Then the door swung open and Livvy felt the shift before she saw him. The scarred man stiffened, stepping back abruptly, head bowed in submission.
Even his men—who had been leering, grinning like wolves—went rigid.
Boots clicked against the floor. Unhurried. Precise.
A figure stopped before them, draped in shadows, face obscured. But the aura—the suffocating, cold menace—sent ice through Livvy’s veins.
The Ghost.
***
The stories hadn’t done him justice. His eyes were ice-blue, devoid of warmth, expression smooth and unreadable. The kind of calm that promised violence without ever raising his voice.
Even Storm’s glare faltered, his jaw clenching hard enough to crack. Livvy forced herself to breathe.
The Ghost’s gaze flicked to her, head tilting slightly.
“You’re Michael’s sister,” he mused, voice soft, almost pleasant. Like they weren’t bloody and bound at his feet.
Livvy’s breath shuddered.
She clenched her fists. Forced the words out, raw and pleading.
“Where’s Michael?”
***
Then—without a flicker of emotion—the Ghost snapped his fingers. A second man stepped forward, cradling a small black box. He placed it on the table between them, the lid glinting faintly in the dim light.
Livvy’s gut twisted.
Something in the air shifted.
Storm’s entire body coiled, muscles pulled tight.
The Ghost lifted the lid.
Inside was a severed finger. Michael’s pinkie ring still looped around the bruised, bloody skin.
The world tilted. A raw, broken scream tore from Livvy’s throat. Her vision blurred. Tears streaked hot down her cheeks. Her brother.
God, no.
Storm’s chair rattled violently as he strained against his bindings, eyes wild with fury. Luca’s snarl was animalistic, veins bulging in his neck.
The Ghost watched them all with a mild, almost bored expression.
“You asked,” he said lightly.
“So I delivered.”
Livvy couldn’t breathe. Michael’s ring. His blood.
Storm’s voice was a guttural growl, lethal and unhinged. His eyes locked on the Ghost with murderous promise.
“You’re dead,” he rasped. “I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands, you sick—”
A gun pressed to his temple, silencing him. The Ghost sighed.
Almost wistful. “And here I thought we could have a civilized conversation.”
His eyes flicked back to Livvy, lips curling at the edges in something that might’ve been a smile.
“But now that we’re all settled in—”
His voice dropped, smooth as a knife sliding through silk.
“Shall we try this again?”