I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 057

The humid night air was heavy with the scent of bourbon and the heat of a closed deal. Kane Adler stood on the porch, a triumphant smile ghosting his lips as he watched Tyson Low’s motorcade fade into the darkness. The negotiation had been a marathon of excess, fueling the men with nearly nine ounces of liquor—a staggering amount even for Kane.

As the adrenaline ebbed, the world tilted. Kane swayed, catching himself against a stone pillar as his vision swam. Through the haze, he spotted Marcus Grady, wearing a mask of weary amusement.

Kane raised a trembling finger toward Harvey, the silent shadow waiting nearby. "Take this brat to Reno Keyes," Kane slurred, his words thick. "Tell Reno the first official mission for the Fenris crew is this: drown Marcus in booze. I want him so hammered he forgets his name. I’ll check the results tomorrow."

Marcus’s amusement vanished into horror. "No! Kane, don't!"

He spun to bolt, but he was too slow. Owen, Harvey, and the sixteen Talons moved as a single organism. In a heartbeat, the circle closed, trapping Marcus within a wall of imposing shadows.

Harvey rubbed the bridge of his nose, a predatory glint in his eyes as he let out a low, mischievous chuckle. "Now, now, little fox. Don't make this difficult. Resistance is exhausting. Why don't you just give in and let us take care of you?"

From the other side of the circle, Bobby let out a dark, throat-rattling laugh that sent a shiver down Marcus’s spine. "That's right. Big brother is going to be very, very gentle. We’ve got a long night ahead of us, and plenty of bottles to get through."

The rest of the unit joined in, a chorus of guttural cackles and mocking "ga-ga" sounds echoing through the courtyard. It was the sound of hunters who had finally cornered a particularly elusive piece of prey.

"Nooooo!" Marcus screamed, a high-pitched sound of despair that likely startled the birds in the nearby trees. " Dante Romero! I’m going to kill you for this! I’m going to haunt your dreams!"

While Marcus was being hauled away to his liquid fate, Dante and Elias Thorne were busy performing a much more delicate task. They were essentially carrying Kane back to his residence, his heavy arms draped over their shoulders like lead weights. Both men were bracing themselves for a lecture, or perhaps an interrogation, from the women waiting inside. They had their explanations ready—the importance of the meeting with Tyson Low, the necessity of the social drinking, the strategic value of the alliance.

However, as they kicked the front door open and staggered into the foyer, the air in the house didn't feel like a lecture hall. It felt like a powder keg. The atmosphere was thick, charged with a strange, oscillating tension that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up.

The two younger girls, Tia Valentine and Sienna Summers, hadn't gone back to their own quarters as expected. Instead, they were gathered in Victoria Vance’s living room. The scene was surreal.

The three women—all of them officially considered The Boss's Wife in various capacities of the household’s complex hierarchy—were clad in silk pajamas. They were sitting on the plush leather sofas, each clutching a decorative throw pillow like a shield, staring at each other with wide, unblinking eyes. It was a silent standoff, a psychological war of attrition played out in the dim light of the designer lamps.

Dante and Elias didn't say a word. They didn't even breathe loudly. With the practiced movements of men who had survived numerous battlefield ambushes, they dragged the unconscious Kane into the master bedroom, dropped him onto the king-sized mattress, muttered a hasty "Excuse us," and bolted out of the house as if it were rigged with C4.

The moment the heavy oak front door clicked shut with a definitive thud, the silence in the living room shattered.

Tia let out a sharp "Eek!" and sprang from the sofa with the agility of a gymnast. Her eyes were bright with a mixture of feigned concern and calculating mischief. "Honey is wasted! Victoria, sister, you’re the best cook—quick, go to the kitchen and whip up some of that hangover soup. I’ll go inside and give him a massage to help his circulation."

Not to be outdone, Sienna was already halfway to the bedroom door. "I’ll help! I’ll go and work on his pressure points. He needs to relax his muscles after such a stressful night."

