Page 68 of Forbidden Daddy
Bodies littered the drive—my men, my security detail, people who’d sworn to protect this place with their lives. The air reeked of gasoline and betrayal, a combination that made my stomach turn even as rage burned white-hot in my chest.
I parked the car and stepped out, my hand instinctively moving to the Glock at my hip. The mansion loomed ahead, windows reflecting the dying light like dead eyes. But I could see an unnatural glow flickering inside—not sunlight. Firelight.
Gasoline. The bastard was planning to burn it all down.
"Cassie," I breathed, and every protective instinct I possessed roared to life.
I moved toward the front entrance with practiced silence, my weapon drawn but held low. The massive wooden doors hungaskew, splintered by whatever explosive Declan had used to breach the security. The smell of accelerant grew stronger with every step.
Inside, the marble foyer was a war zone. Furniture overturned, bullet holes in the walls, dark stains on the floor that I didn’t want to examine too closely. But it was the gasoline-soaked walls that made my blood run cold. This wasn’t just about killing me—this was about erasing everything the Creed name had built.
A sound from above made me freeze. Banging. Shouting. Cassie’s voice, muffled but unmistakably desperate.
She was alive. For now.
"I was wondering when you’d arrive."
Declan’s voice echoed from the main staircase, calm and conversational like we were discussing the weather instead of the systematic destruction of my life. He stood halfway up the steps, his pale eyes cold in the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows.
In his right hand: a gun pointed directly at my chest.
In his left hand: a lit match, the small flame dancing dangerously close to gasoline-soaked wood.
"Let her go, Declan." I kept my voice steady, controlled, even as fury threatened to consume me. "Take me instead. This is between us."
His laugh was sharp, bitter. "Take you instead? Oh, Roman. You still don’t understand. This isn’t about trading lives. This is about erasing mistakes."
Above us, Cassie’s voice grew more frantic, the sound of something heavy slamming against wood. She was trying to break out of whatever room he’d locked her in. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced myself to stay focused.
"How long have you been the mole?" I asked, the question bothering me ever since the pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity.
"From the beginning." His smile was sharp as a blade. "You really thought I’d bow down to Patrick Creed’s golden boy forever? As I told Cassie, your father promised me a seat at the table. Real power. Instead, you turned that into a leash."
The admission hit like a physical blow. Declan—my consigliere, my trusted advisor, the man who’d stood by my side through every crisis—had been planning my downfall from day one.
"So you sold out to the Torrinos. Got my men killed. Nearly got me killed." My finger tightened on the trigger, but the match in his other hand kept me from taking the shot. One spark, and this place would go up like a candle with Cassie inside.
"I did what was necessary to survive your weakness." He stepped down one stair, then another, the gun never wavering from my chest. "Letting a woman in was your first mistake, Roman. Love makes kings into beggars."
"Then you don’t understand love at all."
"I understand it enough to know it’s going to get you killed." Another step down. "Drop the weapon."
"Let her go and take me," I repeated, desperation creeping into my voice. "She’s innocent in this."
"Innocent?" Declan’s eyes glittered with malice. "She’s the poison that infected your judgment. But don’t worry—you’ll both burn together. How romantic."
My mind raced through possibilities. The distance between us. The angle of his gun. The gasoline fumes that would turn this place into an inferno the moment that a match found an accelerant. But all roads led to the same conclusion—as long as he held that flame, I couldn’t risk Cassie’s life.
Slowly, carefully, I placed my Glock on the marble floor and raised my hands.
"Good boy," Declan said, descending the last few steps. "You always were too predictable, Roman. Too honorable for your own good."
He was close now. Close enough that I could see the satisfaction in his pale eyes, the years of resentment finally given free rein. This had never been just about power or money or territory. This had been personal.
"Any last words?" he asked, raising the match toward the gasoline-soaked banister.
"Yeah." I smiled, cold and predatory. "You talk too fucking much."
