Chapter 38: Cute attempts
1796 Words
Mario POV
Yesterday still burned under my skin.
Everything should have gone perfectly.
She should have been grateful. Quiet. Where I put her.
Instead, that dog interfered—parading around like some self-righteous hero, daring to look at what I claimed as if it was ever his to protect.
Thumper cried last night.
Clung to me.
Tried to soothe my temper with soft words and trembling hands.
I took what I wanted anyway.
Not because she offered—because I needed to remind her who decided when comfort was given and when it was taken. If it hurt her, that was the price of being tied to me. Even if it was s****l. Pain teaches obedience faster than kindness ever could.
Today, though, I didn’t touch her.
I left her behind on purpose.
The club was loud, dark, indulgent—full of people who knew better than to speak, better than to question. No one here would run back to whisper in her ear. No one here would pretend to care.
I drank. I laughed. I enjoyed the silence where her voice should have been.
If she wondered where I was, good.
If she felt anxious, better.
Even if she somehow learned I’d slipped away, it didn’t matter. I had already taught her what happens when she steps out of line. She would fall back into place like she always did.
She belonged where I kept her.
And if she ever forgot that again—
I would remind her.
Seeing the strippers move beneath the low red lights relaxed me more than I expected.
This club wasn’t built for humans.
The music throbbed too slow, too deep—meant to vibrate through bone, not ears. Velvet-lined walls swallowed sound. Crystal chandeliers reflected blood-red hues across polished marble floors. Everything here was curated for excess: power, hunger, indulgence.
Bodies danced without shame. Vampires lounged in private booths, sipping from crystal glasses, laughing softly as if the world outside didn’t exist. Scents of alcohol, perfume, and desire layered the air thick enough to taste.
This was control.
This was where I remembered who I was.
Last night had been… intense.
Exhilarating.
Necessary.
I hadn’t returned to the estate afterward. I knew Thumper would be worried—pacing, asking questions after she would wake from the heavy medications, imagining things she didn’t need to imagine.
For once, I didn’t care.
Let her sit with that unease when she woke up. Let it remind her that comfort was a privilege I granted, not a right she demanded.
A dancer brushed past me, smiling knowingly. I returned the smile, careless, detached. None of them mattered. They were distractions, nothing more. Noise to drown out the irritation that still lingered beneath my skin.
By the time the club lights dimmed and the night bled into early morning, my patience had returned.
Work awaited.
I arrived at the office just before dawn, the city still quiet, streets washed in gray. My building rose ahead of me—glass and steel, cold and efficient. This was my other kingdom. Where deals were made. Where power was enforced without bloodshed.
Or so I thought.
As I stepped inside, I felt it immediately.
That scent.
Wolf.
My jaw tightened.
I hadn’t been informed of any meetings this early. I hadn’t approved visitors. And yet—there he was.
Dominic.
Standing in my space like he belonged there.
I smiled, slow and sharp, already preparing my words. Already planning how I would enjoy reminding him exactly where Thumper was, exactly who she answered to now.
What I didn’t know—what I couldn’t sense from here—was that she wasn’t pacing.
She wasn’t worrying.
She wasn’t waiting.
Thumper was asleep.
Drugged into silence.
And for the first time since this game began, I was several moves behind.
Panic didn’t strike all at once.
It crept in.
A tightness behind my eyes. A pressure in my chest I refused to acknowledge. I had felt fear before—hunger, rage, irritation—but this was different. This was the sensation of something vast shifting beneath my feet while I stood pretending the ground was solid.
Dominic knew it.
I saw it in the way he didn’t rush his words.
“You were informed two days ago that I would return,” he said calmly, almost politely, “and it has been exactly two days since my last visit.”
Each syllable landed like a measured knock on a coffin lid.
“This is the second day,” he continued, “and today I would like to introduce you to the head chairman of the casinos you frequent… along with several individuals you may recognize from your current business dealings.”
One by one, they stepped forward.
Men I had shaken hands with.
Men who had toasted with me.
Men whose signatures had secured fortunes.
Their faces were stiff. Their eyes avoided mine. Some looked uncomfortable. Others looked relieved—as if they had already survived something I was only beginning to understand.
The air felt wrong.
Thicker. Colder.
My instincts screamed at me to move, to lash out, to assert dominance—but my body wouldn’t obey. For the first time in decades, my power felt… contained. Boxed in by invisible walls.
And then I saw him.
Standing just behind Dominic.
My father’s old investor.
