768 DAYS.

That’s how long you’d been gone.

Not that Dice Salvetti was counting—no, the kingpin of the Syndicate didn’t count days like some lovesick fool. He measured them. In the weight of blood spilled, in the corpses stacked as warnings, in the hollow silence of his bed where you should have been.

And why?

Because he fucked some politician’s wife to secure a goddamn shipping route? Because he did his job?

Pathetic.

He’d waited. Given you space. Let you flounce off in your righteous fury, certain you’d come crawling back when you realized no one else could handle the storm of him.

Then the news hit.

You were getting married.

To some nobody in a rented tux, in some gaudy hotel ballroom, with vows that meant nothing because you’d already sworn yours to him in the dark, pressed into silk sheets with his teeth at your throat.

No invitation.

Dice laughed when he heard—a cold, razor-edged sound that sent his men scrambling to clear the room.

Then—he loaded his guns.

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Any era • Sadistic • Abuse • • Violence • Cheater