Ace POV:

Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she complied without hesitation.

Good girl.

She climbed into the back seat, and I followed, shutting the door behind me.

The space shrank around us, charged, suffocating.

I reached out, grabbing her legs, pulling her onto my lap. Straddling me.

She gasped, her hands pressing against my chest, body stiff as she tried to wiggle free.

Panic sparked in her eyes.

Her breath quickened.

Her fear was intoxicating.

"Shh... my sweet Mini," I murmured, palming her cheek, my thumb ghosting over her lips.

She gulped, her breathing shallow, but she stilled.

Waiting.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against hers in a whisper of a kiss.

Soft. Tempting.

But hunger coiled in my gut, dark and insatiable.

I fisted her hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss.

Greedy. Possessive. Taking.

One hand buried in her hair, the other trailing lower, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her dress.

The heat of her skin burned against my palm.

I pulled back, just enough to drink in the sight of her— flushed, heaving, disoriented.

Her lips were wet, parted slightly, like she was struggling to catch her breath.

Her hands, unsure, hovered in her lap.

Undecided. Afraid.

I took them in mine, guiding them to my shoulders.

Her fingers curled there, hesitant, but learning.

Her gaze locked onto me, studying. Memorizing.

"Move your lips with me, little Mini, just like I do," I whispered, my breath fanning against her trembling lips.

She hesitated, her small frame stiffening in my hold.

I felt it—her resistance, weak but present, like a dying ember fighting against a roaring inferno.

But she tried. She tried.

That alone made my chest tighten with a dangerous mix of satisfaction and something darker—something I didn't want to name.

Her lips parted slightly, pliant under mine, the warmth of her breath mixing with my own.

I hummed approvingly, coaxing her deeper into my grasp.

Slowly, she responded, the movement hesitant, unpracticed. Fuck.

The inexperience in the way she kissed me, the way her hands fumbled against my shoulders, gripping too tightly, almost as if she needed something to ground herself— it was intoxicating.

I placed her hands on the back of my head, forcing her to cling to me.

Her touch was featherlight, unsure, but I wouldn't allow it.

I needed more.

My arms wrapped around her, eliminating the space between us, ensuring she had nowhere to go.

She belonged here.

Pressed against me, trapped in my grasp, forced to match my pace, my rhythm.

Every inch of her against me only fed the gnawing hunger at the pit of my stomach, a hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with possession.

A soft whimper left her lips—a sound so delicate, so fucking pure, it sent a sharp jolt through me, snapping whatever restraint I had left.

Mine.

That sound, that innocent, hesitant noise, was mine.

No one else had heard it before. No one else would hear it.

She yanked at my hair suddenly, trying to escape, her small fingers fisting into the strands.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she broke away, her breathing uneven, her pupils blown wide with something she didn't understand.

She looked lost.

Confused.

Frightened.

Her fingers trembled as they brushed over her lips, as if checking whether the kiss had actually happened or if it was some fever dream she had fallen into.

Her eyes, wide and dark with something she couldn't yet name, darted up to mine, searching.

Such an innocent bambi I have.

"Mama will kill me," she murmured, barely aware she had spoken aloud.

Mama.

The word was like a drop of poison in a well of sweetness.

Her mother.

She was thinking about her mother in this moment?

It made my fingers twitch with irritation.

I wanted to erase every thought in her head that didn't belong to me.

She licked her lips absently, tasting me.

I clenched my jaw, my hands tightening their grip on her waist.

Did she even realize what she was doing?

How much she was tempting me without meaning to?

"I feel... weird," she admitted, voice small, uncertain.

Her ears were tinged red, her cheeks flushed, her entire body radiating warmth.

She was unraveling.

I wanted to watch her break further.

Without thinking, I grabbed the back of her neck, yanking her toward me.

My lips crashed against hers again, this time without the gentleness from before.

She gasped into my mouth, a muffled little sound of shock, but I didn't care.

I devoured it. Her.

This time, she didn't hesitate.

Her lips moved against mine slowly, hesitantly, but willingly.

Willingly.

That alone sent a sharp thrill of pleasure curling down my spine.

She was letting me in, letting me have her, even if she didn't fully realize it yet.

I pulled back, just enough to watch her reaction. Her lips were swollen, parted slightly as she sucked in a shaky breath.

Fuck, this feels so good.

I trailed my lips downward, brushing against the softness of her jawline, tracing the delicate curve of her throat with my mouth.

I could feel her pulse hammering beneath my lips, erratic, unsteady. For me.

She shivered as I grazed my teeth over her skin, teasing, testing.

I wanted to leave a mark.

