Heir In The Shadows

EPISODE 32

The Morning After

Sunlight streamed faintly through the curtains. Luciano stirred first, his body aching everywhere. Panic jolted through him as flashes of the party hit him—the drug, the heat, Dax leaning too close—until his eyes darted to the arm draped tightly around him.

Jax.

He exhaled shakily, relief softening his whole body. He was in their room, in their bed, safe. Not just safe—claimed. Heat rose to his cheeks as fragments of the night replayed. The shameless way he had begged. The way Jax had answered him with raw force and unrelenting tenderness.

Trying to sit up, a sharp pain shot through him, and he winced. His legs trembled, his body sore. Of course it hurt—they had barely stopped all night.

That stirred Jax awake instantly. Without a word, he scooped Luciano up into his arms and carried him straight into the bathroom. He was silent—too silent—as he helped Luciano under the shower, washing him carefully, his jaw tight. He dressed him, laid him back on the bed, then went for his own shower.

Inside, his emotions warred. Jealousy still burned from knowing Luciano had gone to Dax’s party. Fear still lingered from almost losing him. And rage—rage at Dax, at the Crust family, at the risk Luciano had walked into without a word—made his chest tight.

If he spoke now, he might snap, and the last thing he wanted was to throw harsh words at Luciano when he was already weak.

So when he returned, fully dressed, he only said in a low, controlled voice: “Stay in bed. I’ll make us breakfast.”

Luciano blinked at him, wanting to speak, but Jax didn’t give him the chance. He left the room, the weight of his silence heavier than any words.

Downstairs, he moved into the kitchen and prepared something light for Luciano—soup, fresh bread, and tea. When it was ready, he called Nic over.

“Take it upstairs to him. Make sure he eats everything,” Jax instructed flatly.

“Yes, Boss.”

Jax grabbed his coat and keys, his mind already set. He needed answers. He needed to face the Crust family directly.

Without another word, he left the mansion, his car waiting outside. His men fell into place as he stepped inside, his expression carved from stone.

Today, the Crusts would answer to him.

---

Nic knocked softly before stepping into Luciano’s room with a breakfast tray. “Young master, I brought your meal.”

Luciano’s lashes fluttered as he sat up slowly, sore from the night before. His first words weren’t about food. “Where’s Jax?”

Nic hesitated. “He… left earlier this morning.”

Something inside Luciano sank. He pushed the tray away, appetite vanishing. Of course. He’s mad at me. The thought tightened his chest. Still, under Nic’s quiet insistence, he forced down a few bites before waving the tray away.

When Nic left, Luciano sat on the bed with his phone in hand, staring at the screen. Should I call him? Or wait? What if he doesn’t want to hear from me?

His thumb hovered before finally pressing Jax’s number. The call rang, once, twice—no answer. A cold rush of fear spread through him. He tried again. Nothing.

His heart pounded. Why won’t he pick up? Did I push him too far last night? Is he… disgusted? Thousands of thoughts circled his head, each darker than the last. He hugged his knees, staring at the silent phone, waiting—hoping—for it to light up with Jax’s name.

---

At the Crust Residence

Engines rumbled as black cars rolled one after another through the Crust gates. The sight alone sent the household into alarm. Servants whispered nervously, and within moments Mr. David Crust was alerted.

He came outside immediately, tension sharp in his jaw. His son Dax had insisted that Jax was nothing but a nameless street fighter, but David wasn’t a fool. He had noticed Draco that night—how he called Jax “Boss.” Years ago, David had conducted business with the Kingmaker’s Mafia; Draco had represented them. If Draco bowed to Jax, then he already knew the truth: Jax wasn’t some fighter—he was the Kingmaker himself.

The cars stopped in a perfect line. Draco stepped out first, crisp and dangerous, before opening the door with deference. Jax emerged, his presence heavier than the air itself, every movement deliberate, unhurried.

David rushed forward, bowing his head. “Mr. Kingmaker, welcome.”

Jax only gave a curt nod, the kind of acknowledgment that was both insult and mercy at once.

“Please, this way,” David gestured with respect, leading Jax inside. At a subtle signal, Jax ordered the rest of his men to remain outside, but Vince and Draco flanked him as he entered.

Inside, Jax settled into the seat as though it belonged to him, his posture claiming the mansion itself. His voice was calm but razor-edged. “Where’s your son, Dax?”

David swallowed. “He’s… still recovering. He’s in his room upstairs.”

Jax didn’t bother with words. His eyes flicked to Draco. That was all it took. Rising smoothly, Jax left with Vince at his side, disappearing down the hallway.

