Chapter 5 Five

Baron POV

The message comes just after midnight, a single line glowing across my phone screen.

Come to the mansion. It's urgent.

-George.

My godfather hadn't reached out in nearly a year. For him to summon me now could only mean trouble, and the weight behind that word urgent gnaws at me even as I move to my wardrobe.

I'm rifling through the neatly pressed shirts when a knock rattles my door-hard, impatient. Alexa. I already know it's her before I even open it.

She storms in without invitation, eyes sharp, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I told you Marcus and I broke up," she snaps, her voice laced with accusation. "And minutes later he shows up half-dead, bruised all over. Do I need a fortune-teller to tell me who's behind it?"

Her tone carries more hurt than anger, though she tries to mask it. I study her in silence for a beat, my jaw tightening. She doesn't understand that her pain makes me burn in ways I can't control.

"He's lucky I didn't have my gun," I mutter, closing the door behind her.

Her shoulders drop, frustration spilling into her sigh. "Baron, I won't have you murdering people for me. I'm relieved you wore a mask. If anyone connected it back to you, things would be... worse than you think."

The calm way she says it makes my blood rise hotter. She underestimates me, as if I'm a reckless fool with no sense of survival. I turn from her, walking toward the wall of portraits that looms over the room.

"You seem to forget who I am." I gesture to the large frame above my head. "Tell me what you see."

She narrows her eyes, scanning the photograph. "Men. All seated around a table."

I nod once. "Men who no longer exist. Because I killed them."

Her gasp is sharp and unguarded, and for a moment she looks at me as though she doesn't recognize who's standing in front of her. I can't help the dark laugh that slips from my chest.

"I only restrain myself so I don't get caught," I continue, my voice steady, deliberate. "But if anyone threatens me-or you-I won't hesitate. They'll end up just like those men."

I leave her staring at the frame and return to the bed, laying out the clothes I'd chosen. She watches me, horror and curiosity warring across her face.

"How do you become like this?" she whispers finally. "Cold-blooded. A menace."

I cross the room and stop before her. The distance between us feels charged, heavy with everything unsaid.

"No one teaches you to be cold-blooded. You learn." My voice hardens. "My godfather drilled it into me: power is taken at the barrel of a gun. You prove it, or you're nothing."

I point back at the wall. "Those men weren't just criminals. They orchestrated atrocities. They're the ones who arranged my mother's death." My throat tightens as I force the words out. "So yes, I chose this life. I chose it because of her."

Her lips part, but the silence stretches. At last she shakes her head.

"Then I should be afraid. Living under the same roof as you-I can't trust a killer. There's no limit to what you might do."

That stings in a way bullets never could. I laugh bitterly. "I've saved your life twice already. Three times if you count Marcus. Do you really think I'd kill you? Or your mother?"

She swallows, holding my gaze with reluctant defiance. "A killer can never be trusted."

The words land like a blade, and before I can answer she turns on her heel and leaves. The echo of the door closing feels louder than it should.

I stand alone in the silence, hating myself for letting her glimpse beneath the mask. I was never supposed to let any woman close. But there's something about Alexa-something I can't seem to push away.

Maybe time will reveal whether she destroys me, or saves me.

Hours later, I pull into the long, gravel driveway of George's mansion. I'd taken a car from my private warehouse, one few even knew existed. The less the underworld tied me to my movements, the better.

George waits at the entrance, silver hair glinting under the porch light, posture still commanding despite the years. His eyes sharpen the moment he sees me.

"You don't age a day," he says dryly as I approach.

I grip his hand firmly, bowing slightly to kiss the heavy ring on his finger. "It's good to see you strong, boss."

He doesn't return the smile. "I'd say the same, but you've made a mistake. That's why you're here."

My shoulders stiffen. "What mistake?"

"Word is spreading. Several Skull gang members found dead in a tunnel near your family house."

I keep my face neutral. "Maybe they angered the wrong people."

His gaze pierces mine. "Or maybe it was you."

The air between us stills. He knows. Of course he knows. He raised me in this business, trained me to be the man I am. He can read my silences better than anyone.

I break eye contact, exhaling slowly. "I did what was necessary."

"Necessary?" His voice rises. "You've just declared war, Baron. You've inherited a deadly enemy."

"They can't trace it back to me," I counter. "I was masked."

He steps closer, lowering his tone but not the weight of his words. "Maybe. But Lucifer won't stop until he finds the man responsible. And when he does, he'll burn everything you've built."

The name stirs a shadow in my chest. Lucifer. Ruthless, unrelenting. A reflection of the worst parts of myself.

"I've killed more men than I can count," I remind him, my voice tight. "I could swim in their blood if I wanted. If Lucifer comes, he'll end the same way."

George's hand grips my shoulder firmly. "He's like you, Baron. Cold, relentless. The only difference is, he already commands an empire of loyalty. If you force this war, who will stand with you?"

His question lingers. I don't answer, because the truth is bitter. Few would risk their lives for me.

Still, I can't imagine bowing to Lucifer. My jaw sets, resolve hardening like stone.

"I don't care if it's twenty against one," I say at last, my voice low, steady. "I'll be ready."