Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF WAR
We barely made it out of the hotel before Vale realized his empire was collapsing. The drive back to the estate was silent, the air thick with adrenaline and unspoken confessions.
When we arrived, Ricardo bypassed his study and led me straight to his private quarters. He poured two glasses of scotch, handing me one. His hands were shaking slightly—not from fear, but from the raw aftermath of violence.
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"I almost lost you tonight," he said, his voice breaking. He stepped forward, taking the glass from my hands and setting it aside. "I have spent my life building walls, Clara. Being untouchable. But when I saw Sato raising that gun to you... I realized none of it mattered if you weren't standing beside me."
He kissed me then—a desperate, consuming kiss that tasted of scotch and survival. I kissed him back, pouring all my grief, all my longing, and all my newfound strength into him. For the first time in years, neither of us was drowning. We were finally holding onto something real.