No. I needed to.

A sharp gasp left her lips as I sucked at the tender flesh of her throat, my grip on her tightening.

I could feel her heartbeat beneath my tongue, rapid and panicked, but she wasn't pulling away.

She wasn't stopping me.

I pulled her closer, pressing her against me, relishing in the way her soft curves molded against the hardness of my body.

Then—

"Ahh," she moaned.

It was so soft, so quiet, as if it had slipped past her lips before she could swallow it back.

I froze.

The sound echoed in my mind, bouncing off the edges of my skull, burrowing deep into something primal.

The air around us suddenly felt cold, too cold, the contrast between the heat of her body and the surrounding emptiness sharpening into something unbearable.

She moaned.

For the first time.

For me.

A slow, wicked smile curled at my lips, my grip on her tightening as a dark sense of triumph surged through me.

She fucking moaned for the first time.

And I would make sure it wouldn't be the last.

I watched her chest rise and fall in ragged, uneven breaths.

Every inhale was shallow, every exhale shaky, her small frame tensed beneath my touch. Her thighs clenched around my waist instinctively, as if trying to shield herself from the creeping realization of what was happening—of what she was allowing to happen.

But there was no escape.

I lifted a hand, brushing my thumb along her lower lip, feeling the soft give of it beneath my touch.

Her lips quivered, parted slightly as if she were about to say something, but no words came.

Just silence.

Just that delicate tremor in her breath, that exquisite uncertainty in her wide, doe-like eyes.

She was so responsive, so eager without realizing it, every flicker of emotion playing out on her face like an open book.

I could read her perfectly—the nervous anticipation, the lingering innocence, the unspoken fear.

It sent a rush of something dark and possessive through me, curling into the pit of my stomach like a living thing.

I shouldn't be doing this.

I should stop.

But that was a lie.

I didn't want to stop.

I reached for the zipper of her dress, slow and deliberate, my fingers brushing against the smooth fabric.

The sound of the zipper unfastening was deafening in the enclosed space, slicing through the stillness like a blade.

Her body jerked slightly at the noise, her eyes flying open, panic flickering in their golden-brown depths.

"A-Ace," she stammered, voice small, fragile, barely above a whisper.

I met her gaze, tilting my head slightly.

"Shh, little Mini..." My voice was soft, coaxing, but firm. "Trust me."

I said it so gently, as if I was offering comfort, but I knew better.

I pulled the dress lower, the fabric pooling around her hips, stripping away another layer of her defenses. Exposed. Vulnerable.

The black strapless bra was the only thing left between me and her bare skin, and for a moment, I simply stared.

She was breathless. Completely still.

I could feel the tension rolling off her in waves, the anticipation tightening the muscles in her shoulders.

My fingers trailed up her spine, slow and calculated, before reaching the clasp of her bra.

A flick.

The clasp came undone.

I let it slide from her chest, her skin left bare to the cold air.

Her nipples pebbled from the sudden chill, a reaction she had no control over.

Her fingers twitched against my shoulders, fingers digging in tightly, her breath catching in her throat as I watched her.

Her gaze darted away, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and something else—something she didn't understand yet.

But I understood. I always understood.

"Look at me."

She hesitated.

I gripped her chin between my fingers, forcing her gaze back to mine.

"I said, look at me."

She obeyed.

My mouth descended, capturing one of her nipples between my lips, sucking lightly, my tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

Her gasp was sharp. Unbidden.

That sound. That fucking sound.

A tremor went through her, a reaction she hadn't meant to give me.

I felt her fingers twitch against my skin, gripping me tighter as she tried to ground herself.

"Ahh..." That tiny moan, that fragile, barely-there whimper—it sent a thrill through my veins, raw and electric.

She had never made that sound before.

Not once.

She had never moaned for anyone.

And yet here she was, unraveling in my arms, her body betraying her despite the quiet protests of her mind.

How intoxicating.

I pulled back slightly, studying her face.

Her lips were parted, her breathing uneven, her cheeks flushed with heat, ears burning red.

She was trying so desperately to process what was happening—to process me.

I kissed her, harder this time, swallowing whatever words she might have spoken.

My tongue slid into her mouth, and for the first time, she kissed me back without hesitation.

No resistance.

No second thoughts.

Just acceptance.

Good girl.

The taste of her was almost too much—warm and sweet, with lingering traces of the dessert I had fed her earlier.

I let myself drown in it, my grip tightening around her, my hand sliding down to her stomach, lower, lower—

A sudden movement.

A shift.

Her hips pressed against mine, unconscious, unintentional, naive.

A mistake.

