61

61
Alaric’s POV
There was a stillness in the air, the kind that usually made people uncomfortable. It was quiet. But not a peaceful kind of quiet. I could tell that the men were whispering amongst each other. They were used to violence, yes, but this was different. Tonight, I was making an example of one of them. One of us. Dominic.
I stood in the grand hall, my back to the assembled lieutenants and guards, staring out the tall windows. The city lights stretched far into the distance. I clenched my jaw, my shoulders stiff and threatening to fall, but I forced myself to straighten.
Weakness was not an option tonight. Dominic had made his choice. Now, I had to make mine.
“Bring him in,” I ordered, my voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Allesio nodded, his expression a grim mask as he disappeared down the hall.
I didn’t turn around. I needed a moment-just one-to gather myself, to let the anger and disappointment harden into something useful. A weapon. Because if I faltered, even for a second, it would be a sign. A sign that betrayal could go unpunished, that loyalty was negotiable. And that was a risk I could not take.
Footsteps echoed behind me, followed by a shuffling, dragging sound. I turned slowly, forcing myself to look. Dominic was brought in, his hands tied, his face bruised from the struggle earlier. He’d tried to fight, even knowing he was outnumbered. I’d almost respected him for it-almost.
He was thrown to his knees in front of me, and for a moment, our eyes locked. There was defiance there, but also something else. Regret, maybe. Or the hollow realization of what he had thrown away. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t care to decipher it.
“Alaric,” he began, his voice hoarse. “You don’t have to do this.”
I stepped forward, looming over him. “Don’t I?” I asked, my tone deadly calm. “You betrayed me, Dominic. You didn’t just betray me-you betrayed us. This entire organization. Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences?”
He flinched, just a slight movement, but I saw it. Good. He should be afraid. I wanted him to feel every ounce of the fear and uncertainty he’d brought into my home, into my family.
“You were my brother once,” I said, my voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “But you made your choice.”
I turned to Allesio and the other men gathered around us. “You know what to do.”
Allesio hesitated, just for a split second. He knew what this meant, what kind of message this would send. But he nodded, stepping forward, his expression stony. He took Dominic by the arm, hauling him up to his feet.
“Alaric, please,” Dominic said, and there it was-the desperation, the realization that this wasn’t going to end with a simple exile. This was permanent.
I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing myself to stay steady. “You gave up your right to beg when you sold us out,” I said coldly.
He looked at me one last time, eyes wide and pleading. “You were like a brother to me.”
I felt a flicker of something-pain, regret, I wasn’t sure-but I buried it deep. I couldn’t afford to feel anything for him now. “Take him away,” I ordered.
The guards dragged him out, his shouts echoing down the hall until the heavy door slammed shut behind them. The sound was final, like the last nail in a coffin. And just like that, it was done.
I stood there, staring at the empty space where he’d been, my chest heaving with the effort of holding everything in. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the murmur of the men as they dispersed, the tension in the air slowly dissipating. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. It felt like if I took a single step, everything inside me would shatter.
It wasn’t until the hall was empty, silent again, that I allowed myself to let out a breath. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a hollow kind of exhaustion. I turned back to the window, gripping the edge of the sill so hard my knuckles turned white.
“Alaric.” Her voice came softly from behind me.
I hadn’t heard Emilia approach, but I should have expected it. She always knew when to find me at my weakest moments. I didn’t turn to face her. I wasn’t sure I could.
“Are you here to tell me I made the wrong choice?” I asked, my voice rough.
“No,” she said quietly. “I’m not.”
I felt her step closer, felt the warmth of her presence. “Then why are you here?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“Because I know what this cost you,” she said. Her hand came to rest on my shoulder, light at first, then firmer when I didn’t shrug her off. “And because you shouldn’t have to carry this alone.”
I closed my eyes, letting her words sink in. They were simple, but it had a comforting edge in it that I hadn’t known I needed. I didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words, but I turned, finally facing her. The look on her face nearly undid me-she wasn’t judging me, wasn’t angry. She just looked… sad.
“You did what you had to do,” she said, searching my face. “I know that. But I also know it doesn’t make it any easier.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. “It shouldn’t be this hard,” I admitted, my voice breaking on the last word. “I should be able to do what needs to be done and move on.”
“You’re not a machine, Alaric,” she said softly. “You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to grieve this.”
“Grieve?” I scoffed, but it sounded hollow. “He was a traitor.”
“Yes,” she said, stepping closer, until there was barely any space between us. “But he was also your friend. That doesn’t just go away.”
I dropped my head, staring down at the floor. She was right, of course. I hated that she was right. It would have been easier if I could just write him off, if I could reduce him to nothing more than a problem I’d dealt with. But the memories wouldn’t fade so easily. The laughter, the battles fought side by side, the moments when I’d trusted him with my life.
Without thinking, I reached out, pulling her into my arms. She came willingly, wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her head against my chest. I held her tight, like she was the only thing keeping me tethered to this moment, to this reality. The warmth of her, the solid feel of her in my arms-it was like a balm on an open wound.
“I’m tired, Emilia,” I whispered, the admission slipping out before I could stop it. “I’m so damn tired of all of this.”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Then let me help you,” she said. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
Something inside me cracked at her words, a barrier I hadn’t realized was still standing. I bent my head, pressing my forehead against hers. “I don’t deserve you,” I said quietly.
“Maybe not,” she whispered back, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. “But you have me anyway.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love. It wasn’t a promise of forever. But it was enough. For the first time in a long time, it felt like enough.