32

Alexander’s Point of View

"Come on, dude," Theo said, his voice echoing across the open hallway as we stepped into the family estate.

The scent of cigars, leather, and old money hit me in the face  the usual stench of this place.

I rolled my eyes but followed him in, hoodie low over my face as if that could hide the months of frustration, anger, and heartbreak boiling under my skin.

"Slow fucker," Theo added with a loud laugh, punching my arm like we were kids again. I didn’t even react.

He didn’t get it.

No one did.

It’s been four months since I disappeared.

Four months since I left the crew.

Since I left her.

I thought space would help me forget. I thought maybe if I distracted myself enough with late-night fights, reckless gym hours, new ink carved into my skin, and silver burning through new piercings  that maybe the ache in my chest would ease.

But it didn’t.

Missy.

She was supposed to be mine.

Not Nico’s.

She smiled at him differently like he was the only light in a dark tunnel. And I hated it. I hated how soft she looked around him, how she leaned into him, how he touched her like she was breakable, like she mattered.

She was supposed to matter to me.

But I fucked it up.

I waited too long.

And now, every breath I take burns with the image of her laughing in someone else’s arms.

"You should talk more, meh," Theo said, his voice quieter now as we made our way up the curved staircase.

I didn’t reply.

What was the point?

I wasn’t the guy people wanted to talk to anymore. I’d gone cold. Numb.

I didn’t even communicate with the rest of the crew. I’d stopped checking in, stopped answering texts. Even Sienna had given up trying to reach out.

Maybe I deserved it.

Theo nudged me again. “Dad’s waiting for us.”

I gave a short nod and kept walking.

I could already hear the muffled voices from the study down the hall. My father’s voice  deep, commanding, the kind of tone that made people either obey or bleed.

I hated him.

Always have.

He treated people like tools. Like chess pieces in his stupid empire.

Sometimes I wonder how my mom even ended up with him.

She was too soft, too kind. She died too young, and now all I had left was this twisted bloodline of control, power, and coldness.

I reached the double doors to his study, inhaled deeply, and forced myself to push them open.

The room went still.

My father sat behind his massive oak desk, a glass of scotch in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other.

He glanced up.

“You’re back,” he said simply, no emotion.

“Unfortunately,” I muttered.

He smirked, but there was no humor in it. Just calculation.

And I already knew  whatever he wanted from me, it wasn’t going to be good.

My father didn’t waste time. He never did.

“Sit,” he said coldly.

I sat across from him, the soft leather groaning beneath me. The smell of his cigar clawed at my nose.

“I need you to handle something for me,” he started, sliding a black envelope across the desk.

No sugarcoating. No buildup. Just another faceless target in a world of blood and silence.

“Name?” I asked flatly.

“Federico Moretti. Italian-born. New rival. He thinks he can run guns through our city.” My father’s lip curled in disgust. “Make it clean. No headlines.”

I nodded. Simple enough.

I didn’t ask questions. Not anymore.

If there was one thing I was good at, it was getting my hands dirty and walking away clean.

Later That Night

The job was simple.

In. Out. No mess.

Federico Moretti was a talker  loud, arrogant, and careless. My father hated careless men.

I had him cornered in an alley behind his nightclub, the low hum of bass vibrating through the walls as I handled what I was sent to do.

By the time he hit the ground, the silence returned. I didn’t flinch.

Another name crossed off my father's list.

I wiped the blood off my gloves, about to head for my car when I heard footsteps.

Heels.

Clicking slowly across the pavement behind me.

I turned, expecting some drunk club girl or an idiot who’d seen too much.

What I got was a woman.

Tall. Dark hair tied into a sleek braid. Her face looked familiar sharp jawline, dark eyes with fire in them  like someone I should know, but couldn’t place.

She leaned casually against the wall like she owned it.

"Alexander," she said.

I narrowed my eyes, pulling my jacket tighter. "Do I know you?"

She smirked.

"You know my brother."

"That’s… not specific."

Her lips curled into a slow smile.

“Nico.”

I froze. My fingers twitched near my side.

The fuck?

“I’m Noelle,” she added, stepping into the light.

“My name doesn’t ring a bell, huh?” she asked.

I just stared at her.

“Try this  Nico’s twin sister.”

I scoffed. “Bullshit.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Nico doesn’t have a sister. If he did, I’d know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Do you really think he tells you everything?”

My head spun. Nico? A twin? A fucking twin he never mentioned?

Why wouldn’t he tell me something like that?

“Why now?” I asked, voice rough.

“Why the hell are you showing up out of nowhere?”

She walked closer, calm and cold.

“Because you’re the only one who can do something with the truth. You want Missy, don’t you?”

My stomach twisted at the mention of her name.

"Don’t look so surprised," she continued.

“You wear that heartbreak like a badge.”

I gritted my teeth. “Get to the point.”

She reached into her coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Tossed it at my feet.

“He’s been lying. You both have. That file contains everything the truth about the shooting. The mission he ran from. The boy he shot.”

I bent down slowly, keeping my eyes on her.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, picking up the file.

“Because I’m tired of pretending Nico’s perfect. He left us. Left me.”

Her voice cracked, just slightly. “And now he gets to walk around with a clean slate? A happy girlfriend? Nah.”

My fingers tightened around the paper.

“Missy’s brother. the guy he shot?”

She nodded once. “He wore the same jacket as the real target. Nico panicked. Pulled the trigger. Didn’t confirm the identity.”

I swallowed hard.

Noelle stepped back into the shadows.

"Tell her, Alexander. You have nothing to lose."

"And Nico?" I asked.

She tilted her head. "He has everything to lose."

And then she was gone.

Vanished like a ghost.

I stood there under the streetlight, the file heavy in my hand.

My heart pounded like a fucking drum.

Nico had a twin. Nico shot Missy’s brother.

And he never told anyone.

Now I held the truth.

And the power to break them both.