Draco remained behind, turning his gaze on David, his tone cold but respectful. “The boss says this—keep your son on a leash. If he dares to circle around Luciano again, it won’t just be a beating next time. He won’t live to see another dawn.”

David’s lips tightened. “Understood.”

Draco’s voice dropped lower, sharp as a knife. “The only reason this hasn’t gone further is the respect the Kingmaker has for you. You’ve always been an honest man. But know this—when it comes to his lover, the Kingmaker doesn’t joke. You’d do well to take this warning to heart.”

With that, Draco inclined his head, then turned on his heel. Outside, he slipped into the car where Jax was already seated in the back, silent and unreadable. The convoy pulled away, leaving the Crust estate trembling in its wake.

---

In the Car

The leather of the seat groaned under Jax’s weight as he leaned back, pulling his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up with missed calls—one after the other. All from Luciano.

His hand lingered, thumb hovering as if it might press the green button. But then, jaw clenched, he locked the screen and shoved the phone away. He couldn’t. Not now.

“Kingmaker’s estate,” Jax said flatly, voice rough with something darker than anger.

Draco met his eyes through the rearview mirror but didn’t question it. He simply relayed the order. “To the estate.”

The convoy moved, headlights cutting through the night. Jax sat in silence, but inside his head was chaos.

He lied to me. He looked me in the eye and lied just to sneak out to that party.

But it wasn’t the lie that clawed at his chest—it was what could have happened because of it.

What if Draco hadn’t noticed? What if I hadn’t sent him to watch Dax? What if I’d been a minute late?

His fists clenched so tight the leather of his gloves groaned. His mind replayed that room, that bed, Luciano drugged and helpless beneath Dax’s hovering form. The image burned into him like fire, scorching reason out of him.

He wasn’t just angry. He was terrified. Terrified of a world where he hadn’t made it in time.

---

At the Estate

The cars pulled into the wide courtyard, engines humming low before shutting down. The estate loomed ahead, grand and cold in the night.

Jax didn’t wait for Draco this time. He pushed open the car door himself and strode into the house, his steps hard, fast—like a man holding himself together with sheer force of will.

Straight to the bar. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, not bothering with a glass at first, letting the burn rip down his throat. Then he poured another, and another, as though each drink could drown the fury still tearing at his insides.

But it didn’t.

No amount of alcohol could wash away the image of Luciano’s wide, frightened eyes, or the sound of his weak voice calling his name.

Jax slammed the empty glass down, the sharp crack echoing in the vast room. His chest heaved as he pressed both hands on the bar top, head bowed.

“Damn you, Luciano,” he whispered hoarsely, the words trembling with anger and anguish. “Why would you risk yourself like that?”

He wasn’t asking for loyalty—he already had it. He wasn’t asking for trust—Luciano gave it freely. He was asking for something rawer, more desperate.

Don’t put yourself where I can’t reach you.

His throat burned, but he kept drinking until the edges of the room tilted. Finally, he stumbled upstairs, shoulders heavy, eyes dark, and collapsed onto his bed, whiskey clinging to his breath like smoke.

---

At Luciano’s Mansion

The phone lay heavy in Luciano’s hand. Call after call, unanswered. Each one deepening the pit in his stomach.

He had tried to sleep, but worry gnawed at him until exhaustion pulled him under. When he woke, the sun was already sinking. Still no word from Jax.

Dragging himself from bed, Luciano tested his body—the pain had dulled since morning, Jax’s careful hands easing it with ointment and quiet tenderness. That memory, soft and intimate, only made his chest ache more.

He descended the stairs, each step echoing in the silence of the grand house. The sofa swallowed him when he sat, the room too large, too empty.

Nic appeared at the doorway. “Boss should I ask the chef to prepare dinner, ?”

Luciano shook his head slowly. “No appetite.” His voice was quiet, strained. He hesitated before asking, “Nic… should I go to him? To Jax’s place?”

Nic studied him, then gave a firm shake of the head. “Give him time. He’s… angry. Very angry. But he’ll come around.”

Luciano’s throat tightened. “So he is mad at me?”

Nic didn’t soften the truth. “Yes, sir. He’s furious.”

When Nic excused himself, the silence returned, heavier than before. Luciano leaned back against the sofa, eyes unfocused, his mind replaying everything.

The lie. The drug. The look on Jax’s face when he burst into that room.

A knot of guilt twisted in his stomach until he pressed a hand to his chest. He whispered into the empty room, voice breaking—

“Jax… I’m sorry.”