บททั้งหมดของ The Wrong Kind Of Right: บทที่ 151 - บทที่ 160

Asher and Paolo stood twenty yards ahead, half shielded by the warped light cutting through the trees. They hadn't seen them yet.Paolo was limping. Asher was focused, gun raised and sharp eyed as always, sweeping the terrain.Reid’s thumb hovered over the safety.This is it, Caldera had said.One pull. One choice. One future.Reid could make it look like an ambush. Quick. Clean. Like one of the three men panicked and opened fire. Like Paolo went down in the chaos.He’d already been coached.The lie was easy.The aftermath even easier.But… his heart.It wouldn't stop racing.His mind flicked back.Six years ago.Asher standing outside the infirmary after another silent fight with another military personnel. His shoulders slumped, face bruised from a spar, but eyes, God, those eyes, still burning.“Do you ever regret it?” Reid had asked that night, voice low.Asher hadn’t looked at him.“Regret what?”“Letting me go. Watching as I left?”The silence that followed had cut him deeper th

The scarred man remained crouched for a beat longer after the word DEBT, crimson, angry strokes etched like a warning to ghosts and gods alike.But then… his eyes slid back to Asher.And something shifted.Cold calculation replaced that flicker of curiosity. This was war. Every move mattered. Every corpse told a story, and he was going to write the next one perfectly.Dominic’s words in his earpiece earlier had been simple: “Leave no trace of Reid. Make it Asher’s mess.”And now that the others were gone, the stage was his.With practiced efficiency, he moved to Reid’s footprints. He found a fallen branch and dragged it over the soft patches of soil, kicking up leaves, smoothing dirt. Then he moved to the broken foliage where Reid had crashed through with Asher in his arms.Gone in moments.He took Reid’s bloodied glove, one the idiot had dropped while pressing on Asher’s wound, and tossed it deep into the brush, far from the scene.Then he returned to Paolo.Carefully, he picked up

The door opened with a slow, metallic creak, a sound too soft to belong in such a sterile, heavy place.Luca stepped in like a man walking through a dream, not knowing whether it would end in relief or heartbreak.The room was quiet, except for the steady rhythm of machines, a dull, mechanical beat that reminded him Asher was still here.Alive.But barely.Asher lay still on the hospital bed, pale against the white sheets. His face was scratched and bruised, a bandage wrapped tight across the left side of his head. Wires curled around his wrists, a heart monitor keeping time to a life suspended. His chest rose and fell under the thin gown, but it looked too fragile. Too slow.Luca’s steps were slow, hesitant. He’d faced corporate wars, boardrooms full of vultures, paparazzi storms, and scandal headlines… but nothing had ever brought him to his knees like this.He moved to the side of the bed, pulling the chair closer, fingers brushing the metal rail before gripping it tightly.“Hey,”

The officer behind him finally spoke. “Time of death puts him roughly an hour before your… Mr. Wolfe was found. Based on ballistics, all three shots came from the same weapon. Close range.”Luca’s hands dropped to his sides.“Someone wanted to make sure he didn’t get back up,” the man added quietly.Luca didn’t respond.His mind was a blur. He stared at his father’s face and tried to summon something, anger, grief, relief, even love. But all he felt was hollow.“You hated him,” a voice inside whispered. “So why do you feel like you’re falling apart?”He backed away slowly, the corners of his vision darkening.“I need air,” he murmured.“Take your time, Mr. Virelli.”Luca turned and left the morgue, his heart thundering.He walked until he was alone in a stairwell, hands gripping the metal railing so tightly it squeaked.This wasn’t just a murder.It was a message.Three bullets. No mercy. Planted weapon. Blood smeared. A staged scene.And the man the world would blame?Kieran Wolfe.A

A low sound escaped Asher’s throat.Not words.Just pain.But pain was good.Pain meant alive.He flinched slightly, head moving against the pillow, lips parting further.Luca leaned close, brushing the damp hair back from Asher’s forehead. “You’re in the hospital,” he said, breathless. “You were shot. But you’re okay now. You just have to wake up.”Asher’s eyes fluttered.Once.Twice.Then slowly, agonizingly slow, they cracked open.Unfocused at first. Blurry. Struggling to stay open.But they found him.And Luca forgot how to breathe.“Asher…” he whispered.Asher blinked sluggishly, lips moving, no sound yet. Just the shape of something that might have been:“Luca.”His voice, broken. Faint. Like it hurt to say.But it was him.Luca let out a breath, overwhelmed, every muscle in his body unclenching all at once. “You’re okay,” he said, voice thick with tears he refused to let fall. “You’re gonna be okay.”Asher blinked again.But his eyes were filling now, not with pain, but with s