Kai shocks him again.
And this time— Julian gasps. Wet. Shallow. But real. He fucking gasps. The sound breaks me open. I crawl forward, grab his face with shaking hands, and stroke the damp curls back from his forehead like he might vanish again if I stop touching him for even a second. He’s still out, still lost somewhere deep inside himself, but the faint tremble in his ribs means he’s trying. Fighting to stay.
I cradle his jaw in both hands. “That’s it, halo,” I whisper, voice cracking right down the middle. “Stay with me. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”
Kai doesn’t pause—he keeps working, checking vitals, adjusting the mask, monitoring every shallow rise and fall—but I catch the subtle drop in his shoulders. The tension easing just enough to tell me we’re not losing him anymore. Julian’s breathing again.
We don’t take him to the med bay. We take him to Kai’s.
Because there’s only one place in this whole fucking compound I trust to be sterile, sharp, and sealed shut against the world. Kai Moreno’s container—clinical, clean, a little too quiet, but equipped like a warzone ER. No one gets in without his say. No one gets near him without going through me first. And right now, that’s exactly where Julian needs to be.
Julian’s weight never leaves my arms. He’s breathing again—barely—but it’s shallow, jagged, fucked. His body keeps twitching like there’s still poison inside him trying to crawl out through his skin.
Kai throws the door open, clears the bed in one motion, starts snapping orders at the silence. “Get the IV ready. I need a cooler. Code Red protocol. Don’t talk.”
I don’t talk. I lay Julian down on the bed, as gently as I can while my hands are still shaking from rage. I wipe the sweat from his throat, press my forehead to his cheekbone for one beat too long, then pull back just as Finn bursts in, face flushed and fists clenched.
“He bolted,” he gasps, grabbing the doorframe like it might run too. “He’s not here anymore. Ezio’s gone.”
Something inside me snaps. “Stay here,” I growl, rounding on Finn, jabbing a finger toward Julian’s pale body like it’s the only god that matters. “If he breathes a little funny—if he twitches out of sync—you call me. You fucking call, you hear me?”
“Yes, boss,” Finn says instantly, dropping into the seat beside the bed. His hand finds Julian’s without hesitation. Holds it like he’s anchoring him to the living.
I step forward, bend down, press my lips to Julian’s forehead. He twitches under my mouth and a shiver goes through me so hard I almost can’t stand. “Don’t you fucking go anywhere, halo,” I whisper. “I’m gonna go rip his spine out for you.”
I turn to Kai. He meets my eyes and nods once—sharp, deadly calm. “Go.”
I go.
Out the door, down the hall, straight to the car. The second I slam the door shut, my foot slams the gas so hard the tires scream against the gravel. The compound gates are barely cracked open before I’m through them, engine roaring like it’s trying to outrun the panic still clawing at my ribs.
Because I know exactly where that snake ran. He’s not stupid. He’s worse—he’s a coward. And cowards always crawl home to Daddy.
To Leonardo fucking Bellini.
Let’s see if Daddy’s house still feels safe when I tear the fucking walls down.
The tires scream the entire way to the estate. Bellini property sits like a king’s carcass sprawled across a hill—gold gates gleaming under floodlights, marble steps rising in perfect symmetry, stone lions polished so obsessively they shine like sins no one ever dared punish. It’s old money wrapped in fresh blood, mafia-baroque excess in every carved detail. Every inch whispers legacy, fear, power. I don’t care.
I storm through the gates without waiting for clearance. No call ahead. No slowdown. No request. The guards try to stop me. They don’t succeed.
One reaches for his weapon—he’s still reaching when my fist connects with his throat and he drops like a sack of shame at my feet. The others scatter, weapons half-drawn but suddenly forgotten. They know better. They’ve seen this look on me before.
I am not the calm man at the net anymore. I am rage in black tape and blood.
I kick the front doors open—hard. The impact echoes through marble like a shotgun blast.
The Bellini house freezes.
Servants halt mid-step. Bottles stop pouring. Conversations die in half-formed sentences. Even the air seems to choke on itself, thick and still. Leonardo’s estate doesn’t get stormed. It gets kissed, bowed to, offered tribute.
Not today.
“EZIOOOOOO!” I sing, voice high, manic, echoing. “Come to papa!” The sound ricochets off the walls like laughter from a haunted house. I walk slow now. Deliberate. One hand resting against the grip of the gun at my back. The other loose at my side like I’m still deciding what bone I want to break first.
The Bellini household staff backs up like shadows. Someone from the west corridor flinches. A cousin? A lawyer? Doesn’t matter.
“I want him now,” I bark. “Or I start redecorating.”