A beautiful, fucking mistake.

White-hot pleasure shot through me like a drug, my control slipping for a fraction of a second as my body reacted on instinct.

Fuck.

I sucked in a sharp breath, gripping her hips to still them, to keep her from moving again.

She didn't know what she had just done.

She didn't understand.

If she did, she wouldn't have done it in the first place..

I leaned my head back against the seat, forcing myself to stop.

I opened my eyes.

She was looking at me.

Confused. Flushed. Breathless. Innocent.

So fucking innocent.

And that was the worst part, wasn't it?

That I was ruining her.

That I was stealing something from her—piece by piece, moment by moment, with every kiss, every touch, every whispered lie of comfort.

And she was letting me.

Willingly.

"..Ace.. it tickles..," she whispered, her voice trembling between confusion and unease.

I looked at her, my gaze lowering to her stomach, the shallow rise and fall of her breath betraying her nerves.

A tiny mole beside her belly button, her stomach heaving, a little curved waist.

Such a delicate, baby-like body.

Her eyes were wide and innocent, but there was something else there too—a hint of curiosity, of desire that matched my own.

She was letting go, allowing herself to feel, to experience something new.

I hummed in response, stroking her back gently, a methodical motion, calculated to ease her into acceptance.

To make her stop resisting.

My control was a frayed wire, burning at both ends, but I held steady.

Her body shivered under the dim glow of the overhead light, shadows dancing across her skin.

I could see the tremble in her fingers as they rested against me—seeking stability, grounding herself.

If she was truly aware, if her mind wasn't caught in the slow descent of uncertainty, she would have shielded herself, folded inward like a wounded thing.

She nudged my chest shyly, an almost imperceptible motion, her face burning with something that was not quite shame, not quite fear.

Something between.

"It tickles too much," I murmured, leaning toward her, watching the way her lips parted slightly, the way her breath stuttered.

She nodded her head vigorously, eyes flickering down, away, anywhere but at me.

"Can you... make it go away?" Her voice wavered, something fragile laced in every syllable. "Please... it hurts now."

My grip tightened for just a moment.

Ah, my poor little Mini.

In one swift motion, I made her lie back against the car seat, trapping her beneath me.

She let out a faint yelp, her body jolting in surprise, but she didn't push me away.

Her eyes, wide and glassy, stared up at me.

Her small hands trembled as they reached up, her fingers barely grazing my face, hesitant, unsure.

My breath fanned over her lips, deliberate, measured.

It should have ended with a kiss.

But I wasn't kind.

I dragged my lips from the corner of her mouth down to her throat, slow, torturous, savoring the way she tensed beneath me.

I could see the need in her eyes, the desire that she was still too shy to voice and name it.

"Mini." My voice came out slow, deliberate, coiling around her like a vice.

I brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, my fingers lingering longer than necessary. "Stop me now... or I won't be able to."

Her lips trembled, her pupils dilating as she swallowed hard.

She was too lost, too caught in the web I had spun around her.

I could see the conflict warring inside her, the hesitation shadowing her gaze.

She should've said no.

She should've pushed me away.

But she didn't.

"I... I l-like it," she whispered, the words barely audible, as if she were confessing something shameful, something forbidden.

My lips twitched.

Ah, there it was.

The moment hesitation slipped into submission.

The moment she allowed herself to step into my world, willingly.

"What do you like, Mini?" I pressed, my voice smooth, coaxing, poisoning her thoughts like a slow-working drug.

I leaned in close, so close our lips brushed with every word, my breath hot against her trembling mouth.

She swallowed, her fingers gripping my shirt.

"Your kisses..." She hesitated, a small giggle slipping through her lips, but I caught the nervous edge in it. "And... humpy. It's tingly."

A chuckle rumbled in my chest, low and pleased.

Such a naive little thing, so utterly unaware of the power she had just surrendered to me.

I could feel her pulse hammering beneath my fingertips as I traced them over her throat, pressing ever so slightly, just enough to remind her that she was fragile, that I could break her if I wanted to.

And yet she stayed.

She was mine to mold, mine to ruin.

Mature

I kissed her again, my lips pressing against hers with a fervent intensity, as I gently guided her legs apart, my hands tracing a path down her smooth thighs.

With a torturous slowness, I pulled back just enough to hook my fingers into the waistband of her litchi-patterned panties.

The delicate fabric whispering against her skin as I slid them down, revealing her damp heat.

I stood up slightly, my heart pounding in my chest. I unbuttoned my pants, the cool air nipping at my skin as I pushed them down to my knees, freeing myself from their constraining fabric.

