Too Late For Regret: The Syndicate's Queen

Nadia POV

Leo flinched, his hand jerking so that water sloshed over the rim of the glass. His eyes, when they met mine, were wide with the terror of a cornered animal.

Chloe emitted a high-pitched shriek and burrowed her face into his shoulder, a pantomime of fear.

I stood in the doorway, staring at the man I had been arranged to marry for three long years.

I thought about his constant coldness toward me—the way he always claimed he was too stressed by family business to show me any affection.

Now I was watching him meticulously stroke the hair of a club dancer, soothing her fake tears with gentle whispers.

My unwavering loyalty had been nothing but a massive, pathetic joke.

I turned my back on them and walked straight into the sprawling kitchen to gather my personal documents.

Leo hastily threw on his clothes and marched into the kitchen a few moments later.

His face was set in a hard, authoritative scowl, as though I were the one who had transgressed.

Chloe trailed behind him, wearing one of my expensive designer silk robes.

Leo pointed a finger at me. "Pour a glass of wine for Chloe," he ordered, the command a sharp crack in the tense air. "On your knees, so she knows you accept her position in this household."

"She is carrying my heirs," he continued, lifting his chin. "And when you're done, pack your things. I want you out of this penthouse immediately."

I looked at the wine bottle on the marble counter, then back at his demanding face. A traditional omertà submission ritual—forcing a slighted fiancée to serve her replacement on bended knee. He was testing whether I would still obey.

"I am not going anywhere," I replied, my voice unnaturally quiet. "I refuse to leave this territory until my father's men arrive to transport my belongings safely."

I let the wine bottle sit untouched, my hands remaining at my sides.

Chloe's smug expression flickered. She glanced at Leo, waiting for him to enforce the command. He didn't. The silence stretched, heavy and unbearable.

She snatched an apple from the fruit bowl herself, trying to reclaim the moment. It rolled off the edge, hit the floor, and bounced directly into her own legs, leaving a faint smudge of dust on the pristine silk.

Chloe gasped dramatically and dropped to her knees on the hardwood floor.

She clutched her stomach, crying hysterically. "Leo!" she pleaded, her whispers echoing through the kitchen. "The shock... it hurts! What if I lose the heirs?"

She scrambled up without waiting for a reply and ran down the hallway, her sobs muffled by her hands.

Leo lunged forward and shoved me violently against the edge of the marble counter.

The sharp corner of the stone drove into my fourth lumbar vertebra, sending a jolt of white-hot pain up my spine that made my diaphragm seize.

He stormed over to the fruit bowl, grabbed another apple, and forcefully shoved it into my hands.

He leaned close to my face, his breath hot and angry. "Peel it for her. On your knees," he commanded.

It was a twisted obedience test—a pathetic display of mob hierarchy to prove he was still the boss.

I let the apple drop from my hands. My bare heel came down upon it, and the sound of the flesh splitting was wet and final as the juice bled into the grout.

I looked him dead in the eye. "The alliance between our families is severed," I declared.

"I will never serve you, your mistress, or the bastards she carries."

A dark, mottled flush crept up his neck.

The gears of his fragile pride, so accustomed to my compliance, seemed to grind to a halt.

"You are nothing but a barren, useless burden!" he roared, hurling a string of vile insults at me.

His jaw muscle twitched violently, a single, sharp spasm. His arm swung in a blur of motion, the sound of it cutting the air preceding the impact.

The force of the blow snapped my head to the side, leaving a burning, stinging heat on my cheek.

I tasted the metallic tang of blood inside my mouth.

I turned back to him, my hand closing around a heavy marble coaster on the island. My arm moved, a fluid extension of my will, and I sent the coaster spinning toward the glass display cabinet in the foyer.

The sound of the impact was a sharp explosion, followed by the musical chime of shattering glass.

The framed photograph of our childhood betrothal ceremony fell from the shelf and crashed to the floor.

Glass splintered over our smiling younger faces.

Chloe rushed back into the room, stepping carefully near the debris, and suddenly cried out.

She held up her foot, claiming a tiny shard of glass had cut her.

Leo rushed to her side, examining a practically invisible scratch, and turned his furious glare back on me.

"You're endangering my family!" he spat, cradling her foot as if it were fatally wounded.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and sneered at him.

"You are out of your mind," I told him, each word a carefully polished stone of contempt, "if you think I would ever play the docile stepmother to your illegitimate spawn."

Leo grabbed my arm, his fingers digging painfully into my skin, and violently pushed me deeper into the kitchen.

"Prepare a meal for us," he snarled, shoving me toward the stove. "And reflect on your insubordination until you learn some respect."

He grabbed a raw potato from the vegetable basket and threw it at me with all his strength.

It struck me hard in the center of my chest, stealing my breath for a second time.

He turned his back and escorted Chloe out of the room, leaving me alone in the silence.

I caught my breath and looked down at the floor near the kitchen island.

The metal trash can was overflowing.

Sitting right on top of the garbage were the dried flowers I had given him, the custom-engraved watch from my father, and every single symbolic gift of our childhood bond.

A crushing pressure built in my chest, a physical weight that made it difficult to draw a full breath.

I stared at the discarded pieces of my entire life, waiting for the tears to come.

They never did.

The pressure slowly faded away, leaving nothing behind but a vast, cold emptiness.

The part of me that had been capable of love or loyalty felt as if it had been surgically excised, leaving behind only smooth, numb scar tissue.

I looked at the trash can one last time. Then I pulled out my phone and sent Gabriel a single line: "I'm ready."