CHAPTER 4

The study in the Hierro estate always smelled the same. Old leather, expensive scotch, and decaying power.

Sebastian stood near the massive mahogany desk, looking out the large window that overlooked the manicured gardens. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket, just his dark shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke against the glass, completely ignoring the man sitting in the heavy leather chair behind him.

“You cannot keep running your operation from the forest,” Rafael snapped, his gravelly voice rising in volume. “You are the head of the Hierro family now. You are the Spanish Boss. You need to sit in the chair. You need to take the family business seriously instead of playing cartel king in the dirt.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. He just tapped the ash from his cigarette into a crystal tray.

Rafael had been giving this same speech for three years. He couldn’t stand the fact that his son had taken the mafia crown but refused to wear it the way Rafael wanted. Sebastian had built his own empire. He had his own men, his own territory, and he ran it with a ruthless efficiency that the traditional Spanish Mafia had never seen.

“I don’t play,” Sebastian replied smoothly, his tone flat and unbothered. “I rule. There is a difference, old man.”

“You are disrespecting the legacy,” Rafael growled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his cane. “You think you can just discard the structure I built? If you won’t sit in the chair and manage the families, maybe I should.”

Sebastian finally turned around.

He leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his ankles and looking down at his father with completely dead, cold amber eyes. There was no anger in his expression. Just pure, predatory calm.

“You can try,” Sebastian murmured lazily. “But we both know you don’t have the teeth for it anymore. Keep barking from your study, father. It’s the only place anyone still pretends to listen to you.”

Rafael’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. His breathing grew heavy, but he didn’t rise from his chair. He knew better than to physically challenge the monster he had created. Instead, Rafael leaned back, his dark eyes narrowing into a toxic, manipulative glare.

“If you are so unwilling to do your duty,” Rafael said softly, his voice dropping into a dangerous register, “maybe I should ask Diego.”

Outside the heavy doors, Viola pressed a trembling hand over her mouth.

She had been passing by the study with a stack of fresh towels when she heard the deep voices. The heavy oak doors were cracked open just an inch. She knew that if anyone caught her lingering there, she would be severely punished, but curiosity had glued her feet to the marble floor.

She had peeked through the narrow opening, listening to their argument. All the talk about mafia business and cartel territories went completely over her head. But then she heard Rafael say it.

Maybe I should ask Diego.

Viola froze completely. Diego. The forbidden name. When her mother first married Rafael and brought a twelve-year-old Viola to this estate, Octavia had given her one terrifying warning: Never speak that name, and never, ever go near the locked top floor. It was a completely forbidden area for everyone in the house, and no one dared to ask what dark secret was kept up there.

Through the crack in the door, Viola saw exactly how the name affected her stepbrother. She watched his fist clench against the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. The cool, unbothered demeanor he always wore was instantly replaced by a dark, lethal energy that made the hair on Viola's arms stand up.

“Careful, father,” Sebastian warned softly. The words were laced with a freezing coldness that made her own blood run cold.

Rafael smiled, a cold, victorious curve of his lips. “I am not threatening anything. I am just saying… you should think about your responsibilities.”

Sebastian didn't argue. He just pushed off the desk, turned his back on his father, and started walking straight toward the exit.

Panic seized Viola. She scrambled backward, pressing herself flat against the hallway wall, clutching the towels tightly to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath, praying the shadows would hide her.

The heavy doors pulled open.

Sebastian stepped out into the quiet corridor. He didn't turn his head. He didn't look in her direction. He just started walking past her.

Viola’s lungs burned. As he took a few steps away, she let out a tiny, silent sigh of relief. He hadn't seen her.

But then, his footsteps stopped.

He didn't turn around.

"Eavesdropping is a bad habit, dulzura," his rough voice cut through the silence. "Are you being a bad girl?"

Viola stopped breathing.

How did he know? He hadn't even looked at her. A violent jolt of panic seized her chest. Oh my god, he knows.

She didn't reply. She didn't wait to see if he would turn to look at her. She just bolted, her soft footsteps sprinting down the corridor as fast as her trembling legs could carry her.

Sebastian stood in the hallway, listening to the frantic sound of her running away. A slow, dark smirk played on his lips.

As soon as the hallway was empty, the smirk died down. His eyes went completely cold, though something deep and dangerous burned in the amber depths.

He walked down the corridor to his private wing, shutting the heavy door of his bedroom behind him. He unbuttoned his dark black shirt, shrugging it off his broad shoulders and tossing it onto a chair.

As he turned, the dim light caught the dark ink staining his skin. A sharp, dangerous serpent tattoo wrapped tightly around his ribs. And etched across his broad back was a cold Spanish quote: La lealtad se paga con sangre. (Loyalty is paid in blood.)

Bare-chested, he walked toward the massive window overlooking the dark estate. He pulled out his encrypted phone and dialed a number.

"Is everything in place?" Sebastian asked, his voice low and smooth.

A brief confirmation came from the other side of the line.

A dark smile touched Sebastian's lips. "Good. It's time."

He hung up, tossing the phone onto the bed.

His mind should have been entirely on the plan. He had no use for anyone in this house. To him, everyone under this roof was just a piece on a board waiting to be played.

But his thoughts drifted.

"Viola," he murmured softly to the empty room.

The name suited her. It matched those rare, violet eyes. The little thing walked around the estate on eggshells, constantly looking over her shoulder like she expected someone to jump out of the shadows at any second.

She fascinated him.

She reminded him of a little rabbit he had caught in the woods when he was a child. A frightened, wounded animal that trembled wildly the second it realized it was trapped.

That was exactly what Viola was. A terrified little rabbit, completely at his mercy.

Just thinking about the way she froze under his gaze sparked something very dark in his chest.