Her eyes widened, a mix of apprehension and intrigue dancing across her expressive face, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink.

"A-Are we really going to play humpy?" she asked, her voice a trembling melody, her big eyes looking up at me, shining with a mix of fear and excitement.

"Sí," I murmurred, my voice a low, husky rumble, like the first stirrings of a storm.

I leaned over her, the chain around my neck swaying gently, its cool metal brushing against her warm skin.

I positioned myself between her legs, taking my time, letting the anticipation build like a symphony reaching its crescendo.

Slowly, deliberately, I began to rub against her, feeling her warmth and slickness against me,

The slickness made it clear just how ready she was, even if she didn't fully understand it.

Her hands shot up, her fingers entwining in my hair, gripping tightly as she gasped loudly, her breath hitching in her throat.

Her head fell back against the seat, her eyes drifting towards the window, her gasps and whimpers filling the small, steamy space of the car.

I gripped her under her knees, my fingers pressing into her soft flesh as I lifted her legs slightly, angling her hips towards me.

I began to grind against her, my body moving with a primal rhythm, a dance as old as time itself.

Her back arched off the seat, her moans spilling from her lips like a sweet, sinful song.

Each one making my blood run hotter, my desire for her growing with every exhilarating sound.

Her hands tightened in my hair, pulling hard, her eyes squeezed shut in pure, unadulterated pleasure.

I leaned down, capturing her lips in another heated kiss.

Our breaths mingling like a storm, wild and uncontained, as we panted against each other.

Her whimper was a soft, broken melody as her back arched once more, pressing her chest so fervently against mine that it seemed she could never be close enough.

"Do you like it, Mini?" I murmured against her cheek, my tongue darting out to taste the softness of her skin, leaving a trail of warmth.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, her lips parting ever so slightly as she struggled to catch her breath, each exhale a whisper of longing.

For what felt like an eternity, I grinded against her with a rough, insistent rhythm, my fingers playing over her nipples with a teasing, relentless touch.

Fucking Hell!

The sight beneath me was nothing short of sacred— her eyes fluttering shut in a dazed reverie, lips parted in a silent plea, the blush on her cheeks, bright red ears and sweat glistening like dew on her throat.

The mere idea of anyone else witnessing her in this state— a vision of pure seduction— was enough to push me to the brink of madness, a madness that seemed to have no bounds.

But then her voice, small and trembling, punctured through the haze.

"Ace, I... I don't... f-feel g-good."

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, disappearing into her hair.

Beautiful.

Delicate.

Mine.

I leaned down, drawing one of her hardened nipples into my mouth, sucking with a gentle insistence that made her moans grow louder.

Suddenly, she began to push against me, her small hands pressing urgently, trying to create space between us.

My fingers slid up, curling around her wrist, pinning her hands beside her head.

Not hard, just firm enough that she knew there was no escape.

My tongue swirled around the sensitive bud as she mewled, her breasts pressing eagerly into my mouth.

She was wrapped around me now, her legs tight around my waist, drawing me impossibly closer, as if we could merge into one.

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused and drowsy.

"I-I..No pe-pee–um..," she sobbed, her breathing ragged, and I realized what was happening.

Is she going to...

Her body jerked beneath me, her mouth opening in a raw, primal moan.

"Ahhh!" The sound was almost feral, as her body arched up, stiff and tense, and then it happened.

The unmistakable shudder of her first orgasm, a wave of pure, unrestrained ecstasy.

She came.

She fucking had an orgasm.

Her entire body quaked with the intensity of her orgasm— her first one.

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, glistening as it traced a path down her flushed cheek.

Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, and her body twitched uncontrollably.

I watched, utterly mesmerized and more aroused than I had ever been, as she trembled beneath me, her skin flushed and damp with the sheen of sweat.

The pleasure I had given her had overtaken her completely.

I could feel my own release building rapidly, so intense it was almost unbearable.

My hand found its way to her neck, my fingers gently but firmly holding her in place as I ground my hips against hers with a primal urgency, driven by the need to reach my own climax.

"Mini," I groaned, the name tearing from my throat in a raw, ragged whisper as I finally surrendered to the overwhelming sensation, releasing myself in a hot rush across her stomach.

The force of my orgasm was so powerful that it momentarily blurred my vision, leaving me breathless and my heart racing in my chest.

When I looked down at her, I saw that she had passed out, her body limp and utterly surrendered beneath me.

A slow chuckle rumbled from my throat as I leaned down, brushing my lips against hers, tasting the remnants of her breath.

Even in sleep, she responded— a soft hum vibrating against my mouth, her lashes fluttering like delicate wings.

