Unholy bond

Lucien POV “Hold his head up.” The chair scraped the floor as my men obeyed. The man groaned when they forced his chin up. Blood ran from his nose. One eye was swollen shut. He smelled like fear and sweat. Thick. Sour. I sat across from him with my legs crossed. My elbow rested on the arm of the chair. Relaxed. Waiting. He looked at me and started crying again. “Please,” he said. “I did not mean it.” I lifted one finger. The room went silent. Crying irritates me. It wastes time. “You stole from me,” I said. My voice stayed low. Even. “That is meaningful enough.” He shook his head fast. Chains rattled around his wrists. “I only took a little. You would not notice. I swear.” I leaned forward slowly. Not too close. Fear needs space to breathe. “You stole money,” I said. “Then you lied. Then you ran.” I stood up. The movement made him flinch. I walked behind him. My fingers brushed his shoulder. He gasped at the touch. My wolf stirred under my skin. Calm. Alert. “Do you know why I wait,” I asked. He sniffed. “Because you are merciful.” The word almost made me laugh. I stepped back into his sight. “No,” I said. “I wait because time breaks people better than pain.” I nodded once. Marco handed me the pliers. The metal felt cool in my palm. I crouched in front of the man and took his hand. I did not rush. I looked at each finger like I was choosing fruit. “Count,” I said. “What,” he whispered. “Count,” I repeated. He started sobbing. The first finger broke with a dull crack. He screamed. His body jerked. Chains pulled tight. “One,” he cried. I moved to the next finger. “Two.” Sweat poured down his face. His voice went hoarse. His eyes rolled back when the third finger snapped. I stood and dropped the pliers on the table. “Enough,” I said. He slumped forward, crying into his chest. I wiped my hands on a cloth and stepped back. “Who helped you,” I asked. He lifted his head slowly. His lips trembled. “Nino,” he said. “And Paolo.” I nodded. Names matter. I turned away. “Clean this up,” I said. “Kill him.” The gunshot echoed behind me as I walked out. No flinch. No pause. Upstairs, my men were already waiting around the long table. Heavy faces. Nervous eyes. They smelled the blood on me. I took my seat at the head. “Sit,” I said. They sat. I rested my hands on the table. Fingers spread. Claiming space. “Nino and Paolo stole from me,” I said. “They thought patience meant weakness.” No one spoke. “They will be brought here by morning,” I continued. “They will not be questioned.” Marco nodded. Others followed. “Anyone who hides them,” I said, “will join them.” One man swallowed hard. Good. Fear keeps order. The meeting ended fast. No questions. No arguments. I stood and walked toward the side door. “Marco,” I said. “Yes.” “Bring Paolo to the yard,” I said. “Alive.” He hesitated for half a second. I turned my head. He bowed. “As you wish.” The night air was cold. The yard lights cast long shadows on the stone ground. Paolo was dragged in by two men. His face was pale. His eyes searched for mercy. He dropped to his knees when he saw me. “Lucien,” he begged. “Please. I have served you for years.” I took off my jacket and handed it to Marco. I rolled up my sleeves. Years mean nothing. Loyalty is daily. I stepped closer. “You served yourself,” I said. I grabbed his head with both hands. His skull fit perfectly between my palms. My wolf surged. I twisted. The sound was sharp. Final. His body collapsed at my feet. Silence followed. I looked at my hands. Blood dripped from my fingers. “Dispose of him,” I said. I walked back inside without looking back. In the bathroom, I washed my hands slowly. Soap. Water. Again and again until the skin burned. I stared at my reflection. No guilt. No doubt. Love ruins men. Mercy lies to them. I was built differently. Patience. Control. Cruelty when needed. That is how empires survive. I learned patience young. Men think cruelty is loud,rage, fists, bullets fired too fast. That kind of violence burns hot and dies quick. It makes mistakes. It leaves survivors who grow brave enough to strike back. I am not that kind of man. I wait. Sometimes days. Sometimes years. I let betrayal ripen. I let hope grow just enough that cutting it down hurts deeper. Pain is temporary. Anticipation stays. Fear settles into the bones when men realize I did not forget. I will never forget. As Alpha, my wolf understands this instinctively. He does not snarl without reason. He watches. Listens. Stores grudges the way other wolves store hunger. When I finally move, it is not out of anger,it is necessity. Balance restored through blood. Love is the only thing I have seen make powerful men stupid. They hesitate. They forgive. They convince themselves mercy makes them human. Then they bleed out on marble floors, whispering names of women who could not save them. I will never be that man. Mercy is a bedtime story men tell themselves so they can live with their reflection. I do not need lies to sleep. I close my eyes easily. Cleanly. If I take something from someone,time, loyalty, life,it is because they handed it to me first. I do not steal. I collect debts. That is why my empire stands while others rot from the inside. Because I am patient. Because I am controlled. Because when I am cruel, it is deliberate. And because nothing,no prayer, no love, no trembling hands,has ever made me change my mind. Not once. Somewhere out there, someone is already planning their betrayal, whispering my name like it is a shield instead of a sentence. They think distance protects them. Time. Silence. They are wrong. I can feel the shift coming,the subtle pull under my skin, the wolf pacing, restless. Change is near. Blood always announces itself before it spills. I straighten my cuffs and turn off the light. By morning, another name will surface. By nightfall, another body will fall. And whoever stands at the center of my long game will learn the truth too late,