myself to remain still, unyielding.

“You think you’re untouchable, Castellano,” Delgado says, his voice almost playful now, testing the waters. “But even empires have cracks. You’d be wise to keep that in mind.”

My muscles tense, but I don’t show it. He wants me rattled—wants me to react. But I won’t give him the satisfaction. Not now. Not ever.

“And you’d be wise to keep to your side of Montfort,” I retort, my voice stiff, venom laced under every word. “Don’t mistake my patience for weakness, Delgado. I don’t forgive trespasses.”

Delgado’s smile falters just slightly, but Ramona’s gaze sharpens, ever watchful. I know it was Delgado who hired Isabella’s brother to do his dirty work for him. He doesn’t have the courage to do something that dangerous himself, but I need him to know that I’m watching him.

“We’ll see each other again soon,” Delgado murmurs, finishing his drink with a slow, calculated motion. When the glass hits the table, the sound is unnervingly loud, like a warning bell.

I don’t respond. I don’t need to. The message is already clear.

Charles steps closer to me as the door closes behind Delgado and his strategist. He speaks in a low voice, his tone grave. “He knows too much. Someone’s talking.”

I don’t say anything at first, my mind already spinning. If Delgado knows about the project, if he knows about Isabella, then my operation has a leak. And leaks get sealed.

“Find out who it is,” I demand, the words sharp. Delgado’s little jabs may have seemed harmless, but I’m not stupid enough to ignore them. They’re not harmless. They’re a threat. And I don’t take threats lightly.

Later, I retreat to one of the quieter corners of the club. The music is distant now, a faint thrum in the background, replaced by the stillness of my thoughts. Charles updates me on Isabella—what she’s been doing around the house. His voice cuts through the quiet, and though I can tell he’s reluctant to admit it, I listen carefully.

“She’s good,” Charles admits. “Better than good. I saw one of her projects… looked like a trial or test project and the canvas was... alive with color.”

I frown slightly, the image of Isabella working in the sterile art studio playing in my mind. A colorful woman like her doesn’t belong in places like that. And yet, she’s thriving there. A part of me doesn’t want her to. She’s not made for this world. But another part—one I can’t quite name—wants to see where she’ll take it.

Charles pauses, his gaze flicking to me before he continues. “She doesn’t take direction well, though. Refuses to follow your exact requests.”

“What requests?” I echo, irritation rising in my chest like bile.

“She was sitting in the library last night and I asked her to return to her room because my shift was ending,” Charles continues, “She said she’s not a puppet. But you can’t let her roam around the house. Who knows what she might find.”

“I don’t need you telling me how to run my own house, Charles,” I snap, my tone sharp. A tightness coils in my chest—irritation. Isabella is an unforeseen complication, but I won’t tolerate my subordinates dictating my actions, especially when it concerns her. I may be ruthless, but she’s under my protection and I’ll make sure she’s comfortable.

I pull out my phone and unlock it, scrolling through the images one of my men captured earlier today. My finger slips and a picture of Isabella my hacker, Akira, the best in the city, sent me fills my screen. She’s in an art gallery with her hair tied back but strands falling loose against her forehead as she crouches over the canvas. Paint is smeared on her hands, a splash of blue on her cheek, her brow furrowed in concentration. She’s completely unaware of the world around her, absorbed in her work.

She doesn’t belong here. But now that she is, I need to protect her at all costs.

I turn the phone face down, my stomach tightening with an emotion I don’t care to dissect right now.

As we prepare to leave, Nico pulls me aside, his youthful energy replaced by a harder expression. “Dominic,” he whispers, “I saw two men slipping into the back rooms. I think they’re with Delgado.”

My pulse remains steady, but everything inside me goes still. The energy around us shifts, coated with the promise of violence. Delgado is pushing his luck.

“Show me,” I order, my voice low and controlled, though my thoughts are far from calm.

We move swiftly through the dimly lit hallways, the muffled bass of the music fading behind us. The sound of our footsteps is sharp. It doesn’t take long to find them—two of Delgado’s men hunched over a crate, trying to tamper with Castellano goods.

I don’t give them a chance to react.

“You’re trespassing,” I say, my voice quiet but edged with steel. The bigger of the two freezes, his face draining of color as he turns to face me.

What happens next isn’t clean. Violence never is. I move in close, pinning the lead man against the wall, my forearm crushing his throat. He thrashes, his hands clawing at my arm in desperation, but I lean in harder, cutting off his air. His eyes bulge, fear and rage flickering across his face. I don’t normally dirty my hands with petty brawls, but there’s a fire burning inside me now—raw, unchecked anger that demands release. My voice is low, steady, and deadly. “Tell Delgado this is a warning. Next time, I’ll send his men back in pieces.”

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