My little Mini.

I had never come just from grinding before, never lost myself so completely in the friction of another's body.

But tonight—fucking hell! I had.

And it wasn't just the physicality of it.

It was her.

I watched her, still panting, my body humming with satisfaction, but my mind a tangled mess of emotions I didn't want to name.

There was something disturbingly profound about the sight of her— used, spent, entirely mine, yet looking so untouched in her sleep.

An innocent wrapped in the aftermath of sin.

I had given her something she'd never experienced before, something special.

The fact that I'd been the one to bring her to that point, to make her feel that way, filled me with a pride I hadn't expected.

The car ride back to the mansion was silent except for the rhythmic cadence of her breathing.

I parked outside the mansion, the engine's low purr cutting off into silence.

For a second, I just sat there, gripping the wheel, grounding myself.

Then I turned, my gaze locking onto her once more.

Her lips were slightly parted, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Her body—marked by my touch, stained with the evidence of our earlier activities—was slack, unguarded, defenseless.

The sight sent a shudder through me.

To see her like this.

To know I had been the one to unravel her, to push her beyond the limits of her own body.

And yet, beneath the satisfaction, there was something else. Something raw.

I shook it off, exhaling sharply before sliding out of the car and opening the back door.

The moment I lifted her, cradling her in my arms, her warmth seeped into me, her head instinctively nestling against my neck.

My grip tightened.

I stepped into the mansion, the hallways were dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood and lingering cologne.

And then—

A sharp voice cut through the silence.

Hudson.

His gaze landed on us instantly, sharp as a blade.

His lips pressed into a thin line, suspicion practically radiating off him.

Of course.

Cockblocker.

"You're back," he said, his tone neutral.

I hummed in response, tightening my grip on her, holding her closer to me.

"She... slept," Hudson observed, his voice laced with an unspoken question.

"Don't worry, Hudson... I didn't fuck her," I replied coldly, my voice carrying an edge that dared him to say anything more.

Well, not technically. We just played humpy.

Hudson's face twisted in disgust, his lips curling as he turned away, clearly not wanting to engage further.

He left without another word, leaving me alone to carry her up to my room.

Once inside, I gently eased her onto the bed, careful not to wake her.

She stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but she didn't wake up.

I watched her for a moment, my gaze tracing the contours of her body, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

There was something haunting about it, something that made my stomach twist in ways I didn't quite understand.

Why?

That word always echoed in my mind whenever I looked at her.

II headed to the bathroom, disrobing quickly and stepping into the shower.

The lukewarm water cascaded over my skin, washing away the remnants of the night, but it did little to cool the fever burning beneath my flesh.

I braced my hands against the cool tile, bowing my head as images of her beneath me, moaning and writhing, flashed through my mind.

My breath came short, uneven, and I had to close my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the present.

She was getting to me.

More than she should.

More than I could afford.

When I emerged from the bathroom, feeling somewhat more composed, I grabbed a pair of scissors and returned to the bed.

Her clothes were a mess, stained and wrinkled, clinging to her like a second skin.

I knew she wouldn't want to wake up in them.

With careful precision, I began cutting away the fabric, the sharp blades gliding through the material with quiet efficiency.

The sound was almost hypnotic, a steady snip, snip, snip that filled the otherwise silent room.

She remained motionless, lost in the depths of her slumber, her breathing even and peaceful.

Once her clothes were removed, I took a damp cloth and slowly, deliberately, wiped away the evidence of our earlier activities from her delicate skin.

I took my time, dragging the cloth over every inch of her, watching as the dampness kissed her flesh.

She didn't stir. Not even a twitch.

I exhaled through my nose, my grip tightening around the cloth as I sat back, taking in the sight before me.

She was utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way that no one else had ever seen her.

And yet... somehow, despite everything—she still looked so innocent.

I reached out, tracing the smooth line of her thigh, my fingertips gliding over skin so soft it felt almost unreal.

A slow, creeping smile spread across my lips as my fingers trailed higher, as I hovered in that perfect, intoxicating moment where power met restraint.

I could do anything right now—anything—and she wouldn't know until it was far too late.

But I wouldn't.

No, that would be too simple. Too easy.

And I didn't want that.

I exhaled, dragging my fingers back down her thigh, forcing my pulse to steady. Control.

With a slow, measured ease, I stripped down to my boxers and slid into bed beside her.

She shifted, rolling onto her back, her chest rising and falling with the soft rhythm of sleep.

My hand found her sternum, pressing lightly, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm.

I curled around her, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the lingering traces of my scent mixed with hers.

She belonged to me. She just didn't know it yet.

