As the night wore on, Alessandro’s thoughts grew darker, his plans more twisted. He would break Rowan, make him regret ever crossing him. And Amara… she would be the key to it all.
A pawn in a game much larger than she could ever understand.
Alessandro’s gaze drifted back to the mansion, to the firelight flickering on the walls. He could almost see it now.. the moment when Rowan realized he had lost, when he understood that Alessandro was not a man to be trifled with.
Alessandro’s phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen.. a message from another of his men, confirming that everything was in place.
He nodded to himself, satisfied. “Good,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Everything was falling into place, just as he had planned.
He turned away from the window, setting his glass down on the bar. There was still much to do, but he was ready.
The game had begun, and Alessandro was determined to win.
He moved through the shadows of the mansion, his footsteps silent on the hardwood floors. His mind was sharp, focused, every detail carefully considered. He would not leave anything to chance.
As he reached his office, he sat down behind the large oak desk, pulling out a map of the city. His eyes scanned the streets, the alleys, marking out potential routes, escape plans, choke points.
He knew Las Vegas like the back of his hand. It was his city, his territory. And soon, Rowan would find out just what that meant.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him, his eyes cold and calculating. There was a thrill in this, a dark satisfaction in knowing that he held all the cards.
That he could manipulate events to his advantage. Alessandro had always thrived on power, on control, and tonight, he felt it more than ever.
Meanwhile, as Rowan reached his villa, he remained seated for a moment, his eyes narrowed in thoughts.
“Get someone to keep an eye on Alessandro,” Rowan finally ordered, his voice low and commanding, breaking the silence that had settled in the car. His gaze was still fixed on the villa, his mind racing with plans and strategies.
Kyle, seated in the driver’s seat, nodded without hesitation. “Yes, boss,” he replied, his tone crisp and obedient.
Rowan turned to Harvey, who was sitting in the passenger seat, his expression grim and serious. “Follow me,” he said curtly, opening the car door and stepping out into the night.
Harvey followed suit, the brothers moving in sync, their footsteps echoing on the gravel path as they walked inside.
Rowan led the way to his study, a large room lined with dark wood shelves filled with books and files. The heavy scent of leather and old paper hung in the air, mingling with the faint smell of cigar smoke. Rowan flicked on a desk lamp, the soft glow illuminating his face, revealing the tension etched into his features.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of Harvey. “Look at this,” he said, his voice tight with restrained anger. Harvey picked up the phone and scanned the message displayed on the screen. His eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting from confusion to concern.
“Brother,” Harvey began, his voice low, “who sent this message?”
Rowan shook his head, his jaw clenched. “I don’t know,” he admitted, frustration evident in his tone. “But it’s clear they know too much about our movements, about Amara.” The thought of someone watching her, knowing her every move, filled him with a cold, simmering rage. Whoever was behind this was playing a dangerous game, one that Rowan intended to end swiftly and decisively.
Harvey’s eyes flicked back to the message, his mind racing.
He knew his brother well enough to recognize the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Rowan was a man who thrived in chaos, who found strength in adversity. But this was different. This was personal. “What do you want me to do?” Harvey asked, his voice steady.
Rowan’s eyes bore into his brother’s, his expression intense. “I want you to keep an eye on Amara,” he said firmly. “She feels safer with you.” There was a subtle undertone to his words, a hint of something unspoken.
Harvey nodded, understanding his brother’s reasoning. He had noticed the way Amara seemed to tense up around Rowan, the way her eyes darted away whenever Rowan was near. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him.. he knew she did. But Rowan was an intimidating figure, and his presence could be overwhelming. “Sure, bro,” Harvey replied, a small sigh escaping his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Rowan nodded, satisfied with Harvey’s response. “Good,” he said quietly. “Have some rest now.” He turned away, his gaze shifting to the window, where the faint glow of the moon cast a pale light over the grounds outside. He felt a dull ache in his shoulder, a reminder of the recent skirmish. But it wasn’t just the physical pain that bothered him… it was the uncertainty, the not knowing who was behind this, who was threatening Amara and Vaughn.
Harvey hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on Rowan. “Do you need to change your bandage?” he asked, his tone gentle. He knew his brother well enough to know that Rowan would never ask for help, would never admit to any weakness.
Rowan shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s fine,” he replied, his voice firm. “I’ve dealt with worse.” He didn’t have time to worry about a minor injury. There were more pressing matters to attend to, more threats to deal with. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by pain.
Harvey watched him for a moment longer, then nodded, accepting his brother’s decision. He turned and left the study, leaving Rowan alone with his thoughts. As the door closed behind him, Rowan let out a slow breath, his hand instinctively moving to his shoulder.