The Heir's obsession Chapter 13: The Bride of Destruction

Chapter 13

JACE MARINO

I don’t know how I got here, but I know where I am—my father’s dungeon. The one place I’ve hated my whole life.

What am I doing here?

How did I get here?

Voices echo at the end of the hallway. I freeze, shivering like the boy I used to be—the boy who always dreaded what waited at the end of this corridor.

"I don’t raise bastards."

My father’s voice.

My throat goes dry. The black hole I’ve avoided for years opens wide again, pulling in.

"You think your brother is coming to save you?"

His voice ricochets off the walls, venomous, vibrating through my skull.

He’s got my little brother.

He’s got Mateo.

I push myself forward, step by step, until the iron door looms

When I opened the door, Mateo was in the bathtub, half-buried in ice, his small fra shaking. Too small to be in there.

I froze at the threshold of the iron door, the dungeon pulling back in like it always did. That dark hole I could never crawl out of. My chest locked. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes felt like they’d burst. I wanted—God, I wanted—to step forward and scream at my father to stop torturing his own son. My little brother. But I couldn’t move.

"Jace."

The voice hit like a blow to the chest.

"Jace, can you hear ?"

"You’ve got to be kidding ," another voice cut in, shaky.

"Is he breathing?" The second voice broke, threaded with panic, like they were already preparing to cry.

"Big bro, can you hear ? Oh—he’s dead, he’s going to die!" Their breath fanned my face.

"Marco, shut up! He’s not dead. Go get so ice!"

Silence.

"Marco, get yourself together and go get so fucking ice. He’s breathing. Just unconscious."

Then the shock of ice rained down on . My body jerked, lungs tearing open as I sucked in air, choking on it. I blinked hard, still trapped between past and present, trying to figure out where the hell I was when—

A fist slamd into .

"Are you trying to give a heart attack?" Marco’s voice cracked. My little brother. Crying. When was the last ti I saw that?

A laugh slipped out of , rough, half-broken.

"What? You’ve got to be kidding . Laughing?" Marco’s voice went sharp with hurt.

Mateo just squatted in the corner, quiet as always, watching.

"I’m fine," I rasped, not even recognizing my own voice. I cleared my throat. "I’m fine."

"No, you’re not!" Marco snapped, breath quick and shallow. "What if we hadn’t gotten here in ti? You would have been—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I can’t have that, Ettore."

My middle na. He only used it when he was really shaken. None of my brothers touched that na unless shit was serious.

"And by the way you reacted—" Marco’s eyes flicked to Mateo. "This isn’t the first ti, is it?"

Silence.

"I’m right." He paused, jaw tight. "I’ll be hearing about this. But not now. Your bride’s arriving in less than an hour. We’re picking her up."

He left the room without another word.

Mateo and I exhaled at the sa ti, exchanging a glance that said everything.

He knew about my nightmares. I knew about his. We’d vowed not to go to a therapist—because what good would it do? Our father’s lessons weren’t wounds to heal. They were scars carved deep, branded into us in the na of making us "responsible heirs."

Marco didn’t know. He was never supposed to. Despite his tattoos, the muscle, the big-man act—he was the most sensitive of us. Just a baby, no matter how he looked.

And now? Now he was going to find out. And when he did, he’d freak out, smother us with worry, turn his protectiveness into chains.

The last thing either of us needed.

When we reached the airport, sothing in the air soured.

The atmosphere slled wrong.

We had company.

Great.

Mateo was walking ahead of us.

He spotted her first. He would—he’s the one who’s been handling all the arrangents behind my back, while I’ve been too busy trying not to set the whole world on fire.

She stood a few feet away, waiting, smiling like she actually belonged in this chaos. A flowery yellow dress, soft fabric hugging a narrow waist before falling neatly below her knees. Too delicate for this place. Too delicate for .

But there is sothing I can’t pinpoint.

"We have company" Marco whispered

"I know" I replied

"Seems like her fathers n" he added

They were stationed just far enough to not seem obvious. Watching. asuring. Like vultures deciding if they should circle closer.

"Whatever they are, I don’t care, we get her to the hotel, clean, and fast. After that, I’ll figure out how to kill this whole circus before the wedding" I muttered

"You think you can pull sothing in a city crawling with your father’s n?" Marco muttered low enough only I could hear.

I shot him a glare. "He’s your father too."

His mouth twitched into a smirk, but it vanished in a heartbeat. His eyes hardened.

"How about that boy you’ve got a thing for?"

My chest went tight. "He’s fine."

"Does he know about this?"

"No."

"What if he finds out?"

"He won’t," I snapped. "Nobody knows except us and Father."

Marco tilted his head. "And Enzo."

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I’d forgotten.

The mont we closed the distance.

She didn’t waste ti.

She slipped her hand through mine like it belonged there. Too smooth, too practiced.

"Mr. Jace" she said, voice soft, almost sweet—but her eyes... cold steel under the sugar.

She’s wearing the mask well.

"Finally." She said

"You know my na. Congratulations."

Her smile didn’t waver. "Of course. You’re my husband-to-be."

Mateo shifted uncomfortably, Marco smirked under his breath, but I kept my face unreadable.

"You’re early," I said.

"Or maybe you’re late." She leaned in just slightly, like she was testing . "Either way, I’m here now. And I don’t like waiting."

She squeezed my hand, just enough to make her point.

I wanted to rip it free, but with her father’s n watching, the ga had already started. And this girl? She was going to make it hell for .