Chapter 45

Chapter 45: Chapter 45

Amara gave her another grin, then sobered slightly. "Okay, wait. I almost forgot to tell you. Landon came to my dorm yesterday."

Celeste frowned. "Landon? What? Why?"

"Looking for you," Amara said, her tone turning sharp. "He just barged in like he owned the place. Didn’t even knock properly. Asked where you were, like I was his secretary. I told him to get lost. Then he had the nerve to say you were making a fool of him."

Celeste sighed, her expression darkening. "I should have known he wouldn’t take the hint. He still thinks there’s something left between us."

"He was so rude, Cel. He practically yelled in the hallway. People were staring. He said you were humiliating him in public and that you owed him a conversation."

Celeste clenched her jaw. "I don’t owe him anything. He had his chance. He lost it the moment he decided I was some pawn in whatever deal he made with his friends,"

Amara squeezed her hand. "So what are you going to do?"

Celeste inhaled slowly. "The moment I see Nana again, I’m ending the engagement formally. I don’t care how upset she gets. I’m done playing along. This isn’t about business or family alliances. This is my life. My heart."

.....

The room was dark. Dominic stood at the center, his hands casually tucked in the pockets of his black wool coat. The silence was laced with tension.

They were all alone in the room. Both had a dozen of armed men waiting for them outside. If one of them don’t make it out alive or unscathed, there’ll be a killing spree between both sides.

Grigor sat behind a heavy oak desk. It was the same desk where they’d signed pacts, brokered deals, and, once upon a time, plotted survival. A glass of brandy rested untouched beside a loaded pistol. He looked older now, more ragged at the edges, but his eyes were still flint.

Dominic stepped forward, reached inside his coat, and slid a white envelope across the desk.

"There," he said, voice as sharp as steel. "Two billion dollars. Leave my life alone."

Grigor didn’t touch it.

A slow, humorless smile carved itself into his face. "You really think this is about money?"

Dominic’s jaw clenched. "You always wanted to be richer than the cartels. I’m giving you more than enough to vanish into any country in the world. Take it and go."

Grigor pushed the envelope back. "Man, I saved your life. I shot my father in the chest to keep you breathing. And now you stand there, thinking we’re even with a piece of paper?"

Dominic didn’t flinch, but the flicker in his eyes was noticeable.

"That was a decade ago," he said with a slight edge. "I’m not ungrateful, Grigor. But I don’t want blood bonding."

Grigor laughed. It was bitter and low. "You don’t want blood bonding, but you’ve been reaping its protection all these years. Who took the fall for your first cargo run gone wrong? Who made Theresa disappear when she almost burned your name to the ground?"

Dominic’s lips twitched. "You didn’t make her disappear. She still circles."

"Because you never let me finish the job," Grigor growled, leaning forward. "You always had a soft spot for her."

Dominic’s eyes darkened, his stance shifting just slightly. "She knows better than to come near me now."

He hated mentioning her. Her name had been a taboo and Grigor was crksing boundriea to mention her.

Grigor poured himself a glass of brandy finally, his hand steady. "You forget, I know what’s buried with your name on it. You think I held onto you all these years just for the pleasure of brotherhood? No, Dominic. We’re past that. I needed assurance. Real assurance."

Dominic remained silent for a moment. The room felt heavier than before.

"What kind of assurance?" he asked quietly.

"Blood. You, me, bound. A ritual, just like the old days. You know what it means."

"No."

"You walk away now, and I let everything come crumbling down. That cute life you’ve built, I’ll burn it down, and the press won’t be kind. The enemies you made before you became a ghost—they’re still hunting. You think you’re safe? You’re not. I’ve kept you safe."

Dominic took a long breath, eyes narrowing. "What do you want, Grigor? Say it clearly."

"I want loyalty. Not just words. Not silence. Marry my daughter, Viktoria, and let’s remain allies. I want to know you’ll never walk away when I call."

A long pause followed. The fire cracked low.

Dominic looked toward the window, then back to the man who once dragged him out of a gunfight with three bullets in his back.

"I owe you," he said. "But I don’t belong to you."

Grigor stood.

"Then you better be ready to lose everything I helped you protect."

Silence.

Dominic stepped forward, picking the envelope back up. "You want to start a war with me?"

Grigor didn’t answer. His hand brushed over the pistol, but he didn’t pick it up.

Dominic slid the envelope back into his coat. "You won’t win."

Grigor’s eyes gleamed. "You’re still the boy who wanted to set the world on fire just to warm one woman’s hands."

Dominic’s gaze didn’t waver. "And you’re still the man who let his own blood rot in the ground to build a kingdom out of nothing. We’re not the same."

"I made you."

"You gave me the tools," Dominic replied. "But I built the machine."

He started to turn away but paused, fingers twitching at his side.

"If I see Viktoria near my house again—" his voice dropped to something almost lethal, "I’ll put a bullet in her head. Personally."

Grigor didn’t blink. "You’ll never pull the trigger on her."

"I will," Dominic said simply. "And I won’t miss."

He walked to the door.

"You know where to find me," Grigor called after him. "When you remember who you really are."

Dominic didn’t look back.

The door shut behind him with a finality that made the flames in the fireplace hiss.

Outside, the air was colder. Dominic lit a cigarette with calm fingers, but the twitch in his jaw betrayed him.

His men lingered around, not trusting the other party. Theresa’s name and image played in his mind over and over again that it burned him.

He took one last drag, exhaled, then tossed it aside and walked back to the black Mercedes parked across the road.

His men organised themselves in the convoy behind him, and followed. They all felt the tension.