And with that final, dangerous thought, I let myself drift into sleep.

_______________________________________________

"Ace."

I barely registered the voice.

"Ace!"

The sharp urgency cut through the haze, dragging me back to the surface.

My eyes snapped open, my muscles tensing before I even registered who was standing at the foot of my bed. Alex.

His expression was grim, his posture taut with restrained urgency.

"What?" My voice came out clipped, my mind already shifting gears, sharpening into focus.

"The shipments are gone," he said, his voice tight. "The east coast base was attacked. The weapons—all destroyed."

The words hit me like the strike of a match—brief, controlled... then fire.

For a fraction of a second, I said nothing. Didn't move.

Then, slowly, methodically, I sat up, peeling myself away from the warmth of the bedsheets.

I dragged a hand over my face, rubbing away the last remnants of comfort, of calm.

The east coast base wasn't just another warehouse.

It was crucial to my operations, an artery in the body of my empire.

An attack like this wasn't random.

It wasn't reckless. It was a message.

A direct challenge.

A low chuckle slipped past my lips, quiet and mirthless.

"Prepare a meeting," I ordered, my voice smooth, calm—too calm.

Alex hesitated but left silently.

He knew better than to question me.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, stretching out the tension coiling in my muscles.

Whoever was behind this had just made the biggest mistake of their life.

I stood, heading for the bathroom.

Cold water hit my face, shocking my skin awake, forcing the last remnants of sleep into submission.

I met my own gaze in the mirror, studying the calculated, unshaken expression staring back at me.

I let the edges of my lips curl into something slow, something sharp.

"This," I muttered to myself, tilting my head as a wicked amusement flickered to life in my chest, "is going to be fun."

Author POV:

The headquarters reeked of death.

The acrid stench of blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating, mingling with the metallic tang of gunpowder.

The usual order that governed this place had been shattered, replaced by chaos, a lingering testament to the brutal reality of crossing Ace Salvatore.

Bodies littered the cold marble floors, lifeless and ruined, their blank, unseeing eyes frozen in terror.

Some had died quickly—clean shots to the head, execution-style.

Others had not been so lucky.

Blood pooled in dark, glistening smears, seeping into the cracks of the tiles, turning the once-pristine space into something grotesque.

The crew moved with silent urgency, their faces pale, hands trembling as they worked to erase the remnants of the massacre.

No one spoke. No one dared.

The weight of Ace's fury still lingered, thick as smoke, curling around them like an unseen force.

The only sounds that broke the silence– the muted shuffling of feet, the scrape of metal against the floor as the dead were dragged away, and the occasional, sharp clatter of a spent bullet casing rolling across the tiles.

Five moles— traitors who had wormed their way into his east coast crew— had been discovered, their deception laid bare.

The punishment had been swift, brutal, and utterly unforgiving.

Their executions were not just retribution; they were a message, carved in blood and bone, a warning to any who might dare follow in their footsteps.

Crores were lost in the blink of an eye.

The east coast base, once an impenetrable stronghold, lay in ruins, reduced to smoldering wreckage.

The weapons were gone, the shipments destroyed.

It was a devastating financial blow, one that would take time, resources, and an iron-fisted response to recover from.

Yet, it wasn't the money that stung the most.

It was the audacity.

The insult of having rats nestled within his own empire, breathing his air, eating from his table, all while whispering secrets to the enemy.

Ace would not allow it to go unpunished.

Gore

The basement was a dimly lit, cold space, filled with the stench of blood and despair.

Every corner reeked of violence, and the cold stone floor bore the terrible marks of suffering.

In the center of this nightmare, the high, ragged sound of a woman's anguished screams filled the air— a raw, hoarse cry that spoke of relentless torment.

Her body, naked and marred by brutality, was splayed across the unyielding floor.

Every inch a testament to the horrors inflicted upon her by three ruthless men.

Her pained wails ricocheted off the walls, intertwining with the desperate, broken pleas of her husband, Noah, whose voice cracked under the weight of his agony and horror.

Noah, bound to a creaking wooden chair, was a picture of shattered hope.

His eyes, wide and wild with terror, glistened with tears as he struggled against the tight ropes that held him.

Fresh blood oozed from gashes on his battered skin, dripping in slow, grim rivulets that pooled on the unforgiving floor beneath him.

Yet, his physical torment paled in comparison to the unbearable anguish of witnessing his wife's violation.

Every strained, guttural cry he released was a desperate plea for mercy.

"LEAVE HER!" he screamed, voice cracking as if each syllable carried his soul. "Please, take me instead! Just let her go!"

