Page 108 of Jayson
“And now,” I say, thinking of Keira’s wide eyes, her nightmares, her broken memories, “he’s scared she knows something. That Bishop told her. Or worse… that she saw something she doesn't remember yet.”
Mason leans back in his chair, eyes narrowed. “That’d be enough to make a man like Maddox panic.”
I nod slowly, hands clenched at my sides. “And when men like Maddox panic, they make mistakes.”
“Good,” Scar says, flipping a coin and catching it mid-air. “Then let’s help him make a few more.”
42
JAYSON
The meeting ends without a word. No handshakes or pleasantries. Just the scrape of chairs and the quiet shift of men already thinking about what comes next.
I move to follow Mason out when a voice cuts behind me. Low. Precise.
“Jayson.”
I stop. It’s Scar. He’s still seated, boots planted wide, elbow resting casually on the arm of his chair, his gaze sharp.
The others filter out—Kanyan with a grunt, Lucky murmuring into his phone, Mason already halfway to the garage. But Scar doesn’t move. And I know that look. It’s the one he wears when he’s about to break you without ever touching you.
I stay by the doorway. Say nothing.
He leans forward, forearms on his thighs, tone even. Too even. “You going to tell me what the fuck this is?”
I arch a brow, tired. “This what?”
He cocks his head, amused. “Don’t play dense, Caluna. You’re not built for it.”
I say nothing, jaw tight.
His smile fades.
“You’re in love with her.”
It’s not a question. It’s a quiet accusation. One that shoulders the kind of weight that’s too heavy to carry.
My shoulders lock. “Don’t.”
“Oh, we’re already here,” he says, standing now, slow and unhurried, as if the weight of what he’s just said hasn’t landed like a grenade between us.
“You know why I married her.”
“The reason you married her means nothing to me. These things happen. I know this as well as the next person.”
And suddenly I remember—Scar didn’t choose love the way most men do. He didn’t chase it. He didn’t fall into it. He dragged it to the altar kicking and screaming. His marriage to Allegra Marone wasn’t built on romance. It was born from blood. A thirty-year-old oath between two mafia dynasties. Signed in secrets, sealed in violence. Their fathers had made the deal long before Scar and Allegra even knew what love was—hell, before they even understood hate.
When the time came, he didn’t ask her.
He summoned her.
Forced her into a silk gown, into a role, into his bed—and she fought him every inch of the way. Not with screams, but with silence. With cold stares and calculated distance. She didn’t cry. She didn’t beg. She just looked at him like she’d rather burn in her wedding dress than ever belong to him.
And Scar? Scar didn’t flinch. He wasn’t gentle, yet he wasn’t cruel. He was something worse—honest.
He told her the truth:
“This marriage wasn’t your choice. It wasn’t mine either. But I will honor it. And I will survive it, even if you don’t.”