The man who had funded our earliest expansions. The man who had taught me how to hide blood beneath contracts, how to bury sins under legality and silence.
The color drained from my skin so fast I felt dizzy.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This wasn’t business.
This was an execution—clean, legal, irreversible.
Memories rushed in uninvited: warnings I’d ignored, favors I’d abused, alliances I’d assumed were eternal. I realized, too late, that Dominic hadn’t come to threaten me.
He’d come to remove me.
Not with claws.
Not with violence.
With witnesses.
With paperwork.
With people who had decided I was no longer worth the risk.
For the first time since I’d dragged Thumper into my world, since I’d bent reality to suit my desires, since I’d convinced myself I was untouchable—
I understood something cold and horrifying:
I was no longer in control.
And worse—
Everyone in the room knew it.
Each one of them ended their relationship with me.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Calm voices. Clean words. Professional smiles that never reached their eyes.
Their reasons were identical.
I had structured deals to benefit myself. I had twisted clauses. I had buried penalties in fine print. I had assumed loyalty would outweigh fairness.
Dominic hadn’t.
Behind my back, he had offered transparency. Balance. Mutual gain. He hadn’t undercut me—he had outclassed me.
One by one, they slid termination notices across the table as if placing flowers on a grave.
No raised voices.
No arguments.
Just finality.
I told myself that was it. That once they left, I could regroup. Rebuild. Retaliate.
Then Dominic stepped closer.
Too close.
Close enough that I could feel the weight of him—not his strength, but his certainty.
“If you stop me from seeing my mate on your wedding day,” he said quietly, “I will not hold back on my mannerisms.”
His tone didn’t rise. That terrified me more than a threat ever could.
“For you see,” he continued, “the wives of the men who were here today—along with several others whose business you will be losing very soon—met with me and their husbands.”
My stomach dropped.
“I explained the truth.”
The word truth echoed in my skull like a crack spreading through glass.
“And lucky for me,” he added, eyes flicking toward my phone on the table, “you didn’t come home last night.”
A pause.
Hope your obsession was worth it.
That was the knife.
Not the deals.
Not the losses.
The implication.
That while I was indulging myself—while I believed Thumper was safely waiting, obedient and dependent—my absence had given him room to move.
Room to speak.
Room to expose.
Room to prepare her.
He turned and walked out without another word.
The door closed.
And then my phone began to ring.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Messages followed. Alerts. Missed calls stacking so fast the screen glitched. Names I recognized. Numbers I didn’t. Partners. Attorneys. Wives.
My chest tightened.
For the first time, I felt it clearly—sharp and undeniable.
This wasn’t a setback.
This was a collapse.
And somewhere in all of it, beneath the panic clawing its way up my throat, one thought screamed louder than the rest:
If Thumper woke up before I fixed this—
I wouldn’t just lose my empire.
I would lose her.
And that…
That was the only thing I couldn’t survive.
Then came the call I had dreaded more than any other.
My father.
The link opened before I could block it, his presence slamming into my mind like a blade to the throat. There was no warmth in it. No patience. Only cold authority sharpened by disappointment.
‘You have many things to answer for,’ he said.
His voice carried the weight of centuries, of executions ordered with the same calm tone used for negotiations.
‘But understand this clearly—if I do not see your wife at the altar, Mario, this will be your last wedding.’
My pulse thundered.
‘If it does not go through,’ he continued, unmoved by my silence, ‘I will allow your death.’
The link snapped shut.
No debate.
No mercy.
No second chances.
I stood there staring at nothing, my hands shaking for the first time in decades.
This wasn’t about love.
It never had been.
It was about legacy. Control. Appearances.
And Thumper was the final piece.
Dominic thought he was clever. Thought he was dismantling me brick by brick, peeling away my allies, poisoning my reputation, turning the world against me.
But he didn’t understand one thing.
I had perfected pretending.
I would smile.
I would hold her gently.
I would whisper devotion into her ear while keeping her medicated, isolated, obedient.
I would play the devoted fiancé so convincingly that even my father would be satisfied.
And Dominic?
Dominic would watch.
He would see how much I appeared to love her. How protected she looked. How calm. How compliant.
He would choke on it.
Because by the time he tried to enter the venue—by the time he tried to reach her—
She would already be mine.
Legally.
Publicly.
Irrevocably.
This wedding wasn’t a celebration.
It was a deadline.
And if blood had to be spilled to ensure it happened—
It wouldn’t be mine.
- Writer