But Victoria, who knew the true nature of these "little sisters" better than anyone, wasn't about to be sidelined. The moment the men had left, she had moved with deceptive speed, planting herself firmly in front of the bedroom door, her arms crossed over her chest and a skeptical brow arched high.

"Don't you even try it," Victoria huffed, her voice dripping with maternal authority and romantic territorialism. "I wasn't born yesterday. You think I’m going to slave away over a hot stove while you two 'massage' him? I know exactly what happens next. I go to the kitchen, the door locks behind me, and I’m stuck sleeping on the sofa tonight while you two play nurse. Not happening."

Tia pouted, her lower lip trembling in a way that would have fooled a lesser woman. "Who said that? We would never do such a thing. We’re just worried about his health!"

Sienna nodded vigorously, her expression one of innocent devotion. "Exactly. And besides, you wouldn't have to sleep on the sofa. There are plenty of other guest bedrooms upstairs. You'd be very comfortable."

"You..." Victoria placed one hand on her hip and pointed the other toward the staircase with the dramatic flair of a queen banishing unruly subjects. "Upstairs. Now. I’ve already prepared the rooms for both of you. Move."

Tia’s face fell into a look of exaggerated heartbreak. "So stingy. Honestly, Victoria, you’re so mean."

"Exactly," Sienna chimed in, crossing her arms. "Such a cruel woman."

"He’s drunk," Tia added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He needs someone to watch over him. We need to stay here to protect him."

"Protect him from what?" Victoria asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Protect him from you," Sienna countered. "We have to make sure certain women don't take advantage of his compromised state and make him lose his virtue."

Victoria felt a dizzy spell coming on. She stared at the two girls, who were now doing their best impression of Victorian orphans in a storm. "You two... upstairs... immediately! If you don't move right this second, I’m calling your grandfathers tomorrow morning and telling them exactly what you’ve been up to. I’ll have them send a car to pick you up and take you back home."

The effect was instantaneous. Both Tia and Sienna turned pale, their eyes welling up with genuine, well-rehearsed tears. The threat of their grandfathers—the formidable patriarchs of their respective dynasties—was the only thing capable of piercing through their stubbornness.

"No! Please!" Tia wailed, her hands flying to her cheeks. "Don't tell Grandpa! We... we’ll go up. We’re going right now!"

"Fine," Victoria said, softening slightly but maintaining her firm stance. "And from this moment on, you are not allowed to set foot in my bedroom. Is that understood?"

Tia stuck her tongue out, making a face like a mischievous imp. "Mean woman," she muttered, turning and trudging toward the stairs with a heavy, performative reluctance.

"Don't forget to make the soup, you dummy," Sienna called back over her shoulder, her voice trailing off as they reached the second-floor landing.

Victoria sighed, the tension finally leaving her shoulders. She rubbed her temples, thinking about the long night ahead. She waited until she heard their footsteps disappear into the upper hallway, convinced that the threat of the elders had finally done the trick. She turned toward the kitchen, her mind already on the ingredients she would need for the soup.

But she hadn't even taken three steps when two blurs of silk and lace whipped past her. With the agility of professional athletes, Tia and Sienna pivoted mid-air, dove into Victoria’s bedroom, and slammed the door shut.

Click.

The sound of the lock engaging echoed like a gunshot in the silent house. From inside, a chorus of high-pitched giggles erupted.

"Goodnight, big sister!" Tia’s voice sang out, muffled by the heavy wood.

Victoria stood frozen in the hallway, her jaw dropping. She felt a surge of righteous fury boiling in her chest. She marched to the door and rattled the handle, but it wouldn't budge. "Open this door! Right now! I’m going to find the spare key!"

"Don't bother, sister!" Sienna’s voice came through the door, sounding entirely too satisfied. "We already took the spare key from the hallway cabinet. It’s in here with us. Go to sleep, dear. Be a good girl. Goodnight!"

