Chapter 5: The First Kiss

"You're lying to me."

The words scraped against my throat, tasting like ash. I kept my eyes fixed on Sarah, watching the way her chest heaved, the way her fingers dug into the fabric of her dress. She was terrified, but she was hiding it well.

"Enzo, I swear to God, I didn't do this," she said, her voice shaking.

I let go of her.

It was a mistake. The moment my skin left hers, the agonizing pressure in my skull snapped back into place. It wasn't a slow ache this time; it was a violent, blinding spike. I staggered, catching myself on the edge of the mahogany desk. My vision tunneled. The edges of the room went completely black.

"Enzo!" Sarah lunged forward.

"Stay back," I growled, squeezing my eyes shut.

I could hear her footsteps faltering. I could practically feel her hesitation. I was the monster who had just threatened to kill her, but she was still standing there, watching me break down.

The throbbing behind my eyes was a white-hot iron. The medication was completely gone from my system. My hands were trembling so violently I could barely hold myself up. I was losing control. The beast inside me, the one I had caged with drugs and iron will, was clawing its way out.

I heard the rustle of her dress. Then, a soft, hesitant touch on my shoulder.

The effect was instantaneous.

The blinding pain vanished. The silence that rushed into my head was so profound it felt like I had just surfaced from drowning. I let out a ragged, desperate breath, my knees nearly buckling with relief.

I opened my eyes. Sarah was standing right in front of me. Her hand was resting on my shoulder. Her wide, defiant eyes were staring up at me with a mixture of terror and pity.

"You're burning up," she whispered.

I didn't answer. The relief was intoxicating, but the paranoia was still there, simmering beneath the surface. She was a Vance. She lied to me about her friend. She was in the video.

But she was also the only thing keeping me sane.

I moved before I could talk myself out of it. I grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against my chest. She gasped, her hands flying up to brace against my shoulders.

"You don't get to lie to me and touch me in the same breath," I murmured, my voice a dark, dangerous rumble.

"I'm not lying," she insisted, her breath fanning across my lips.

"Then prove it," I said.

I crashed my mouth down on hers.

It wasn't gentle. It was a punishment. A desperate, starving claim. She tasted like mint and fear, and the moment her lips parted beneath mine, the last remnants of my control shattered. I backed her up until she hit the heavy wooden bookshelf, my body caging her in.

She didn't push me away. Her hands slid from my shoulders, tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck. She pulled me closer. The kiss deepened, turning messy, brutal, and scorching hot. I bit down on her bottom lip, and she let out a soft, breathless moan that vibrated straight through my chest.

The silence in my head was absolute. The pain was gone. The paranoia was gone. There was only her.

I pulled back, my forehead resting against hers. We were both gasping for air. My hands were still gripping her waist, my thumbs tracing the sharp jut of her hip bones through the fabric of her dress.

"You are a complication I didn't ask for," I said, my voice completely wrecked.

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual," she whispered, her eyes still closed.

I stared at her swollen lips. The evidence on the screen didn't matter anymore. I didn't care if she was a spy or an angel. I couldn't let her go. The physical withdrawal was too brutal. The silence she gave me was too addicting.

But I wasn't a fool. I was a Godfather. And the betrayal in my house was real.

I pulled back, letting my hands fall from her waist. The moment our connection broke, a low thrum of pain returned to my temples—a warning of what was to come if I kept my distance for too long. I ignored it.

"Dante," I barked at the door.

The heavy oak swung open instantly. Dante stepped inside, his eyes darting suspiciously between Sarah and me. She was still leaning against the bookshelf, her cheeks flushed, her lips red.

"Godfather," Dante said, his voice tight.

"I want the guards from the east wing brought to the basement," I ordered, my voice turning back to ice. "Every single one of them. Now."

Dante nodded, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He cast one last, venomous look at Sarah before turning on his heel and disappearing into the hallway.

I walked over to my desk and picked up the revolver.

"Where are we going?" Sarah asked, her voice small.

"We are going to the basement," I said, checking the chamber. I walked back to her, grabbing her hand. The moment our skin touched, the dull thrum of pain vanished, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Are you going to kill them?" she asked, staring at the gun in my other hand.

"That depends on what they tell me," I said, pulling her toward the door.

We stepped out of the office and into the hallway. The mansion was eerily silent. The guards who usually patrolled the corridors were nowhere to be seen.

"The basement is this way," I said, leading her toward the west end of the house.

We walked down a narrow, winding staircase. The smell of damp stone and copper grew stronger with every step. When we reached the bottom, the heavy steel door was slightly ajar.

I pushed it open.

The basement was dark, lit only by a single overhead bulb. Dante was standing in the center of the room, his back to us.

"Where are the guards?" I demanded.

Dante slowly turned around.

He wasn't holding a gun. He was holding a bloodstained knife.

And on the floor, in the center of the room, lay the bodies of the four east wing guards.

"I'm sorry, Enzo," Dante said, a cold, terrifying smile spreading across his face. "But you asked the wrong question. It's not the guards you should be interrogating. It's me."

He dropped the knife, letting it clatter against the concrete.

"The ledger is gone," Dante said, his eyes shifting to Sarah. "And the only way you're getting it back is if your little bride hands it over."

I raised the revolver, aiming it directly between Dante's eyes.

"You've just signed your death warrant," I said.

Dante laughed, a cold, hollow sound.

"Maybe," he said. "But I didn't come alone."

He snapped his fingers.

The basement went completely dark as the power cut out. The sound of a dozen guns being cocked echoed in the pitch black.