Semua Bab The Don's Unwanted Prize : Bab 31 - Bab 37

The house is quiet. Too quiet. I haven't seen Silas since yesterday. I've been pacing the bedroom for hours, like a caged animal. I've rearranged the nightstand three times. I've even folded the clothes Silas left on the chair—something I never do, smoothing out the dark fabric just to have an excuse to touch something that belongs to him.I'm bored and restless. My skin feels tight, itching with anticipation. I'm counting the seconds until he comes back. I don't know what to do with myself. I hate the waiting. I hate the silence.I change the sheets. I don't know why. They're not dirty, but I need something to do to burn off this frantic energy. I strip the bed, wrestle with the heavy corners of the mattress, and smooth out the fresh wrinkles. I step back, breathing a little heavier. It looks perfect.I shower. The water is hot, punishingly hot. I stand under it for too long and let it scald my skin, letting the steam fill the massive glass. I think about him. I think about the dark,

At 41,000 feet, the loudest noise inside the Gulfstream G550 is the clinking of ice against crystal and whispered chattering from his men. Silas sits in the leather armchair, a glass of bourbon resting in his hand. He hasn’t taken a single sip. The ice melting, turning the amber liquid warm and diluted, but his grip on the glass remains tight. He stares out the large, signature oval windows at the clouds, white and endless. He’s lost in thought, his mind drifting far away from the aircraft, entirely consumed by the boy he left behind in Chicago. He’s made this journey a hundred times when expanding his kingdom and stacking money were all that mattered. Monaco. Milan. D.C. Name it. The world is his territory, his playground. But this time, the transatlantic distance feels like a load on his chest, heavy and real. This time he isn’t just traveling; he’s leaving someone behind. He has been holding his phone for an hour or so. He wants to call Luca. He doesn’t. He shouldn’t, but the ur

Silas stares out the window as the car glides through the streets of Monaco. Up ahead is the Beaufort Estate-an old, lavish stone mansion surrounded by cypress trees.He has been here before. Over fifteen years ago, when Claire was alive, and he was a different man. He feels the weight of the past pressing down on him, the ghost of Claire mingling with the echoes of who he used to be. He pushes it away. He cannot afford to feel anything right now.The car rolls to a stop, and a footman opens the door.Silas steps out. Dressed impeccably in a charcoal black suit, he looks completely untouchable. He does not wait to be greeted. He walks up the stone stairs, his footsteps quiet but deliberate.The massive double doors swing open.Mathias Beaufort stands at the entrance in a crisp white suit. With silver hair and dead, cold eyes, he looks like a man who owns the world-and in many, many ways, he does."Bienvenue, mon fils, Silas, my son," Mathias says, his voice pitched, smooth and culture