Page 52 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

He’d brought a team with him, too—half a dozen of Rocco’s guys, armed and twitchy, expecting a clean hit on one of the most powerful Russian bosses in this part of the world. The only problem? Vlad hadn’t been anywhere near our city. We’d bought the same car he drove—same model, same plates. Threw one of our cousins in the driver’s seat with a coat and glasses to sell the illusion from a distance. Under the cloak of darkness, it had been a decent enough sell. And it had worked.

The rest of us were already in position before the first shot rang out. My skin had tingled with anticipation, my body coiled as tight as a spring while I’d hidden in the shadows, waiting. The cold metal of my gun pressed against my palm, familiar and reassuring. The takedown had been quick. Surgical. Clean.

Not a single one of Rocco’s foot soldiers walked out on their own two feet. Hell, they didn’t walk out at all. The crack of gunfire had echoed through the parking structure of the abandoned hotel, creating a deadly symphony that still rang in my ears. The smell of gunpowder and blood had filled the night air, sharp and metallic.

And Alec? He folded like wet paper the second the tide turned. Tried to run, then tried to talk, then shut the hell up when he realized we weren’t buying his bullshit. Same predictable pattern they always followed once they realized they’d backed the wrong fucking side.

The only thing that would’ve made the night better was if Rocco had shown his face. But no. The coward sent others to do his dirty work. There wasn’t a single trace of him anywhere near the abandoned hotel. And nothing at the penthouse either, where Marco had stayed behind to protect Kit.

But there hadn’t been so much as a whiff of his stench, no whisper of his presence…

My jaw clenched. We’d been so close.

For now, capturing Alec would have to be enough. We’d brought him straight to Emilio, driven through the dark streets of the city with our prize bound and gagged in the back seat, Tommy’s gun pressed to his temple the entire ride.

Now he knelt on the floor of my father’s study, looking worse for wear, flanked by two of our trusted cousins, Dario and Nico. His back was ramrod straight, though his signature was twisted with the scents of sweat, fear, and defiance that clung to him like smoke, souring the air of the normally pristine room.

I stood to the right of Emilio’s chair, silent, arms crossed, thoroughly enjoying watching Alec’s downfall.

Tommy and Gio flanked the other wall, their expressions cold, unreadable. Tommy’s fingers twitched at his sides, restless energy barely contained. Gio stood motionless, a statue of controlled rage, his eyes never leaving Alec’s tense form.

None of us had spoken since dragging him in. We didn’t need to. The room itself did the talking—quiet and still, all rich wood and perceived authority. It was the kind of atmosphere that made men confess things they never meant to say.

Emilio sat behind his massive desk, fingers steepled before him. The dim lighting caught the gold of his rings, making them gleam like the weapons they were. His face betrayed nothing, but I knew that look. The calm before the deadly storm. The predator watching, assessing, deciding exactly where to strike for maximum damage.

Alec cleared his throat. The sound scraped against the silence like sandpaper.

“Emilio, please—it wasn’t like that, I swear to God—”

“Don’t.” I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t have to. One word from me, and his mouth snapped shut. His gaze, narrowed and pissed off, darted to my face, then away, unable to hold my gaze under the onslaught of Alpha power that I let wash through the room.

He licked his lips, a nervous flick of tongue over the fresh, painful splits. Appealing to Emilio, he tried again. “Your boys got it all wrong—I was just checking it out. I heard something was off. I was protecting our interests.”

My laugh, short and cold, sliced through his excuses. “You want to try that again? You were the only person who knew about the meet. A clever ruse, wouldn’t you say? Just enticing enough for Rocco to come out of the woodwork like the cockroach he is. Just clever enough to smoke out a traitor.”

“It was a setup…” Alec whispered, dumbstruck, the realization of just how much shit he was in finally dawning.

“Just figuring that out, Sherlock?” Tommy quipped, disdain dripping from every word.

“P-Please. I—”

“Please? Did you think we would—what?” I tilted my head, studying him like an insect about to be crushed beneath my shoe. “Understand? Forgive you? Let it go?”

He had the audacity to glare at me. A look of defiance flickered across his face, there and gone quickly, as if he hoped no one else would catch the subtle challenge, the outright brashness of his actions.

Pandering to my father, he faced Emilio and bared his throat in a move of submission. As if leniency was something he still had any right to ask for after the damage he’d caused. The lives he’d destroyed.

I could feel the weight of my father’s presence beside me, the quiet power that radiated from him even in stillness. He hadn’t moved once since we’d entered. But the quiet tension in him shifted, like tectonic plates before an earthquake.

“Enough,” he said, his deep voice like stone grinding over stone. “You broke bread with us. You wore our crest. And now you’ll bleed for betraying us.”

For a moment, Alec blanched. I watched the realization sink in that there would be no talking his way out of this. No second chances.

Then his beady eyes narrowed like the rat he was. Caught, trapped, and caged. You’d think the asshole would have the good sense to accept his fate like a man. Instead, Alec bared his teeth, ready to bite, ready to hurt.

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, Emilio. Your sons? They’re too soft to lead. Too blinded by that broken little whore they keep tucked in their bed. She’s in their heads, calling theshots, and they’re too dumb or too pussy-whipped to see it. They’re tearing apart your empire from the inside, and Rocco won’t even have to lift a fucking finger.”

I didn’t give a shit about the insults he aimed my way, but my scent flared with rage, sharp and possessive, as my Omega’s name was dragged through the dirt by a man who’d never earned the right to speak it.

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