ACE's pov
I stood up behind the closed anesthetic doors of my father's office.
I couldn't tell what would happen in the very next few minutes, after I knocked Red out of consciousness, I left the room immediately. I didn't know what to do at that moment, I could feel the strength of my soul, leave. I was at a loss for words.
That was rare.
Ace had to kill and torture now, but I couldn't. Not after seeing her face.
So rare for me.
As I eagerly awaited Sin's arrival on that fateful night, I watched with bated breath as he engaged my henchmen in combat, leaving a trail of blood and lifeless bodies in his wake.
There was an odd satisfaction that emanated from within me as I witnessed the demise of Kasemiro, a man I had never held in high regard or bestowed with my respect. I already needed him to die, so Sin had already done it for me. I wanted him to.
And about my men whom Sin has killed, they deserve it. But I can sense that Sin knew that it was a trap, he had fallen into my trap. I wanted him to bring Red out of my own house.
In my world, respect was something to be earned, and he had failed to do so.
With a firm yet hesitant push, I swung open the heavy doors, revealing only the piercing gaze of the middle-aged man stationed inside the room. My father. The coldness in his eyes was palpable as he observed my entry, his unwavering stare bearing down on me.
"You are well aware of the consequences of your actions, Ace," he uttered, his voice taking on a raspier tone than before. "You should have killed her when you had to. Now she ran away and killed one of our underboss."
He was also one of your rats.
I was glad he wasn't here that night while he was in Italy with the Salvatores.
A retort formed in my mind, a silent thought that reminded me that I was not the one who had been unable to defend myself. However, I chose to remain silent in the face of my father's accusation, directing my gaze unwaveringly toward his, devoid of any hint of remorse or emotion.
"You understand what needs to be done, don't you, Ace?" he inquired, his hand sliding through his salt-and-pepper hair. As I nodded in affirmation, he gestured with his hand, indicating my dismissal from the office. "I want her head."
But before I left, the last words that reverberated in my ears were, "Bring it to me on a silver plate, Ace."
As I closed the door behind me, a surge of anticipation coursed through my veins. my father desired a head to be presented to him on a silver platter, and my mind buzzed with excitement as I contemplated whose head would be the one resting on that coveted silver plate.
Inna's pov
I was again limping down the stairs, and it took me time.
Concerned, Mikhail's voice broke the silence. "You, okay?"
"Do you want me to carry you?" Mikhail inquired, but I shook my head, taking a limping step forward. "I think I'm okay."
"Inna, please don't be stubborn," he urged.
"I'm not," I snapped back at him.
"Just let me do this."
Reluctantly, Mikhail stepped back, granting my request, though I could sense his readiness to catch me if I were to stumble. I urged my feet onward, attempting to focus on my breathing rather than the throbbing pain in my knee and ribs. Deep down, I knew I should allow him to carry me, but my pride stubbornly resisted. Regrettably, my irate reverie was interrupted when Olga's voice sliced through the air.
