All Chapters of Whispers of Loyalty: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ZACHI’ve seen killers before. Been raised by a few.Laughed with them. Fought with them. Been punched in the mouth by them when I didn’t follow the rules in some group home with more fists than beds.But none of them scared me like Roman Vittore.It’s not the suit. Not the way he walks like he owns every breath in the room. It’s the silence. The man carries silence like a blade. Sharp. Measured. Lethal. And today, he’s pointing it at me.I sit in the center of his office. There’s no table between us. No guards, even. Just him. And me. And a glass of something expensive on the side table, untouched.He doesn’t offer me a drink. Doesn’t even ask how I feel. He just looks.Like I’m something to be studied. Or caged. Or erased.“You’re awake,” he says finally, voice smooth as ice melting in a glass.“Clearly,” I reply, leaning back. “Either that or I’m dreaming, and this is a really shitty hotel room.”His lip twitches. Almost a smile. But not quite.He stands, slow and deliberate, and w

ZACHPeople think rage is loud. That it screams. Breaks things. Demands attention.But real rage?The kind that carves a place into your bones?It’s quiet. It smiles. It shakes hands with devils and makes deals it doesn’t intend to keep.They bring me to a warehouse I haven’t seen before.Somewhere just outside the city. Unmarked, no cameras on the outside. Just cold concrete and that smell, blood and bleach. Old sins and new orders.The van slows and jerks to a stop. Two men I don’t recognize open the door and nod for me to get out.I do. Because today’s the day I pass or die.Roman’s test.I follow them through a metal corridor lit by buzzing yellow lights. No one talks. Every sound feels amplified - footsteps, breathing, the click of a gun being loaded somewhere behind a door we pass.They lead me into a square room with a table in the center and two chairs.One is empty. One is occupied.The guy sitting there is cuffed. Head down. Breathing heavy.His face is bruised. His lip is s

ZACHThey don’t respect you when you walk in. Not when you’ve got scuffed sneakers and shaggy hair and a stare too defiant to belong here.But they start to when you don’t flinch. When you walk through fire without blinking. When you hold your voice back like a blade behind your teeth.That’s when they start whispering. Not with hate, but with fear. And fear gets you further than loyalty ever could.Gianni was the first to crack. One conversation, one offer, and he folded like wet paper.Coward? Maybe.Useful? Definitely.And now, I’ve got something Roman doesn’t. A seed planted.A voice that will echo back to me when things go quiet. That’s all I need to start building something of my own.Today I’m supposed to meet Dominik Voss —Eastside captain. Old blood. Loyal to Roman. But rumor has it, not happily.He’s the kind of man who plays by rules until it costs him something. Then he rewrites the game.I can work with that.He meets me at a private gym. One of the estate’s offsite locat

ZACHThe past doesn’t stay buried. Not in a world like this. Not when the people who ruined it are still sitting on thrones made of bone.They think they can rewrite the story. Erase the names. Burn the photos. But I remember. And now, I have proof.Roman destroyed my family. And Alana’s mother died trying to expose him. That makes this more than survival now. It makes it personal.I didn’t even know my real last name until recently. Pierce was the name they gave me in the system, and I wore it like a borrowed coat. But there were whispers, mentions in the dark of a name soaked in blood and legacy. Veronin. A name that felt like a ghost trailing just behind me, daring me to remember.We leave the estate just before dawn. Two unmarked black cars. Bulletproof windows. Standard protocol.Roman’s orders were clear, find the courier, eliminate the threat, return quietly. But we’re not doing that. Not the way he expects.Alana sits beside me in the back seat. She hasn’t spoken much since we

ZACHI don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone the way I want her.Not just skin. Not just mouth.I want her mind, her fire, the way she breathes before she lies and the way she smiles when she’s planning someone’s ruin.We’re not just fighting together anymore. We’re falling into something sharp and consuming. The kind of want that could turn this war into ashes if we’re not careful. And maybe I don’t want to be careful anymore.After the gala, I slip through the estate’s west wing where Roman keeps his “trusted files.”Delano’s in them. Of course. Roman keeps tabs on everyone, but especially the ones who kiss his ring too hard.What I’m looking for isn’t paper. It’s patterns. Movements. Routines.I memorize three numbers:– The hour Delano calls his “offshore” line.– The time he always returns to the north bar.– The code he enters into his private safe.They’re all going to matter. Soon.The door behind me opens and clicks shut quietly.I don’t need to look to know it’s her.“Alana,”