Page 58 of His Ruthless Vow

He fights like a man defending his ego. I fight like a man with everything to lose.

My mind flashes to Kendra—her defiance when facing Ercole, choosing me even when given every reason to run. The way she looked at my dogs, surprised by the glimpse of humanity beneath the monster. The softness in her eyes when she thought I wasn't watching.

That split-second distraction costs me. Zenon's blade bites into my side. Fresh blood seeps through my shirt, warm against cold skin.

"Thinking about your whore?" Zenon laughs, pressing his advantage. "She was so easy to break. Screamed your name until her voice gave out."

The last thread of my control snaps.

I barrel into him with my shoulder, pure rage channeling into one devastating surge. We crash into a steel beam, the impact reverberating through the warehouse like a war drum. My forearm pins his throat, pressing against his windpipe with enough force to make his eyes bulge.

"You touch her again, I'll make the Marquis de Sade look like a fucking amateur," I snarl, blood dripping from a cut above my eye.

Zenon wheezes out a laugh, blood speckling his teeth. Even now, facing death, he clings to his delusions of superiority. "Even if you kill me, you'll always be one of us. Blood doesn't wash clean, brother."

I draw my knife—the same one he gifted me when I turned sixteen, telling me I'd need it someday. He was right about one thing.

"No," I drive the blade between his ribs with surgical precision, finding his heart. "I never was."

Shock registers in his eyes as the steel slides home. His body convulses once, twice, blood bubbling past his lips. The smirk that's haunted me for years finally falters, dissolving into something almost childlike in its confusion.

I lean closer, my lips brushing his ear as his life drains away. "Theking," I scoff, the word bitter on my tongue, "of criminals is dead. Consider this your Titanomachy, brother. See how weak you really are."

I pull the blade free with a sickening sound. Zenon slides down the metal beam, leaving a crimson trail in his wake. His body crumples, eyes fixed on mine until the light behind them fades completely.

Standing over my brother's body, I feel nothing—not triumph, not relief, not even guilt. Just emptiness where a threat once stood, and the burning need to find Kendra.

35

KENDRA

Ifeel the cold metal muzzle of a gun press deeper between my ribs as Ercole drags me forward. The zip ties around my wrists dig painfully into my skin, but the sensation barely registers against the fury boiling through my veins. I've spent the last hour being yanked around by this discount knockoff gangster, listening to his disgusting plans about "claiming" me once Enzo is dead. All because he managed to grab me after brunch.

Enzo is going to have to teach me a thing or two about not getting kidnapped I suppose.

Ercole kicks open the door to the warehouse, not even flinching at his father’s body lifeless on the ground. He manages to make out whatever Enzo is saying as he yanks his blade free, but I’m too busy cataloging his body, making sure he isn’t hurt.

There’s fresh blood on his side, and I’m shaking with rage at the sight.

"Touching.” Ercole’s sneer brings me back to the moment. “But you're not the only one settling scores tonight."

The warehouse air hangs thick with gunpowder and blood. My eyes lock on Enzo immediately—standing over Zenon's body, his shirt soaked through with his own blood. He looks like he's been through hell. But alive. Thank god, he's alive.

Enzo's head snaps up at Ercole's voice, and when his eyes land on me, something dangerous shifts in his expression. The steel-gray of his gaze hardens to gunmetal. His jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscle jump beneath his skin.

"I should have let you burn," Ercole sneers, jerking me closer. His breath reeks of cigarettes and desperation. "But this is better. You die, I take Kendra, and the world keeps turning."

Enzo doesn't respond. Not with words. But his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—move between my face and the gun at my ribs. I watch his breathing change, becoming deeper, more controlled. It's like watching a storm gathering. His broad shoulders straighten despite the pain that must be tearing through him. Blood seeps through his shirt, but he moves as if it's nothing more than an inconvenience.

The rage in his expression isn't the uncontrolled fury of a madman. No, this is something much worse—the cold, deliberate wrath of a man who's already decided how this ends.

Enzo takes a step forward, and I feel Ercole's grip tighten reflexively. Every movement of Enzo's body speaks of lethal intent, wound tight like a predator ready to strike.

"You think taking a woman makes you a man?" Enzo's voice comes out as a low growl, controlled but deadly. "You're a fool, Ercole."

I feel something shift in Ercole—a flicker of uncertainty beneath his bravado. His fingers dig deeper into my arm as if I'm the only thing keeping him alive. And in this moment, watching Enzo advance with that dark purpose in his eyes, I realize I probably am.

But I'm not some helpless prize to be fought over. Not some trophy to be claimed.

---