His cries, hoarse and laden with tears, splintered the oppressive silence, yet they fell disturbingly unanswered.

And at the center of it all, Ace Salvatore sat calmly, his expression cold and detached.

He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the embers flaring in the dim light.

He exhaled, the smoke curling lazily in the air, his gaze never leaving Noah.

The chaos and agony around him seemed to have no effect on him, his heart numb to the suffering he was causing.

Noah had once been the last traitor, the final mole spared to serve as a living warning.

The others had been swiftly erased, lives extinguished in moments of savage, uncontrollable fury.

But Noah's betrayal warranted something more deliberate, a meticulously planned punishment designed to etch the cost of treachery into his very soul.

Ace had provided everything— shelter, food, protection, money– and in return had demanded nothing less than unwavering loyalty.

But Noah had failed, and now he would pay the ultimate price.

The woman's screams grew weaker, her body trembling as she neared the brink of unconsciousness.

The guards continued their assault, their faces emotionless as they carried out Ace's orders.

With each passing moment, her strength slipped away until, at last, she released one final, pitiful scream—an echo of broken hope—before her body lay motionless and lifeless.

Noah's voice cracked once again, every word soaked in despair as he pleaded, "Boss, please. Take me instead. Don't do this to her."

His plea hung in the air, raw and heartbreaking, as he watched the light drain from his wife's eyes.

Ace rose slowly as if stretching from a long, languid nap, his movements measured and devoid of remorse.

His dark eyes flicked toward the woman sprawled on the floor, then back to Noah.

There was no pity in his gaze.

No rage. No satisfaction.

Just a cold, hollow void where humanity should have been.

With a dismissive wave, he signaled for his guards to drape a plain sheet over her still body.

Not out of any vestige of mercy, but because, in his twisted logic, she had fulfilled her purpose.

Hudson entered then, followed by Liam, Aiden, and Felix.

They took in the scene with the kind of calm that only came from witnessing horror too many times to be disturbed by it.

This was just another day in Ace's world.

Where betrayal was met with a brutality that left no room for pity.

Liam tilted his head, his sharp gaze settling on the trembling, broken man.

"Woah, you're still alive?" He feigned surprise, his lips curling into something that might have passed for amusement. "Impressive."

Noah's body jolted with a sob. His grief was too vast to contain, spilling out of him in ugly, guttural sounds.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!" he roared, his voice raw, desperate. "You're all disgusting!"

Aiden chuckled, his expression amused but cold.

"Oh, please. You just watched your woman getting pleasured by other men. So, I think you're the disgusting one."

Noah's head snapped up, rage momentarily overtaking his agony.

His bloodshot eyes burned with hatred. "She was raped because of you! Because of all of you!"

"Too bad," Liam said with an exaggerated sigh, pressing a hand to his chest in mock sympathy. "Maybe next time, you shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you."

Ace took a step forward, his movements unhurried, deliberate. The others fell silent.

He lifted an axe, the steel glinting under the dim light.

But he didn't strike. Not yet.

Instead, he placed the tip of the blade beneath Noah's chin, lifting his head just enough to force their eyes to meet.

"You know," Ace murmured, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic, "she was in that position because of you."

Noah stilled, his breath hitching.

Ace's dark eyes bore into his, empty, unfeeling. "Not because of me. Not because of them. Because of you."

Noah's face crumpled, his agony morphing into something deeper—something worse.

His betrayal had brought this upon them, and now his wife had paid the ultimate price for his mistakes.

Ace leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping into something almost intimate. "You had a choice. And you chose wrong."

The basement fell into a tense silence.

The only sound was Noah's strangled, hiccuping sobs.

His body convulsed with the force of his grief, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

Felix was the first to speak, his voice slicing through the thick silence with an unnerving casualness.

"I'm hungry."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, so mundane, so detached from the atrocity before them that it only made the moment more horrifying.

"Me too," came the chimed responses, their words devoid of pity, of remorse.

"Let's finish then," Ace said coldly, his voice carrying a finality that resonated with the violence he was about to inflict.

With that, Ace lifted the axe and brought it down with brutal force onto Noah's forearm.

The sickening sound of bone cracking and flesh splitting was followed by Noah's agonized scream, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the room.

The man's body convulsed with each successive blow, his cries growing fainter as Ace continued his grim task.

The cold, steel axe in Ace's hands was a stark contrast to the warm, vibrant blood that splattered and pooled around them.

The once-clean walls and floor were now a gruesome canvas of red, each splotch and smear a testament to Ace's wrath.

Ace moved with a grim, methodical precision.

