Chapter Six

Frederico Grey Di Grazia

A glass of whiskey rested in my hand as I leaned against the window, watching Rose crouch in the garden, her hands lost in the weeds. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in me—not love, not hate. Nothing.

What I wanted from her was simple: pain. I wanted her to claw and crawl through the same hell I’d been dragged through. To beg, to sob, to plead for mercy she’d never receive.

Her parents? Oh, they were living on borrowed time. The same way she stripped mine from me, I’d return the favor. One by one.

“Boss,” a voice interrupted my thoughts, familiar but irritating nonetheless.

I turned slowly, slipping my left hand into my pocket, a deliberate move that kept him guessing. “James, isn’t it?”

He swallowed, hesitating. “Uh… no, Boss. It’s John.” His gaze dropped as if he knew better than to meet my eyes.

“Is that so?” I murmured, a slow smirk tugging at my lips. “John, then. Have a drink with me.”

I poured him a glass, the amber liquid catching the light. Passing it to him, I watched his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he accepted it.

His eyes darted up to mine, searching for something—anything—but found nothing. No anger. No warmth. Just the void. And that, I knew, unsettled him more than any outburst ever could.

A sly smile curled my lips as John sipped the whiskey, his hands trembling slightly. I leaned back, watching him, every move slow and calculated. The silence stretched just long enough to make him squirm.

"How long have you been working for me, John?" I asked casually, my voice smooth but cold.

He swallowed hard, the drink burning its way down his throat. "F-four years, Boss. Almost five."

"Almost five," I repeated, as though tasting the words. "That’s a long time. Plenty of opportunities to learn something, wouldn’t you say?"

John nodded quickly, his eyes flickering to mine and back down to his glass. "Yes, Boss. I've learned a lot."

I tilted my head, studying him like a specimen under a microscope. "Oh? Tell me, what have you learned?"

He hesitated, licking his lips nervously. "L-loyalty, Boss. You’ve taught me loyalty."

I let out a low chuckle, dark and humorless. "Loyalty," I echoed. "Good. But tell me, John… what do you think happens when someone betrays me?"

His hand froze mid-air, the glass trembling. He stared at me like a deer caught in headlights, unsure if he should answer.

"Drink," I said smoothly, nodding to his glass. "It’s rude to leave a drink unfinished."

He raised the glass to his lips, obeying without a word. I waited, my gaze never leaving him.

"You know," I said, my tone casual but razor-sharp, "Jesus had his last meal with his disciples before the betrayal. A final moment of shared trust, or so it seemed. Except, in the end, the traitor wasn’t the one who walked away."

John choked slightly, the whiskey catching in his throat, but I didn’t flinch.

"And here we are," I continued, my voice dropping lower. "Sharing a drink. A moment. But don’t get any ideas, John. This time, the one leaving? It won’t be you."

His eyes widened, panic settling in as he realized. But by then, it was too late.

John’s face went pale, and his breathing quickened. The glass shook in his hand as he stared at me, his lips quivering.

“Boss… please,” he stammered, his voice breaking. “It was only two million… just two! My mother—she was sick, and I didn’t have a choice.”

I raised a brow, taking a slow sip from my whiskey, letting the silence eat away at him. When I finally spoke, my tone was calm, almost soothing.

“Two million,” I repeated, rolling the words on my tongue like they tasted sweet. “You think this is about the money?”

John’s head jerked up, his eyes wide with hope. “Yes! I swear, Boss, that’s all it was! Just the money. I’ll pay it back. I’ll do anything—anything! Just… just don’t kill me.”

I chuckled softly, setting my glass down on the table. The sound of it hitting the wood was deliberate, sharp. “John,” I said, leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees as I locked eyes with him, “you’re not dying because of the money.”

His face crumpled in confusion, tears pooling in his eyes. “W-what?”

“No,” I continued, my voice soft but devoid of any humanity. “You’re dying because of one word. Betrayal.”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. “Boss, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it.” I stood, towering over him, my shadow swallowing him whole. “Do you know what betrayal smells like, John?” I sniffed the air dramatically, then smirked. “It reeks. I can smell it on you.”

“Please!” he sobbed now, dropping to his knees, clutching his glass like it was a lifeline. “I didn’t mean it! I swear! I was desperate!”

I waved a hand lazily. “Desperation doesn’t excuse betrayal, John. It only makes it easier to justify. And you know what’s funny?” I tilted my head, watching him crumble. “I would’ve helped you. All you had to do was ask.”

His sobs grew louder, but I’d already turned my back on him.

Behind me, I heard the clatter of the glass hitting the floor as he fumbled to stand. He swayed, his body betraying him now, just as he had betrayed me. The poison was working faster than I expected.

I didn’t stop walking. “Goodbye, John,” I said over my shoulder, my tone light, almost cheerful. “Enjoy your last moments. Think about how much that two million was really worth.”

His cries grew fainter as I strode away, leaving him to collapse onto the cold floor, alone with the weight of his choices and the silence of his death.

“Your car's ready, Boss,” Emilia announced as I stepped into the corridor, adjusting my cufflinks.

I stopped, tilting my head slightly. “Get me that girl. Rose,” I said, my voice sharp but calm. “Cancel the trip.”

Emilia froze, glancing at me to be sure she heard right. “Yes, Boss,” she said, nodding.

“Wait.”

She turned back quickly, her heels clicking against the floor. “Yes, Boss?”

“Make her ready,” I added, my tone deliberate.

Her lips parted slightly in surprise, but she quickly masked it, nodding. “Ohhh… understood.” She left without another word, leaving me in the silence of my thoughts.

I turned and headed toward my private room, the soft click of my shoes echoing against the marble floor. By the time I reached the room, the dim lighting and heavy atmosphere were already set—the exact mood I needed.

I loosened my tie slightly, pouring myself a glass of whiskey and sinking into the leather armchair. The faint hum of music played in the background, something slow, haunting. It suited the moment.

She’d take at least thirty minutes to arrive, I guessed. Plenty of time to prepare myself.

My fingers drummed against the glass as I swirled the whiskey, my mind sharpening.

The door opened, and Rose stepped in, her movements hesitant but controlled. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides, the tension radiating off her as she avoided my gaze. She hated me—that much was obvious—but she had no choice. Not anymore.

I leaned back in my chair, swirling the whiskey in my hand, my eyes never leaving her. “Close the door,” I said, my voice calm but heavy with command.

She obeyed without a word, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Come closer.”

Her steps were slow, deliberate, but I noticed the slight tremor in her hands. She stopped a few feet away, her gaze fixed on the floor.

I smirked, taking a long sip of my drink. “Look at me,” I said, my tone sharper now.

Her head lifted, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of anger and resignation. There it was—that fire she tried so hard to suppress. It didn’t matter how much she hated me. She couldn’t afford to defy me.

“Do you remember,” I began, setting my glass down with a deliberate clink, “how you used to dance for me? How you used to cling to me, moaning my name like it was the only word you knew?”