Silence in a room full of predators is never peaceful; it is merely the breath before the bite. Hailey lay in a crumpled heap of silk and shame on the cold marble, her unconsciousness a fleeting mercy I had no intention of granting her for long.
I looked at Dionicio, the Don's shadow and executioner. He stood by the wall, a monolith of indifference in a dark suit. I didn't need to speak; a slight nod toward the pitcher of ice water on the side table was enough.
Dionicio moved with terrifying speed. He grabbed the crystal pitcher and upended it over Hailey's face.
She gasped, sputtering as the freezing water shocked her back to the nightmare she had tried to escape. Her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, until they landed on the man sitting behind the obsidian desk. Demetrius Maddox hadn't moved a muscle, yet his presence filled the room like a suffocating fog. Hailey scrambled backward, her heels scraping against the floor, terror radiating off her in waves.
"Get up," I commanded.
She flinched, turning her gaze to me. Her mascara ran in black rivulets down her cheeks, making her look like a tragic clown. I reached into the pocket of her soaked dress-a violation of personal space she was too petrified to prevent-and pulled out the thick envelope I knew was there.
I tossed it onto her lap. It landed with a heavy thud.
"Is this your final defense, Hailey?" I asked, my voice devoid of warmth. "Five thousand dollars. The exact remaining balance you promised Foy for ruining me tonight. You brought his payoff right into the freezer, didn't you?"
Hailey looked from the envelope to her father, Christian. My uncle stood frozen, his face a mask of ash. He knew what this meant. If Hailey implicated him, if she admitted this was a conspiracy sanctioned by a Capo, Demetrius would view it as an act of war within his territory. We would all be dead before sunrise.
Survival instinct is a powerful thing. It can make a daughter sacrifice herself to save the bloodline.
"It was me!" Hailey shrieked, clutching the envelope as if it were a lifeline. She crawled toward Demetrius, pressing her forehead to the floor. "I paid for the drug! My father knew nothing! I was jealous... I wanted her ruined. Please, Don Maddox, it was just a girl's jealousy!"
It was a lie, but it was a useful one. I had the confession. Now, I needed the sword.
I turned my back on her sobbing form and walked toward the throne.
Every step toward Demetrius felt like walking into the eye of a storm. The air around him was physically colder, a unnatural chill that should have been terrifying. But to me, with the poison burning through my veins like liquid fire, his proximity was a balm. The closer I got, the more the agony in my blood settled.
I stopped at the edge of his desk. Close enough to touch, if I dared. His eyes, dark as a starless night, locked onto mine. There was no amusement there, only a clinical curiosity. He was waiting to see if I would beg.
I didn't beg. Queens don't beg.
"Don Maddox," I said softly, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. "We have unfinished business, you and I."
His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. He knew exactly what I was referring to. The heat in me that soothed his cold. The cold in him that quelled my fire. We were two broken halves of a dangerous whole.
"I need a long-term solution for our... condition," I continued, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "But before we discuss terms, I need to clean my house. I request the use of your floor, and your hand, to execute Bolton law."
I paused, letting a small, sharp smile touch my lips. "After all, a clean antidote works better, doesn't it?"
For a heartbeat, he did nothing. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth ticked up-a microscopic shift that felt like an earthquake. He leaned back in his chair and gave a single, imperceptible nod.
Permission granted.
The relief was dizzying, but I shoved it down. I turned back to the room. Christian and my grandmother Carmelita were watching me with a mixture of horror and confusion. They didn't understand. They thought I was a lamb playing in a wolf's den. They didn't realize I had just made a deal with the alpha.
"Dionicio," I called out, my voice ringing with borrowed authority. "Bring the bench."
The color drained from Christian's face entirely. "Avery, no... you can't..."
"Silence," I snapped.
Two soldiers appeared from the shadows, dragging a heavy, dark wooden bench into the center of the room. It was stained with old, dark memories. They seized Hailey, who began to scream, a high, thin sound that grated on the nerves.
"No! Daddy! Help me!"
Christian took a step forward, but Dionicio simply stepped in his path. The Enforcer didn't even raise his hands; his sheer size and the dead look in his eyes were enough to freeze my uncle in place.
I walked over to Dionicio. I picked up the wet envelope of cash from where Hailey had dropped it and shoved it into the breast pocket of his pristine suit jacket.
"Consider this a down payment," I said, my eyes cold. "The Bolton family punishment for treachery. Thirty lashes."
I looked at the whip coiled at his belt. "Soaked in brine."
A gasp tore from Carmelita's throat. "Avery! She is your blood!"
"She tried to spill mine," I retorted, not looking away from the Enforcer. "The consequences are irrelevant."
Dionicio looked at me, then past me to his Don. Seeing no objection, he uncoiled the whip. The leather hissed against the floor.
Hailey was strapped down, her expensive dress torn open at the back to expose the pale skin that had never known a day of hardship. She was sobbing brokenly now, her bravado dissolved into raw terror.
I stood tall, my hands clasped in front of me to hide their trembling. I wasn't trembling from fear anymore. I was trembling from the adrenaline of power.
Demetrius watched from his throne, his chin resting on his hand, his eyes fixed on me. He wasn't watching the punishment. He was watching the executioner. And for the first time in my life, under the gaze of the devil himself, I didn't feel like a victim.
I felt like justice.
