The voices coming from the bedroom sounded low. Intimate. The kind of whispers you don’t want to hear from anyone but your partner —and certainly not in your home, on your bed.Niccolo walked towards the bedroom door, every step heavier than the last. He noticed that the door was partially open, and what he saw through that crack would haunt him forever.Kimberly. Arching her back. Laughing. Her head thrown back in ecstasy. And Gregory —his boss —leaning over her like a lover who’d claimed her for years.He staggered forward, pushing the door fully open, his lips parting in a breathless gasp. They didn’t hear him at first. Or maybe they did and simply didn’t care.“Kim...?” His voice was barely a whisper, broken and small.She turned her head lazily, like she’d just noticed a fly in the room. Her eyes met his— and there was no shock, no shame, no remorse. Just boredom.“Oh. You’re home,” she said, her tone sharp and dismissive.Gregory didn’t even bother covering himself up. He stretc

Niccolo had finally begun to breathe again.The night shift, while lonely, had brought him a rhythm— quiet, ordered, and free from judgment. He walked the polished corridors of the Clearwater Galleria with care, treating his duties like sacred rituals. He hadn’t healed from the betrayal, but he was surviving. And for now, that felt like enough.So when Aria Vale summoned him to her office after only a week on the job, Niccolo assumed it was a review. Maybe she’d noticed his diligence. Maybe she wanted to thank him for taking the job seriously, unlike the security guards before him. He straightened his collar, adjusted his belt, and walked up the stairs with confidence.The mall was unusually quiet for early evening. It was still open to the public, but the foot traffic had slowed to a trickle. The elevator ride to the executive offices was short but oddly tense. Something gnawed at the edge of his awareness, but he pushed it down.When he arrived at her office, Aria was already waitin

The last thing Niccolo remembered was the taste of blood in his mouth and the roar of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He was angry, angrier than he’d ever been. Somewhere in the haze, there had been shouting, the clatter of furniture breaking, and then two more deafening gunshots. Then… nothing. When he regained consciousness, he did so slowly, like light filtering into a dark, abandoned room. His head was pounding, and the coppery scent of blood hung heavy in the air. He blinked several times, trying to piece together what happened. The apartment looked like a hurricane had ripped through it. Tables split in two, chairs reduced to splinters, curtains hanging in tatters. The floor was littered with overturned bottles, broken glass, and the battered, bloodied bodies of six men. They were breathing —barely— but they were very much unconscious. Niccolo’s chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths. He didn’t remember fighting them, but deep in his gut… he knew. He could fee