HER EYES

OCEAN'S POV

I sit in my car outside Ethan's house, engine idling, hands still gripped on the steering wheel. I should leave. The meeting is over. I have three more appointments today, two territory disputes to settle, and a shipment coming in tonight that needs my personal oversight.

But I don't put the car in drive, I can't.

Because I can't stop seeing her face.

Lola. My son's wife. Twenty-three years old with eyes that look like they've seen a thousand lifetimes of pain. And that bruise.

She'd tried to hide it. Done a decent job, actually. The makeup was expertly applied, blended carefully at the edges. Most people wouldn't have noticed anything wrong.

But I didn't build an empire by missing details. I've spent thirty years reading people, cataloging threats, spotting weaknesses and lies. It's kept me alive in a world where one wrong move means death.

So yeah, I noticed.

The way she held herself too carefully, like her body hurt. The way she flinched when Ethan's voice got sharp. The slight tremble in her hands when she poured the coffee. The heavy makeup that was just a fraction too thick on her left cheekbone.

And her eyes. God, her eyes.

Empty. Haunted. Like she'd given up on everything.

I've seen that look before. On women in this life. Women married to violent men who think their wives are property to do with as they please.

I have never touched a woman in anger. Never raised my hand to anyone weaker than me unless they posed a direct threat. It's one of my rules, one of the few lines he won't cross no matter what. But I'm not naive, I know what happens in other households. Knows that some men in this organization think beating their wives is their right.

I just never thought my own son would be one of them.

I finally release the steering wheel and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes.

Ethan.

My son. My only child. The boy I raised after Ethan's mother died when he was eight. I know I wasn't a good father. I was too busy building my empire, consolidating power, eliminating threats. I left Ethan with nannies and tutors and threw money at the problem instead of giving the boy what he actually needed.

Attention. Guidance. Love.

By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. Ethan had grown into a cruel, entitled young man who resented his father and everything he represented. He joined the organization not out of loyalty or ambition, but out of spite. Wanted to prove he could be just as powerful, just as feared.

Except he can't. Ethan doesn't have the intelligence, the strategic mind, the sheer force of will it takes to command respect in this world. He's a wannabe playing at being a gangster, and everyone knows it.

But I never thought... never imagined that Ethan would take his frustrations out on his wife.

I open my eyes and stare at the house. It's a nice place. Not as grand as my mansion in Belgravia, but impressive. Ethan bought it with family money, of course. The boy has never earned anything in his life. Inside that house is a young woman who looks like she's being destroyed piece by piece.

And I dismissed it as not my business.

The thought sits like acid in my stomach.

I should go back in there. Should confront Ethan directly. Demand to know what's happening. Make it clear that if my son is laying hands on that girl, there will be consequences. But what proof do I have? A bruise I glimpsed under makeup? Her nervous demeanor? That's not enough. Not in this world. Marriages are private matters. Wives belong to their husbands.

Even thinking it makes me feel sick.

I pull out my phone and call Daniel, my most trusted advisor.

"Boss?"

"I need you to look into something for me. Discreetly."

"Of course. What do you need?"

"Ethan's wife. Lola. I want to know everything about her. Background, family, how the marriage came about. And I want to know if there have been any... incidents. Hospital visits. Police calls to the residence. Anything unusual." There's a pause on the other end, but Daniel is smart enough not to ask why.

"I'll have something for you by tomorrow."

"Good. And Daniel? Keep this between us."

"Understood."

I hang up and sit there for another moment, staring at nothing. I keep remembering the way Lola looked at me when she opened the door. Startled, nervous, but also... something else. Something I couldn't quite read. And then when I thanked her for the coffee, the way her eyes widened like she couldn't believe I'd shown her basic courtesy. What kind of life is she living where a simple "thank you" surprises her?

My phone buzzes. A text from Michael about the shipment tonight. Right. I have work to do. An empire to run. I put the car in drive and pulls away from Ethan's house. But I can't shake the image of those haunted eyes. The rest of my day passes in a blur of meetings and decisions. I settle a dispute between two of my captains over territory in East London. Reviews financial statements for my legitimate businesses, the real estate holdings and tech investments that provide cover for my less legal operations. I take a call from Vincent Romano about a potential alliance.

Through it all, my mind kept drifting back to Lola.

By evening, I'm at the docklands warehouse overseeing the shipment arrival. It's a routine operation, weapons from Eastern Europe that will be distributed to my various crews. Michael is there, efficient as always, checking inventory and making sure everything is accounted for.

