Page 9 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

Before he can respond, I feel the sharp jolt of a fist slamming into my ribs from the side. I release the man and whirl around, catching the next attacker off guard. My fist connects with his jaw, the force sending him stumbling backward. He recovers quickly, lunging at me again with a wild swing, but I duck, driving my shoulder into his stomach and slamming himinto the nearest table. The wood cracks under the impact, and he gasps for air as I follow through with another blow to his face. Blood splatters across my knuckles, hot and sticky, but I keep moving.

Across the room, Nico grapples with one of the others, a flash of steel catching my eye as the man draws a knife. Nico manages to twist his arm aside, but not before the blade slices across his side. He grits his teeth, refusing to go down, and with a sharp twist, disarms the man and drives his elbow into the attacker’s face. Charles, as always, is swift and efficient—his movements precise as he drives his knee into the same man’s gut before finishing him off with a hard strike to the back of the head.

By the time it’s over, the room is a mess of overturned furniture, scattered debris, and blood. My breath comes in slow, steady gasps, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. The bigger man coughs weakly from where he crumpled to the floor, clutching his bruised throat. I take a step toward him, watching as he shrinks back, fear finally replacing whatever bravado he had left.

“Make sure Delgado understands,” I say, watching the man’s blood drip from my fists.

The message is loud and clear.

Don’t mess with me.

As we leave the back hallway, the music grows louder, almost deafening, but I’m not listening to it. I’m listening to the pounding of my thoughts, a chaotic rhythm that matches the bass of the club.

“Stop whining, Moretti,” Charles mutters, his tone dry, but there’s no malice. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Easy for you to say,” Nico grumbles, wincing as he straightens. “They don’t make knives like they used to.”

I mute them both with a glance. I don’t care about their banter. Delgado overplayed his hand tonight. But I know this isn’t over. He wanted to rattle me, draw out a reaction. He won’t get that satisfaction.

I wipe the blood off my knuckles with a handkerchief as we return to the VIP section. Delgado is growing bolder, and that’s dangerous.

“What do you want to do about him?” Nico asks, his voice hesitant, but curious.

I glance at him, then back to the dance floor below. The sea of bodies writhes under the red-and-gold lights, blissfully unaware of the violence that just unfolded, of how close they are to being consumed by it. I envy them, their ignorance. The luxury of it.

“Nothing,” I say finally, my voice calm but firm. “Not yet.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at me, but I don’t explain. Delgado expects retaliation—wants me to react. He won’t get that satisfaction. I’ve survived this long because I know when to strike and when to wait. The next move will be mine, and I’ll make it count.

A flash of gold catches my eye—a woman laughing on the dance floor. Her hair spins around her face as she dances, carefree, unaware. For a second, I think of Isabella—her defiance and confidence.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I glance at the screen. I expect a security update, but when I see the name flashing across the screen, it catches me off guard: Isabella Parker.

“She’s not supposed to be contacting you directly,” Charles murmurs, noting my hesitation.

“I know,” I say, curious despite myself.

I unlock the phone. The message is short, sharp:

I’m not a spy, Castellano. Stop sending people to snoop around my stuff! If you want me to create something worth your time, let me do it my way.

The corner of my mouth twitches upward. She must’ve found out I had someone go through her things.

“She might drive me insane,” I mutter, half to myself.

Charles raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment.

I slip the phone into my pocket as we head toward the exit. The moment we step outside, the chilly air hits me—a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the club. The crisp bite of it settles deep, grounding me. Isabella’s words swirl in my mind, lingering like smoke.

I’ve spent years building my empire on control, on bending people to my will. But she refuses to break, and that… that stirs my heart in a way I can’t ignore.

Maybe it’s fascination. Maybe it’s a problem. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the first crack in the walls I’ve spent years building.

Chapter 5 - Isabella

The evening sun sinks lower, bathing the Castellano estate in a warm, golden hue. The mansion looms behind me, a grand, imposing structure that both welcomes and traps. I need to get away from it, to steal some time for myself. In the gardens, at least, I can breathe—away from the oppressive weight of the mansion’s walls. Here, in the open air, I can pretend that I’m not caught up in something far bigger than me. More dangerous than I had anticipated.

I slip through the grand side doors of the estate, onto the stone path that leads to the expansive gardens. The ground beneath my shoes is soft, the grass cool and moist from the late afternoon dew. The gardens are a labyrinth of color and fragrance, a serene, almost dreamlike place, with wild hedges and carefully manicured trees casting long shadows on the ground. Here, the flowers bloom in vibrant shades of purple, yellow, and red, their petals soft and delicate under the cool breeze. There’s a fountain nearby, its water rippling in the quiet, and the faint sound of birdsong in the distance. It’s peaceful, so peaceful that I can almost forget why I’m here. Almost.

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