Mafia Den (1)

Jared's POV

I closed the door to the medical wing behind me.

Amelia Quinn was a broken, fiery little thing trying to hold on to control we both know she didn't have.

I liked the spark in her eyes, though.

It was amusing.

But as I turned the corner of the corridor, my mood instantly soured.

Claire was leaning against the wall, waiting for me. She had changed out of her white fur coat and into a tight, seductive red dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

The neckline dipped dangerously low, exposing her huge breasts and she held a thin crystal glass of red wine between her manicured fingers.

As soon as she saw me, her face shifted into an expression of deep, fake concern.

"Jared, darling," Claire sighed, stepping into my path, her perfume wafting the air. "I heard what happened. The poor thing fell down the stairs? How is she doing? Is she going to be okay? I am just so worried about her."

I didn't stop walking until I was inches away from her, looming over her until she had to tilt her head up.

"Save the performance, Claire," I said, my voice flat and freezing cold. "You don't care if she lives or dies. In fact, you'd prefer it if she died."

Claire gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Jared! How can you say something so horrible to your own wife? I was just trying to be nice!"

"You're not my wife. You're a business transaction that is rapidly losing its value," I countered, ripping my hands into my trouser pockets. "Stop worrying about Amelia and start worrying about yourself. My lawyers sent the final divorce papers to your penthouse this morning. Sign them. Today."

The fake worry on Claire's face vanished instantly as her cheeks flushed a deep, furious

red and her eyes welled up with tears of pure heartbreak and anger.

She slammed her wine glass down on a nearby console table, the red liquid splashing over the polished wood.

"I won't sign them!" she cried, her voice cracking as her emotional walls completely collapsed. "I won't let you cast me aside for some trashy ex-con you found in a ditch! Jared, look at me! I am in love with you! I have been in love with you for years!"

I stood perfectly still, watching her hysterics without a single shred of empathy.

I had lived a hard life to know, Emotions were an absolute waste of time and weakness.

"I will never let you go," Claire sobbed, stepping closer, reaching out to clutch at the fabric of my shirt. "I can be better, Jared. I can be whatever you want me to be. Do you really think our marriage was just a random corporate deal? It wasn't! I was the one who begged my father to suggest the marriage alliance. I saw you at that tech gala four years ago, and I knew I had to have you. I chose you!"

I looked down at her hands on my chest, then back up to her tear stained face and a cruel, slow smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.

"You chose me?" I echoed, letting out a low, mocking chuckle. "That’s your first mistake, Claire. Nobody chooses me. I allow people to exist in my orbit when they are useful and right now, you are completely useless."

"Jared, please—"

"Get in line, Claire," I interrupted harshly, brushing her hands off my shirt like they were pieces of dirt. "You are just one of the countless women dying to have a taste of this life, a taste of me. You thought a ring made you special? It didn't. You're easily replaceable."

Claire stumbled back, looking at me as if I had just stabbed her in the chest.

Before she could speak, I leaned in and whispered. "And let me make one thing very clear. My security team is currently pulling the wiped data from the eastern corridor cameras. If I find out you had even a single finger involved in pushing Amelia down those stairs... I won't just divorce you. I will ruin your father's shipping line, strip your family of every cent they own, and make sure you pay for it in blood. Do you understand me?"

Claire choked on a sob, completely paralyzed by the sheer terror radiating off me.

I didn't give her another second of my time.

I turned on my heel and walked away, the sound of her crying fading into the distance as I marched down the grand foyer and stepped out into the cool night air.

Lorenzo was already waiting by the sleek black armored SUV, leaning against the driver's side door.

He took one look at my face and stood up straight.

"Drive me to my father's mansion," I ordered, my voice tight.

Lorenzo paused, his eyebrows pulling together in surprise. "The old man's fortress? Are you sure, boss? You haven't stepped foot in that place since you overthrew his board seat last year."

"I'm sure," I nodded, opening the passenger door. "Move."

The drive took forty minutes to reach the old Donovan estate hidden deep in the woods, surrounded by high stone walls.

As we pulled through the iron gates, the dark grounds were crawling with armed men dressed in black tactical gear, carrying automatic rifles.

This was my father's private militia.

To the world, my father, Gideon Donovan, was just a powerful tech billionaire. But I knew the truth because I used to be part of his secret life.

In reality, he ran a massive mafia mob involved in drug trafficking and all kinds of crimes and kept that side of his life completely hidden from the public.

Lorenzo parked the SUV, and we stepped out. The doors of the mansion were already open.

The moment I stepped into the grand, dimly lit foyer, a loud, mocking slow clap echoed from the grand staircase.

"Well, well, well. Look what the wind blew in," a sarcastic voice sneered.

I looked up. Standing on the stairs was Luke, my eldest brother.

He was dressed in an expensive silk robe, holding a glass of amber scotch.

Luke had hated me since the day I was born. To him, I was nothing but a bastard, the son of our father’s favorite high-end prostitute, while he was the legitimate heir.

As a child, he abused me more times than I can remember. But his hatred for me reached a whole new level after I outsmarted him and took over my father's company. It was the business he was meant to inherit, and I stole it right from under him.

"The prodigal bastard returns," Luke taunted, leaning over the banister with a wicked grin.

"What’s the matter, Jared? Did your little pet project die already? I saw the news. You brought a Quinn into your house. Do you have any idea how insulting it was to watch that news?, Even after usurping my throne, you continue to bring nothing but shame to this family."

Lorenzo’s hand instantly flew to the holster beneath his jacket but I raised a hand stopping him.

I looked at Luke, completely unbothered. I had been hearing his pathetic insults since I was a child.

He was a weak spoiled child.

He had the legacy, but I had the brains and the brutality.

That’s why our father had passed him over to let me run the empire until I completely took over kicking my own father out of the board seat.

"Keep drinking, Luke," I said smoothly, not even slowing my pace as I walked past the staircase. "Maybe one day you'll finally drink enough to forget that I own the roof over your head."

Luke's face twisted into a snarl of pure rage, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of looking back.

"Where is he?" I asked the elderly family butler who was standing silently near the hallway.

"The master is in the underground facility, sir," the butler whispered, bowing his head. "He expected you."

I nodded to Lorenzo, and we headed toward the steel door at the back of the house that led to the basement.

We walked down a long, concrete flight of stairs, the temperature dropping with every step until the air was freezing cold.

As we reached the bottom, a metal door slid open, revealing a large soundproofed room lit by harsh industrial lights.

"Haven't been here in years and the first thing I smell?, blood." Lorenzo muttered and I chuckled.

"Did you expect a different sight and smell in hell?" I asked

In the center of the room, a man was strapped tightly to a metal chair. His face was unrecognizable, swollen and covered in dark bruises.

He was weeping hysterically, begging for his life, his body trembling violently.

Surrounding him were several of my father's heavily armed mobsters.

And standing right in front of the bleeding man, holding a blood stained pair of steel pliers, was Gideon Donovan.

My father.

Despite being in his late sixties, the old man was still built like a tank, his gray hair slicked back, his white dress shirt splattered with drops of red.

He took a slow drag from a cigar resting in a nearby ashtray, completely indifferent to the agonizing screams of the man in the chair.

Hearing our footsteps, Gideon slowly turned his head.

His sharp, ruthless eyes, the exact same shade of hazel as mine locked into me.

immediately a dark, terrifying smile spread across his weathered face.

"The prodigal son has returned," my father boomed.

He tossed the pliers into a metal tray and wiped his bloody hands on a towel.

"What the hell were you thinking, bringing that Quinn bitch into the Donovan family? Is there no limit to how much you will ruin our family name, Jared?"