Victoria swayed, the sheer audacity of the two girls leaving her momentarily speechless. She looked at the closed door, then at the empty hallway, and finally at the plush, lonely sofa in the living room. She slumped onto the cushions, feeling a mix of frustration and a strange, grudging respect for their tactics. She was, quite literally, locked out of her own life.

While the drama of the household unfolded in a flurry of silk and laughter, several hundred miles away in New Bergen, the atmosphere was starkly different.

The New Bergen estate was a sprawling, ancient fortress of wealth and power, covering nearly eighty acres of prime real estate. Deep within the western portion of the grounds lay a massive bamboo forest, an area that accounted for nearly twenty percent of the entire property. It was a literal sea of green, a sanctuary where over a hundred species of world-renowned bamboo— Moso Bamboo, Fernleaf Bamboo, Silverstripe Bamboo, Belly Bamboo, Mottled Bamboo, and Arrow Bamboo—thrived in a carefully curated ecosystem.

The season was late autumn. The vibrant greens of summer had faded into a palette of burnished golds and pale yellows. A cool, biting wind swept through the forest, causing the dry leaves to clatter against one another with a sound like distant applause. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying foliage.

Inside a modest, traditional bamboo hut nestled in the heart of the grove, two men in their late sixties sat on simple stools, sipping tea. They had been sitting there for over an hour in a silence so profound it seemed to merge with the rustling of the forest outside. The only light came from a single, low-wattage lantern that cast long, dancing shadows against the woven walls.

One of the men was Sebastian Valentine, the patriarch of the Valentine Dynasty. The other was Arthur Summers, the Senate Majority Leader and one of the most powerful men in the United States. In this private setting, far from the prying eyes of the press and the cutthroat halls of the Capitol, Arthur had shed his usual mask of stern authority.

Sebastian poured a fresh pot of tea, the steam rising in delicate ribbons. "Alright, enough with the stoicism," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "We’ve been friends for decades, Arthur. I know when you’re carrying a weight. You didn't fly all the way from D.C. to my doorstep at this hour just to watch the bamboo grow. What’s on your mind?"

Arthur didn't answer immediately. He picked up his cup, inhaling the aroma of the Reserve Riesling tea—a rare, authentic blend from the shores of Lake Cayuga. "Beautiful," he murmured.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "A few pounds? I spent months sourcing just five ounces of this particular harvest. I only brought it out because you showed up unannounced. Be grateful if I let you leave with half of what’s left in the tin. Besides, I know your students and lobbyists send you enough 'authentic' gifts to fill a warehouse."

Arthur let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. "They send things, yes. But their gifts are stained with ambition and vanity. They taste of favors and backroom deals. I usually throw them out. This... this is pure."

Sebastian laughed, shaking his head. "Still the same stubborn old man. Fine, I’ll give you two ounces and keep three for myself. Now, stop stalling. What’s the crisis? There’s nothing we can’t discuss between us."

Arthur sighed, the weight of his office finally showing in the lines around his eyes. He set the bamboo cup down on the table. "It’s about those two little troublemakers—our granddaughters."

Sebastian’s expression softened into a pained grimace. "When Dominic Valentine got that call from Tia the other night, he nearly lost his mind. If I hadn't stepped in personally to ground him, he probably would have sent a hit squad to level half a dozen neighborhoods looking for her."

"They are the heart of our families," Arthur said gravely. "If anything had truly happened to them... if someone had actually harmed them... the fallout would have been catastrophic. Which brings me to the point. I think we need to discuss how we intend to thank the young man who saved them."

Sebastian looked up, his gaze sharpening. "The boy's name is Kane Adler, isn't it? You’re telling me you flew all this way specifically for him? A low-level street thug? A common criminal? Is he really worth your personal attention?"

Arthur met Sebastian’s gaze with an unblinking intensity. "A street thug? Come now, Sebastian. Don't play games with me. You know exactly who Kane Adler is. Your intelligence network is as vast as mine. If you’re speaking about him in such dismissive terms, then I have to assume... you’re already planning to eliminate him."