Chapter 183 - 0183: Someone Is Going To Pay For This

Chapter 183: Chapter 0183: Someone Is Going To Pay For This

Elena’s Point Of View

"Who did this to you?" His voice came out a growl, low and dangerous, each word a promise of dark retribution that made the air in the suite freeze.

My fingers twitched at my sides, my heart still pounding from the adrenaline, from the fight, from the sheer, staggering relief of being out of that house, out of Graham’s clutches. Even now, minutes later, my body hadn’t caught up to the truth that I was safe. Every muscle remained coiled tight, braced for a threat that no longer existed.

I exhaled, long and slow, my shoulders sagging as I leaned heavily against the back of the plush leather chair Jaxx had pulled out for me. "No one in particular." My voice sounded hoarse, raw, like I’d been screaming for hours. "I did it to myself."

The memory of pounding my fists against the heavy oak study door, of the glass shattering, of the raw panic clawing at my throat flashed vividly through my mind, and my stomach twisted at the vividness of it. "Graham locked me in his study, and I... well, I became agitated." A bitter, hollow laugh escaped me. "It’s fine, Jaxx. Really. Just a few scrapes."

He didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, towering over me, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle ticked like a bomb counting down to detonation. Something dangerous simmered behind his stillness, something that made the hair on my arms rise.

"Agitated," he repeated softly, the word dripping with a terrifying kind of calm as he stepped closer, his shadow engulfing me completely. "You shatter mahogany and leaded glass until your knuckles are split to the bone, and you call it being agitated?"

"What was I supposed to do, sit there and wait for him to decide my fate?" I spat back, the residual fire in my veins flaring up despite my exhaustion. "I had to get out, Jaxx! I couldn’t breathe in that house anymore. Every second spent behind that locked door felt like a nail in my coffin."

"You should have let my men take the door down," he growled, his hands flexing at his sides like he was physically fighting the urge to tear the world apart for what had happened to me. "That’s what they were there for. Not for you to shred your own skin."

"I didn’t have time to wait for a tactical breach!" I argued, my voice cracking slightly. "I heard his footsteps in the hall. I wasn’t going to let him touch me again."

Jaxx went completely still at those words. The ambient heat in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees. A dark, suffocating intensity settled over his features, the kind of stillness that usually preceded absolute devastation in the Moretti empire. I had seen that look before, years ago, right before he made someone disappear from our lives entirely.

It hadn’t frightened me then, and strangely, it didn’t frighten me now. If anything, some small, broken part of me found comfort in it, in knowing that his devotion hadn’t dimmed with the years, that it had only grown sharper teeth.

Before he could turn away, his hand shot out, wrapping firm but agonizingly gentle around my wrist, pulling me up out of the chair and flush against his body. The sudden proximity hit me like a physical force... his chest was a wall of pure muscle, rising and falling in sharp, controlled breaths, the heat radiating off him almost dizzying. I could feel his heartbeat hammering beneath my palm where it landed against his sternum, betraying the calm he wore like armor.

"What did he do?" Jaxx low-growled, his voice stripped of all color, raw and deadly.

I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat, trying to pull back just an inch, but his arm wrapped around my waist, anchoring me tightly against his hip. "Nothing, Jaxx."

"Tell me, Bambina," he demanded, his hand moving up to cup the side of my neck, his thumb resting over my erratic pulse. His eyes burned into mine, pitch-black and unrelenting. "How did he touch you?"

A shudder ran through me, the phantom memory making my skin crawl. My stomach twisted with the shame that never should have been mine to carry, and yet it clung to me anyway, sticky and suffocating. "He... he forced a kiss on me," I whispered, the words barely carrying across the small space between us. "Right before I broke the glass."

The silence that followed was deafening. It pressed against my eardrums, thick and heavy, broken only by the ragged sound of his breathing.

Jaxx’s jaw clenched so violently I thought the bone might snap. A dangerous, terrifying vein throbbed at his temple, and his grip on my waist tightened just enough to let me feel the sheer, unbridled rage vibrating through his entire frame.

