"Have you lost your mind?" Greg stood in the doorway, staring at the girl who was casually eating like nothing had happened.
She didn't even flinch.
After hours of hunting her down after nearly losing his mind with rage, this was what he came back to?
She had vanished his men found nothing. He swore to himself: if he found her alive, he'd tie her up and make her regret it.
Now, here she was, Calm and Chewing.
And I look like a damn fool.
"Wow, the food smells amazing. Mind if I join?" Eliot strolled in, grabbed a plate, and served himself like it was his house.
Greg's jaw tightened. He turned and walked away before he exploded. Sage glanced at Eliot, then down at her empty plate.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" she asked quietly.
Eliot sighed, mouth full. "Probably… You made him mad and not the 'throw-a-glass' kind. The 'kill-you-in-silence' kind."
Sage forced a small laugh. "He's nice when he talks… it's the quiet that scares me."
Eliot looked around. "You're lucky, you know. You walk around this house like you belong here. Most girls would never be allowed in the main wing."
That explained the harsh stares from the maids earlier.
Sage nodded slowly. "I remember when I first came… there weren't even any other women. He must've brought them in so I wouldn't feel out of place."
"He did," Eliot admitted.
"Then why does he treat me like this?" she asked softly, placing her plate on the wooden table.
Eliot paused. "I'm not supposed to say this, but…"
—
That conversation haunted her as she lay in bed later, staring at the ceiling.
Eliot's words left a rift in her soul.
Whatever Greg felt, whatever twisted thing this was, it was deeper than she wanted to admit.
Meanwhile, Eliot wandered into Greg's private quarters, slouching into the oversized chair that everyone seemed to respect without reason.
On his way in, he caught a glimpse of Greg in the gym.
Shirtless and Bleeding, punching the bag like it had betrayed him.
Eliot sank deeper into the velvet chair in Greg's room, eyes drifting across the polished marble floor.
Same old storm.
His gaze landed on the scar across his palm, and remembered.
Years ago — somewhere in the Dead District
Eliot was thirteen, bleeding, and about five seconds from dying.
He'd stolen a pack of cigarettes from the wrong guy and ended up cornered behind a warehouse, ribs cracked, hands trembling, and teeth marks still fresh on his neck.
The dog hadn't even been the worst part.
"Get up, bitch," the gang kid spat, boot pressing down on Eliot's chest. "You wanna act tough, you die tough."
Eliot coughed, blood bubbling on his lips. "Screw you."
Then—
Bang.
A rock slammed into the side of the guy's head, he stumbled. A boy stepped out of the shadows. Maybe fourteen, barefoot and Shirtless. Eyes black like obsidian.
"Pick on someone your own size," the boy said.
The gang kid lunged… but Greg moved like a ghost, two punches, One knee to the gut.
Then silence.
The kid was down, groaning. Greg walked over and stared down at Eliot. "You still breathing?"
"Barely."
"Then you've got a choice… Get up… Or die like trash."
Eliot forced himself up, holding his side. "You always this charming?"
Greg didn't smile just turned walking way and Eliot followed.
That night, they broke into an old drug house and slept on opposite sides of a torn-up couch. No words, no warmth, Just blood and silence.
By morning, they were brothers, not the kind with matching tattoos but the kind that bled together, survived together… and killed together.
That same week, they joined La Sere Nera, the Black Serpent mafia.
Nobody trusted them and So they fought harder not to prove to anyone but to build power. And all the time Greg protected Elliot not because he was weak but because he was family.
Eliot blinked, the weight of memory still clinging to him.
Then… "you gonna sit there all day like a widow?"
Greg stood in the doorway, voice dry, knuckles bloodied, and not a trace of warmth in his eyes.
Eliot smirked, Same old bastard.