Each swing of the axe was calculated, deliberate, designed to maximize pain and suffering.

His tailored suit, once a symbol of his refined status, was now a grotesque patchwork of blood and gore.

The rich fabric clung to his muscular frame, soaked through and ruined.

His face was streaked with crimson, a macabre mask that only served to highlight the cold satisfaction in his eyes.

Ace's expression remained detached, almost serene, as he surveyed the carnage he had wrought.

He hardly noticed the warmth of the blood soaking into his sleeves or the way his grip on the axe had tightened.

His fingers curled so rigidly around the wooden handle that his knuckles had turned bone-white.

The violence was his sanctuary, his escape from a world that had failed to meet his standards.

And here, within the confines of this room, with the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and death, he found clarity.

Power. Control.

Noah's body was a grotesque display of Ace's methodical cruelty—a mass of shattered bone and ruptured flesh, his limbs splayed at unnatural angles, no living man should endure.

His face, once twisted with fury, had become an unrecognizable mess of swollen tissue and exposed muscle.

The sounds he made were no longer screams, not really.

Just breathy, half-formed gasps, as if even his pain had begun to surrender to exhaustion.

The other men in the room stood by, their expressions a mix of horror and resignation.

They all knew better than to interrupt or show any sign of discomfort.

They had seen this before— Ace's slow descent, the way his mind emptied of everything but the act of destruction.

His obsession with blood, his need to see it, to feel it, was more than just an impulse.

It was deliberate.

A ritual.

They had all bled at one point or another, each bearing the scars of his interest, his scrutiny.

A cut across the knuckles here, a bruised rib there.

They had learned long ago that the pain meant nothing to him— it was the sight of it that fascinated him.

The way wounds opened, how blood seeped and spread, how a man's body yielded under force.

And it was why they had always been wary of leaving Iris in his presence.

Unlike Noah, unlike the men in this room, she was fragile in a way that unsettled them.

She did not belong in a world like this, a world Ace controlled with his brutality.

And yet, Ace had marked her as his, claimed her in a way none of them understood.

Would she ever see this part of him?

Felix swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he hesitated.

The others had gone still, watching Ace with the same wary silence one might afford a predator after it had finished feasting.

His fingers twitched at his side before he finally forced himself to move, stepping closer with a caution that felt almost absurd.

"Ace, let's go," he said, barely above a whisper.

Felix's hand landed on Ace's shoulder, light as a ghost's touch—hesitant, almost reverent, as if afraid that any sudden movement would send Ace spiraling back into the violence.

Ace didn't react at first.

He stood utterly still, staring at Noah's mangled form as though he could will the man into something more than just a heap of ruined flesh.

The blood had dried in thick rivulets down the sleeve of his tailored suit, turning the once-pristine fabric into something grotesque.

His fingers flexed, releasing and curling again, as if reliving the feeling of the axe handle in his grip.

Then, slowly, his head turned.

Felix felt his stomach tighten as Ace's eyes settled on him—dark, heavy, and unreadable.

There was no rage in them, no trace of the fire that had fueled the brutality moments ago.

What scared Felix more was the emptiness.

The calm after the storm.

Ace held the stare for just a moment too long, the kind of pause that made the hair on the back of Felix's neck stand on end.

Then, without a word, Ace lifted a bloodstained hand and shoved Felix's arm away, the gesture dismissive, almost indifferent.

The momentary contact had been tolerated, but not welcomed.

Ace let out a slow exhale, tilting his head back slightly, eyes closing as he breathed in the thick, coppery air.

The scent of blood, the remnants of violence—it was intoxicating in a way he could never fully describe.

A fleeting moment of solace.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his cigarette to the blood-slick floor, where it sizzled faintly against the warmth of fresh flesh.

The others remained motionless as he disappeared into the dimly lit hallway, his departure like the closing of a chapter none of them wished to revisit.

Felix swallowed against the dryness in his throat and turned back toward the others.

His gaze swept across the carnage, the once-breathing man now reduced to little more than unrecognizable remains.

No one spoke. No one moved.

Felix finally tore his gaze away and gave a single nod. It was time to move on.

Ace's footsteps echoed down the corridor, sharp against the cold concrete, each one steady and unwavering.

The hall felt longer than usual, the shadows stretching farther, deeper, as if the darkness itself was welcoming him back.

The air was heavy, thick with the ghosts of his actions, but he carried them effortlessly.

He always had.

The chill in the hallway settled into his bones, yet inside, he felt nothing.

No remorse, no guilt—only the distant hum of satisfaction that coiled like a serpent in his chest.

Violence had always been his comfort. And it always would be.