He closed his eyes for two agonizing seconds, forcing down the lethal impulse to burn the world to the ground right then and there. I watched him war with himself, watched the muscles along his throat work as he swallowed down whatever violent words wanted to spill first.

When his eyes snapped open, the golden flecks in them were entirely gone, replaced by a cold, murderous promise.

"I’m going to rip his throat out," he whispered softly, his voice eerily calm, contrasting horribly with the promise of violence in his words. "He touched you with those lips, and now I’m going to make sure he never speaks, breathes, or touches another living soul again."

He leaned down, pressing a hard, fierce kiss directly to the corner of my mouth, wiping away the memory of Graham’s touch with his own possessive warmth. For a moment, I let myself lean into it, let the ferocity of him chase away the lingering cold that Graham had left behind.

"Wait here for me," he murmured against my skin, his voice an absolute command that left zero room for argument.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned and walked toward the kitchenette, his movements fluid, controlled, like a dangerous predator stalking around its territory. I heard the clink of glass, the metallic snap of a first aid kit being pulled from a cabinet, and the heavy thud of his footsteps returning.

When he came back, he was holding a small medical kit, his expression set in that stubborn, unyielding way that told me he wasn’t asking permission. There was something almost tender in the way he studied my hands then, as though the sight of my ruined knuckles pained him more than any bullet ever could.

He dropped down onto one knee before me.

Right there, on the hardwood floor, like I was something incredibly fragile, something worth bending his pride for. A man whose name made syndicate heads tremble, kneeling on cold wood just to be level with my chair. His dark head bent over my hands, his large, calloused fingers startlingly gentle as he unscrewed a bottle of antiseptic and dabbed a soaked cotton pad onto my split knuckles.

I watched the top of his head, the small silver streak threading through his dark hair that hadn’t been there eight years ago, and felt something in my chest crack quietly open.

The sharp sting made me hiss, my body jerking back instinctively, but his other hand slid up to close around my wrist, holding me steady without squeezing.

"Easy, Bambina," his voice came low, rough, like gravel ground under heavy boots. "I got you."

"It stings, Jaxx," I murmured, watching the stark contrast between his bruised, tattooed knuckles and my torn skin.

"I know it stings," he said softly, blowing a warm stream of air over the raw cuts to soothe the fire of the alcohol. "It’s supposed to. Means you’re alive. Means you’re here with me and not in that estate anymore."

I swallowed hard, watching him. This side of him... this quiet, surprisingly careful side, always left me completely disarmed. Jaxx wasn’t soft. He wasn’t gentle. He was fire and storm, rage and dark ambition, a Moretti through and through, a man who took what he wanted and burned everything else to the ground.

But this? This kneeling before me, this quiet care, this absolute focus on my tiny injuries, undid me in ways violence never could. It reminded me of the boy he used to be before the empire swallowed him whole, before the weight of his name turned him into something the world feared.

"Someone is going to pay for this," he growled quietly, his gaze lifting to mine for a fraction of a second before dropping back to my hands. The absolute certainty in his tone sent a cold shiver straight down my spine. "Every scratch. Every bruise. I’m going to take it out of his hide inch by inch."

"Jaxx..." I started, trying to pull my hand back, but he cut me off with a sharp look. "Don’t talk like that. Graham has connections, he has..."

"Graham has nothing," Jaxx interrupted smoothly, his tone ice cold. "He had six years of your life, and tonight his time ran out. Don’t waste your breath giving him power in this room."

"Shhh, princess." His thumb brushed lightly against the unharmed skin of my wrist, his touch sending an unexpected jolt through me. "Don’t worry your small head about it."

His lips quirked, just a fraction of an inch, like he knew exactly how infuriating that phrase would sound.

I stared at him, my mouth falling open in utter disbelief. "Excuse you?" My voice went high, sharp with indignation, my cheeks flaming hot. "Small head? Are you serious right now? I’m sitting here dealing with psychological trauma and you’re critiquing my anatomy?"