Page 72 of Hunted to the Altar
Samuel
The weightof the air in the study was different tonight. Heavy. Suffocating. It pressed against my ribs until each breath tasted metallic, sharp as knives.
The fireplace roared in the corner, casting violent, shifting shadows across the walls. They twisted like hands reaching for me, clawing at the edges of my control.
Lorenzo stood stiffly by the door, his shoulders tense beneath his black suit. His face was carved from stone, but I knew him too well. Fury seethed beneath the surface.
“After the last shipment went missing, we ran a trace on internal communications.” Lorenzo said, his jaw clenched.
"You’re sure?" I asked, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Lorenzo nodded once, sharp and grim. "The proof is there. Bank transfers. Meetings. Surveillance. Ricci’s been feeding thePicones for months."
The folder on the desk stared back at me like an accusation. Ricci’s betrayal wasn't just a breach of loyalty—it was an infection. A disease spreading through the cracks of my empire, waiting to collapse everything I had built.
The room pulsed around me. I reached for the folder, flipping it open with slow, deliberate fingers. Each page was another knife to the gut—Ricci shaking hands with Picone men, transferring cash, betraying us with every cowardly breath.
"Where is he now?"
"In the basement," Lorenzo said. "Waiting for you."
Good. Let him wait. Let him sweat.
Before I could respond, the faint creak of wheels on hardwood broke the moment apart. I didn’t need to turn. I knew it was her.
Nina.
She wheeled herself into the room, the firelight catching on her dark skin, gilding her in molten gold and shadow. She wore one of the loose cotton dresses the staff had left for her, her legs hidden under the blanket draped over her lap.
But it was her eyes that caught me. Wide, wary, yet burning with a stubbornness I had never been able to extinguish.
"What’s going on?" she asked, voice steady despite the way her fingers tightened on the armrests of her chair.
I closed the folder and leaned back against the desk. "A rat in the house," I said simply. "Ricci’s been selling us to the Picones."
Something flickered across her face—fear, anger, maybe both.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
I tilted my head slightly, studying her. There was a time she would have begged me to show mercy. Pleaded for another way.
Not now.
"Make an example of him," I said.
For a moment, I thought she might flinch. But she only nodded slowly, her mouth set in a hard line.
"I want to help," she said.
The words hit me like a slap.
"This isn’t your burden," I said, softer than I intended.
"It is," she said fiercely. "If the Picones are coming after you, they’re coming after me, too. I won't sit back and pretend this isn’t my fight."
My chest tightened painfully. There was something terrifyingly beautiful about her in that moment—fierce, loyal, broken but unyielding.
"Follow my lead," I said finally. "Don’t interfere."
