Rain lashed against the heavy glass of the balcony doors, blurring the lights of the city below. Marcel stood like a statue, his broad back to the room. A single stream of gray smoke rose from the expensive cigar pinched between his thick fingers. Aya shivered on the edge of the mattress, pulling the silk robe tighter around her shoulders. Her skin still tingled from the sheer terror of his earlier outburst. Every muscle in her body was tense, waiting for his next move. "You think I am blind, Aya?" his voice grated, cutting through the low rumble of thunder outside. He did not turn around, but his reflection in the dark glass showed a face carved from granite. "He was just asking for the economics notes," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I did not even know he was going to approach me. I was just trying to be polite." Turning slowly, Marcel took a long drag of his cigar. His cold, gray eyes locked onto her, stripping away any sense of security she had left. He exhaled slowly, the smoke forming a thick cloud around his sharp jawline. "Politeness is a luxury you do not possess," he growled, taking a slow, predatory step toward the bed. "Every smile you give to another man is a provocation. Every glance is an invitation." Fear spiked in her chest as he drew closer. He was a mountain of a man, his custom-tailored suit straining against the sheer mass of his shoulders. She wanted to shrink away, to disappear into the heavy velvet pillows, but there was nowhere to run. "You are suffocating me, Marcel," she gasped, tears welling in her eyes. "You promised things would change. You said the legal shipping business would mean we could live normally." Stopping right at the edge of the bed, he towered over her. He reached down, his large, calloused hand grasping her chin with unyielding force. He tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his merciless gaze. "Normal is a lie," he murmured, his thumb brushing hard against her lower lip. "You belong to a man who has paved his path with the bones of his enemies. There is no normal for us." Aya whimpered, the heat of his skin contrasting sharply with the cold dread pooling in her stomach. She hated how her heart betrayed her, racing not just from fear, but from the raw, intoxicating power he wielded over her. "Please," she sobbed, a single tear slipping down her cheek and wetting his thumb. "Just let me go to my classes. I have worked so hard for this degree." Marcel stared at her wet cheek, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before hardening into iron once more. He released her jaw, throwing his cigar into a crystal tray on the nightstand. "Your degree means nothing if you are dead," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Or worse, if you are taken from me." Stepping back, he walked over to his desk and sat down in the high-backed leather chair. He opened a secure laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced speed. He ignored her, leaving her alone with her rising panic. Aya pulled her knees to her chest, burying her face in the soft silk of her robe. Memories of her first night in this mansion flooded her mind—the absolute terror of waking up in a revealing red nightgown, the cold dominance of this man who had claimed her body and her soul. She had thought they were moving past the violence, but the shadows of his past were long and relentless. Minutes stretched into an agonizing hour. The only sounds in the massive room were the rhythmic clicking of his keyboard and the steady patter of rain against the glass. The air felt heavy, charged with an unresolved tension that made it hard to breathe. Without warning, a sharp, double knock echoed through the room. Marcel did not look up from his screen, but his shoulders tensed. "Enter," he commanded. Leon walked into the room, holding a thick, brown folder. The older man's face was pale, his jaw set in a tight, grim line. He closed the door softly behind him, keeping his eyes fixed on Marcel. "We have a major problem, boss," Leon said, his voice low and laced with urgency. "The intelligence team just intercepted a series of encrypted transmissions from the docks." Marcel paused his typing, his fingers hovering over the keys. He slowly closed the laptop, the blue light fading from his face. "Speak." Leon glanced at Aya, who was watching them with wide, frightened eyes. "It concerns the boy from the university courtyard. The one who approached Miss Aya." Aya sat up straighter, her heart skipping a beat. A sudden, cold dread washed over her as she looked at the serious expression on Leon's face. "What about him?" Marcel demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low pitch. He stood up, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the desk. Leon opened the folder and placed three high-quality photographs on the desk. "His name is not Julian Vance, as his university registration claims. His real name is Julian Moretti." Marcel's eyes narrowed into slits. He stepped toward the desk, his gaze locking onto the photographs. "Moretti. The youngest son of the Chicago family." "Yes, sir," Leon confirmed, his voice tight. "He registered at the university under a false identity three weeks ago. He has been tracking Miss Aya's schedule, learning her routes, her security details, and her habits." Aya gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The polite, charming boy who had asked her for help was a plant. He was a member of a rival mafia family, sent to spy on her. "He wasn't asking for economics notes," Marcel muttered, a dark, lethal rage twisting his handsome features. "He was calculating the best time to take her." "Precisely," Leon said. "Our teams on the ground also spotted two unrecognized vehicles idling near the campus gates during her afternoon classes. They were waiting for a signal." Marcel slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, the force of the blow rattling the heavy crystal ashtray. "Idiots! How did my security team miss a Moretti on her campus?" Leon bowed his head slightly. "They kept their distance, sir. Julian operated alone inside the campus boundaries where our armed guards cannot easily follow. We only caught him because our cyber unit flagged his encrypted communications to Chicago." Aya felt the room spinning. She looked at the photograph of Julian, his friendly smile now seeming like the mask of a cold-blooded predator. She had been so naive, thinking she was just having a normal interaction with a classmate. "They are trying to use her as leverage," Marcel growled, his eyes burning with a savage, unrestrained fury. "They think because I am moving my assets to legal operations, I have grown soft." Walking back to the bed, Marcel stared down at her. His gaze was fierce, possessive, and utterly terrifying. He reached out, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her to her feet with effortless strength. "You see now?" he whispered, his face inches from hers. "You see what happens when you try to live a normal life? They will tear you apart just to get to me." "I... I didn't know," she sobbed, her entire body shaking against his hard chest. "Marcel, I'm sorry." "You do not leave this house again," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "You are confined to this estate under armed guard twenty-four hours a day. Your classes are over." "But my exams—" she started, but his grip tightened, silencing her. "I do not care about your exams!" he roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "I care about keeping you alive! I care about keeping you mine!" Suddenly, the burner phone on Marcel's desk began to ring. It was a high-pitched, mocking tone that cut through the heavy silence of the room. Marcel released her, stepping over to the desk in two long strides. He picked up the secure device, his thumb sliding across the screen to answer. He pressed the speaker button, letting the audio fill the bedroom. "Marcel," a raspy, distorted voice laughed through the speaker. "I assume your security chief has finally figured out who my little brother is." Marcel's jaw clenched so hard the veins in his neck bulged. "Moretti. You are a dead man." "Save your breath, Marcel," the voice sneered. "We know you are trying to go clean. We know you are vulnerable. If you want to keep your pretty little toy safe, you will meet us at the abandoned warehouse on the north docks tonight. Alone. Or we will bring the war straight to your front gates." Aya stared at the phone, her breath hitching as the line went dead. She looked at Marcel, whose eyes had gone completely black with a murderous, untamed rage.

Chapter 23: Shadows of the Past