Chapter 9

Salvatore

I walked down the dimly lit hallway, each step resonating with the weight of my thoughts. Michael and I had shared something last night, and it wasn't just a sexual act; it was a connection I hadn't anticipated, a vulnerability I wasn't accustomed to. It left me feeling exposed, teetering on the edge of emotions I had long buried. I was a bit anxious, but that foreign fluttering in my stomach made me smile with eagerness as I reached his door. Everything ended the second I walked in.

Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, an envelope clutched tightly in his hands. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression a mix of anguish and fury. As soon as he saw me, he stood up; the envelope shaking in his grip.

"Vincent," he began, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You lied to me."

I frowned, stepping closer. "What are you talking about, Michael?"

He thrust the envelope at me, his eyes blazing. "This! Ryan gave me this before he left. I opened it, and it's a goodbye letter! Along with our freedom contract, if he completes this assignment. But he won't, will he? He said where you're sending him and what for, Vincent…. You said he was safe!"

My heart sank. The situation was spiraling out of control faster than I could manage. "Michael, let me explain—"

"Explain?" He cut me off, his voice rising. "You sent him on a suicide mission! You told me he was safe, and now you send him to his death? Why? To get rid of him, so you can keep me here forever? Was last night a taste of it to see if you liked it, or just a way to appease your guilt?"

His words struck like daggers. I felt a surge of anger rising within me, battling with the remorse I had been trying to suppress. "Michael, you don't understand—"

"No!" He screamed, tears streaming down his face. "I understand perfectly! You're a monster! You used me, lied to me, and now you're sending my brother to his death!"

My temper flared, the control I prided myself on slipping away. "Enough!" I shouted, my hand moving before I could stop myself. The sound of the slap echoed in the room, a harsh punctuation to the chaos.

Michael staggered back, clutching his cheek, shock and pain mingling in his eyes. Silence fell between us, heavy and suffocating. I took a step back, breathing hard, the weight of my actions sinking in.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," I said coldly, though the conviction in my voice wavered. "This is my world, and you don't get to question my decisions."

He looked at me, heartbreak and betrayal etched in every line of his face. "I thought you cared about me," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I thought... I thought you were different."

The words stung, but I couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now. "I do what I have to do," I replied, turning on my heel and leaving the room, the door slamming behind me.

As I walked away, the echo of his words followed me, a constant reminder of the lines I had crossed.

Back in my study, I poured myself a drink; the alcohol burning a path down my throat. I replayed the scene in my mind, Michael's accusations and the raw pain in his eyes. He had no idea how close he had come to the truth, how deeply his words had cut me.

I don't care. He chooses pain, I'll give him pain….

I downed another drink, trying to drown the questions that refused to be silenced. I had built my life on control, on power, on not allowing anyone to get too close. And yet, Michael had somehow slipped through the cracks, igniting feelings I had long thought buried.

Despite my lingering anger and the turmoil brewing inside me, I found myself standing outside Michael's door once more, a tray of food in hand. I had barely composed myself, my emotions still a storm beneath the surface. Steeling myself for another confrontation, I pushed open the door.

Michael was there, looking as if he hadn't moved since our last exchange. His eyes, swollen from crying, widened the moment he saw me. Before I could say a word, he sprang from the bed and threw himself at my feet, clutching my legs as if his life depended on it.

"Vincent, please," he sobbed, his voice breaking with desperation. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

His tears soaked through my trousers, and I stood there, momentarily stunned. This wasn't the defiant, angry Michael from before. This was a broken man, a man willing to do anything to save his brother.

"Michael," I began, my voice harsher than I intended, trying to mask the confusion and pain his display of raw emotion stirred within me.

He looked up at me, his face a picture of utter despair. "Please, Vincent. Stop the job. Bring Ryan back. I don't care what you do to me. I'll do anything. Just, please, don't let him die."

I felt my resolve wavering, but I couldn't show weakness. "Michael, stop—"

"No, listen to me, please!" he interrupted, his grip tightening around my legs. "You gave him that contract. You can give me a new one. Write it up. If you forgive our debt and bring him back safely, I'll stay with you. Forever. I'll be your prisoner, your lover, your slave—whatever you want. Just, please, let my brother go."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. The rawness of his plea, the absolute surrender in his voice—it was almost more than I could bear. I knelt, lifting his chin so our eyes met. The depth of his pain, his love for his brother, and his willingness to sacrifice himself for Ryan—these were emotions I had long tried to bury within myself.

"Michael," I said softly, my voice betraying the conflict I felt. "You would give up your freedom for him?"

He nodded, tears streaming down his face. "If you care for me at all, take my offer. Let my brother go."

I closed my eyes for a moment, struggling to keep my composure. Then, I made my decision. "Fine," I said, my voice firm. "If that's what you want, that's what you'll get. I'll free your brother, and you will stay in my service indefinitely."

Relief flooded his face, mixed with a fresh wave of tears. "Thank you, Vincent. Thank you."

I stood up, feeling a strange mix of triumph and regret. I had won, yet it felt like a hollow victory. "I'll have the papers drawn up. This ends now."

With that, I turned and left the room, the sound of Michael's quiet sobs following me down the hallway. As I closed the door behind me, I couldn't shake the feeling that, in gaining his submission, I had lost something far more valuable.