The Tyrant's Stolen Bride-Chapter 121: Get Rid of Her

Meanwhile, at the brothel, Gio gripped the phone, pressing it to his ear, frowning. It had been three days since Kiera’s last call.

She had safely arrived in Mistvale and called him to ask about the brothel. After that last call, she did not contact him again.

When he tried to reach her, every attempt went straight to the operator. The dead line in his ear left a tight knot in his chest.

Kiera had ignored his warning.

He was afraid the bad thing might happen to him either, because they had both done dirty work in the past.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and continued his work, though the emotion gnawed at him.

Not far from him, Martin rose from his seat and walked to the counter, where he was working the register.

The glare never left him, but he barely noticed as his thoughts clouded by worry.

Martin left the building, weaving past several streetwalkers trying to lure customers. He unlocked his car and slipped inside. The engine started, but he had no intention of driving away.

A few knocks on the window from the persistent women went ignored as he paid them no mind, sitting in silence, waiting.

Before long, just as he’d expected, Gio left earlier than he was supposed to, before his shift was over.

In a rush, Gio bolted to his car and drove straight to his apartment. Less than an hour later, he emerged from the building carrying a suitcase, clearly planning to make a quick escape.

By the time he arrived at the airport underground parking, he hurriedly stepped out of the car and fumbled to open the trunk.

He didn’t realize he was being followed until footsteps crept up behind him.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Kane drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. He then tugged his jacket slightly, revealing that he was armed.

Gio raised his hands slowly as the thought struck him. This had to be one of the men who had taken Kiera, yet Kane’s face was unfamiliar.

His eyes darted around the underground parking area, searching the shadows, instinctively checking for a second or third presence.

His gaze shifted back to Kane. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Don’t ask questions. Just follow," Kane replied, tilting his head toward a nearby car. "Move."

Hesitantly, Gio turned and started walking. As he took a few steps, the silence pressed in around him.

He couldn’t spot anyone else, which made him confident it was just Kane. That realization sparked a flicker of courage, and he suddenly moved forward, bolting away from Kane.

He dashed but his old eyes failed to notice Martin’s shadow lying in wait ahead.

Martin jumped in front of him and delivered a punch to his face. Gio staggered before collapsing onto the concrete.

"Tsk..." Martin shook his hand, flexing his fingers. "I hit him too hard. Didn’t mean to knock the old man out," he muttered to himself.

"Come on. Move him," he ordered, signaling to two burly men who stepped out from the shadows.

They dragged Gio’s unconscious body across the floor and shoved him into the trunk of a waiting sedan.

Martin and Kane climbed into the sports car ahead. The engine growled as they pulled out, the sedan following closely behind as both vehicles exited the underground parking.

...

Elsewhere, high above the city, the penthouse was hazy with smoke, pale wisps clinging to the glass walls as they drifted and curled overhead.

Dante stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, a cigarette resting between his fingers as he watched the city lights below shimmer like distant stars.

After a moment, he turned away and walked to the sofa, where a low table and an ashtray waited.

He stubbed out the cigarette, then slipped quietly into the bathroom. Slowly, the white robe he wore slid down to the floor.

One leg at a time, he stepped into the bathtub and settled into the warm water, letting it rise around him.

"Come here. Wash me," he ordered.

The woman, blonde hair, blue eyes, strikingly beautiful, had been in the shower and turned off the water upon hearing his invitation.

She bit her lower lip as she approached. Her gaze was fixed on him. It lingered on his muscular, firm body, marked with faint scars.

Slowly, she let her fingers trace those lines, brushing over each mark with a gentle, lingering touch.

She leaned close enough to breathe her words into his ear. "Close your eyes. Let me do the rest."

A smile curved on her lips as she picked up the sponge, squeezing soap, then gently rubbed his body, her touch careful and practiced.

Dante closed his eyes as she told, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. His mind wandered, crowded with thoughts he could not silence.

He had no shortage of women, yet satisfaction always slipped through his fingers. None of them stirred him the way he wanted.

When had Lyra taken hold so completely? When had fascination crossed into obsession?

He was certain of one thing. She was nothing like the others. They came to him easily, predictably, but she was different, and that difference haunted him.

The further she pushed herself away, the more fiercely he pursued her, consumed by an almost desperate need to possess her.

Yet, in the next moment, his thoughts shifted.

She weighed heavily on his mind and in his heart, a presence he felt he needed to remove if he ever wanted to free himself from the darkness gnawing within.

He should get rid of her so he could live the way he used to.

She needed to pay for it, for making him waste his time chasing her.

"Yes... she needs to pay. Then I’ll get rid of her." He muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter even as they left him.

The woman, catching his words, asked softly, "What’s on your mind? Tell me... you seem troubled."

Her coaxing, almost playful tone did nothing to calm him, leaving his mind in a tighter, more suffocating knot.

"Leave." Dante said suddenly, his tone sharp with displeasure.

"No—" the woman started to protest, but he turned his gaze toward her, his expression dark and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

The sponge in her hand slipped to the floor, and she quickly stood up, backing toward the door.