"Everything looks good, boss," Michael says, clipboard in hand. "No issues with customs. The route through Rotterdam worked perfectly."

"Good." I watch my men unload crates. "Double-check the counts. I don't trust our suppliers not to skim."

"Already on it."

This is why Michael has been my second-in-command for twenty years. The man is thorough, loyal, trustworthy. I've built my empire on the backs of men like Michael. But even surrounded by my organization, my mind is elsewhere.

"Boss? You alright?"

I glance at Michael. "Fine. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing important." I'm not ready to voice my suspicions. Not until I have more information. "Make sure the distribution happens by tomorrow night. I want these weapons in the right hands before the weekend."

"Consider it done."

I leave the warehouse and head home.My mansion in Belgravia is very busy when I arrive. But it's too lonely.. He's lived alone for years now, apart from his guards and men ever since his last relationship ended badly. Since Willow.

I pour myself a whiskey and sits in my study, the room dark except for the desk lamp. Stares at the amber liquid in my glass. Willow left me fifteen years ago. Said she couldn't handle the violence, the constant danger, the blood on my hands. She wanted a normal life with a normal man. It broke something in me when she walked away. Made me realize that this life, the life I'd chosen, meant being alone. Meant not having soft things. Meant building walls so high that nobody could reach me.

And I'd been fine with that. Or at least, I'd convinced myself I was fine with it.

Until today.

Until I saw a young woman being slowly destroyed by my own son, and recognized something in her eyes that called to something in me.

I down the whiskey and pour another.

I'm being ridiculous. She's Ethan's wife. She's young enough to be my daughter. And even if Ethan is hurting her, what am I supposed to do about it? Confront my son? Demand he treat his wife better? That will only make things worse for her. In this world, you don't interfere in another man's marriage. Even if that man is your own son.

But the thought of walking away, of doing nothing while that girl suffers...

My phone rings. Daniel.

"Talk to me."

"I have some preliminary information on Lola Moretti. Born Lola Brown. Twenty-three years old. Orphan, grew up in the foster system in London. No living relatives. Met Ethan four years ago through a connection at one of the family's legitimate businesses. They courted for three months before marrying."

I listens, my jaw tightening.

"Go on."

"There's no record of hospital visits or police calls to the residence. But boss..." Daniel pauses. "I talked to a few people who've been to the house for business. Ethan's driver. A couple of the lower-level guys who've done security there. They all say the same thing. She's always covered up. Long sleeves, high necks, heavy makeup. Keeps to herself. Barely speaks."

"What else?"

"Ethan has a reputation. Nothing concrete, but there are rumors. About how he treats her. About his temper. One of the housekeepers quit six months ago, wouldn't say why but she was shaken up about something."

My grip on my phone tightens.

"Find that housekeeper. I want to talk to her."

"I'll track her down. Boss, if Ethan is doing what I think he's doing..."

"Then we'll deal with it. But I need proof first. Real proof, not just rumors and suspicions."

"Understood. I'll keep digging."

I hang up and stare at my glass.

An orphan. No family. No one to protect her or speak up for her. Ethan probably chose her specifically for that reason. Picked someone vulnerable, someone with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. And I let it happen. I approved the marriage without really looking into it, without caring who my son was marrying or why.

I'm complicit in this.

The thought makes me want to put my fist through the wall.

Instead, I drain my whiskey and stands. Walk to the window and looks out at the London night, the city lights spreading out before me like a constellation.

I've built an empire on fear and blood and ruthless calculation. I've killed men who crossed me. Destroyed families who threatened my power. I have more blood on my hands than I can count.

But I've never hurt someone innocent. Never raised my hand to someone who couldn't fight back.

And I won't let my son do it either. Tomorrow, I'll get the rest of the information I need. I'll find out exactly what's happening in that house. And then I'll figure out what to do about it.

Because one thing is certain: I can't walk away from this. Can't unsee what I saw today.

Those haunted eyes. That careful way she moved. The bruise hidden under expensive makeup.

Lola.

My son's wife.

A girl being destroyed in silence, with no one to help her.

I have spent life being cold, calculating, keeping my distance from anything that might make me weak. But something shifted today when I looked into her eyes and saw all that pain.

And I have the uncomfortable realization that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as cold as I thought I was.

I finish my drink and head upstairs.

Tomorrow, I'll know more. Tomorrow, I'll have answers. And then I'll decide what to do with them.