ログインEden’s POVThe morning sun cut through the heavy floor-to-ceiling windows of the grand dining room, casting long, sharp golden beams across the polished mahogany table. The scent of dark espresso, fresh pastries, and expensive leather filled the air, but the atmosphere remained thick, heavy with the lingering static of yesterday's violence.I stood at the entrance of the room for a fraction of a second, adjusting the cuffs of my fresh cream silk blouse. I’d paired it with a tailored, high-waisted black pencil skirt and classic stilettos. My hair was swept up into a sleek, professional twist, leaving the sharp lines of my jawline completely exposed. The small split on my bottom lip was a faint, pink line now—thanks to Jonas's ointment—and the heavy silver Moretti signet ring glinted on my middle finger, a trophy demanding to be seen.Silas stood directly behind me.To the rest of the world, the Butcher of Berlin was entirely back in his armor. He was wearing a fresh charcoal suit, his
Eden’s POVThe heavy double doors of the master suite were unlatched, slightly ajar. I pushed them open with a soft nudge, stepping over the threshold into the dim, ruined room. The chaos Daniel had described was frozen in place—the shattered velvet armchair near the marble fireplace, the overturned nightstands, and the shredded silk drapes hanging like broken banners in the dark.But the room wasn't quiet.In the center of the destruction, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his elbows resting on his knees, was Silas. A single, amber glow cut through the shadows near his face. The sharp, acrid scent of tobacco smoke hung heavy in the air.Silas never smoked. In all the months I had lived under the Schmidt roof, surrounded by their violence and their secrets, I had never seen him touch a cigarette. He only reached for it when he was completely cornered by his own mind, using the bitter smoke to mask a vulnerability he couldn't control. Right now, I could tell he was smoking just
Daniel’s POVThe front doors of the mansion didn't just open; they bounced off the limestone walls with a force that made the crystal chandelier overhead rattle. The cold, wet New York night tore into the foyer behind us, smelling of rain, asphalt, and the fresh copper blood we had spent the last two hours spilling across the outer boroughs.Silas stormed in first.He was a vision of absolute, unadulterated carnage. His tailored black suit jacket was entirely missing, his shirt torn at the shoulder, soaked through with rain and heavily splattered with the blood of the Moretti street crews he had systematically dismantled. His face was a mask of primal, terrifying rage, his eyes completely dilated into bottomless black voids. He didn't look like a man; he looked like a feral god of war returning from a slaughterhouse, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.I stepped into the foyer right behind him, my silencer already tucked into my waistband, my own expression a tight, pale line of c
Eden’s POVThe luxury high-rise at Sutton Place was fading into the black, rain-slicked Manhattan skyline behind us. I didn't drive. I didn't need to. After stepping out of the secure elevator cab into the quiet, marble-lined side exit of the tower, I had simply used Marco’s phone—the one I’d slipped from his jacket pocket before slamming his face into the mahogany desk—to call a private town car service registered under a Moretti shell company. The driver hadn't asked questions when he saw the heavy silver signet ring on my finger, even if my custom charcoal suit was torn at the shoulder and stained with his boss's blood.Mia sat beside me in the back seat, her hands gripped tightly in her lap, her blue eyes wide as she stared out at the passing streetlights. She was trembling, but the terror was gone, replaced by a quiet, reverent awe. She looked at me not as a fellow captive but as a savior."Where are we going?" she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the smooth purr of the
Eden’s POVThe double doors of the master bathroom clicked open, and I walked back into the sprawling, white-marble living room. Marco was standing by the glass windows, with a thick legal folder open in his hands, while Sandro and Enzo lounged on the velvet sofa, their expressions smug and heavy with the afterglow of their performance."Ah, the placeholder returns," Marco sneered, not looking up from the pages. "The final routing numbers just cleared. Sit down, Aiden. It’s time to sign over your short-lived kingdom.""Of course," I said, my voice smooth, entirely devoid of the fear they expected.I didn't sit in the low leather chair across from them. Instead, I walked directly to the massive mahogany desk where the gold fountain pen sat waiting. I leaned my hip against the edge of the desk, crossing one elegant leg over the other, completely projecting the unbothered, dominant energy I’d perfected under Daddy’s roof.Mia emerged from the hallway right on cue, her eyes downcast, carr
Silas’s POVThe rain over Queens was heavy, black, and smelled like burning rubber.I didn't use a gun. A gun is too clean. It leaves too much distance between the hunter and the prey. When someone takes what belongs to the Schmidt family—when someone puts their filthy hands on my little princess—I want to feel their bones break. I want to feel the exact moment the light leaves their eyes.They call me the Butcher of Berlin. It’s a title I earned in the underground meat-packing districts of Germany, clearing out entire syndicates with nothing but a rusted cleaver and an iron will. New York thought they had seen monsters before we arrived. They had no fucking idea.Right now, a private underground gambling den in Astoria was painted entirely in crimson.Four Moretti soldiers were sprawled across the poker tables, their throats crushed, their bodies broken into unnatural shapes. I stood in the center of the room, my tailored black suit jacket discarded, my white shirt soaked through wit
Daniel’s POVThe file on Deacon Arthur Vance made my fucking skin crawl. It wasn't just the abuse; it was the meticulous, holy-rolling theater he used to cloak it. This prick didn't just break children; he did it in the name of a god he didn't believe in, using a pulpit as a hunting blind.He was t
Daniel’s POVThe basement of the old warehouse on the outskirts of the city was a far cry from the refined, leather-scented dungeon of my estate. This place was raw. It smelled of damp concrete, rusted iron, and the pervasive, cloying scent of fear. I had chosen it for its lack of history, a blank
Luca’s POVThe penthouse of the Grand Regency felt like a gilded cage. It was the kind of place my father sent people when he wanted them out of his sight but still under his thumb. As I stood in the foyer, the scent of expensive lilies and stale gin hit me, a fragrance that had become Lilian’s sig
Eden’s POVThe morning air in the master wing was quiet. I stepped out of Daniel’s room wearing nothing but a man’s white shirt he had left for me, the scent of cedar and powder clinging to the shirt. I felt different. The weight of his presence in the bed next to me all night, even without a touch







