Chapter Six: The Dangerous One

I should’ve known Jace would be the one to show up next.

After Kai’s little interrogation-slash-mind-maze yesterday, I was emotionally bruised and barely holding myself together. But I wasn’t allowed the luxury of recovery in this place. Not when each heir took turns pulling me apart like I was a game piece on their dark little board.

This morning, I opened my door to find a note on the tray instead of food.

"Come downstairs. You owe me some fun. —J"

Fun.

That word had no business coming from Jace Romano’s mouth. His version of fun involved smirks that felt like daggers, questions that poked where it hurt, and smiles that said I dare you to break in front of me.

Still, I went.

Because not going would probably have consequences. And I was starting to learn how consequences worked here—painful, unpredictable, and always laced with some kind of twisted lesson.

I found him in the games room.

Of course he had a games room.

Dark walls, leather couches, shelves of vintage liquor bottles, and a massive pool table in the center. The whole place smelled faintly of cigar smoke and some ridiculously expensive cologne.

Jace leaned casually against the table, cue stick in one hand, a whiskey glass in the other.

“Well, well,” he said as I stepped in, “the little bird decided to fly back into the lion’s den.”

“Not a lion,” I muttered. “More like a snake with good hair.”

He grinned. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

I didn’t sit. I didn’t speak.

He sipped his drink and gestured toward the pool table. “You play?”

“I breathe,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I’m any good at it.”

“Perfect,” he said, setting down his glass. “I like a challenge.”

I folded my arms. “What are we doing, Jace?”

He chalked the cue lazily, eyes half-lidded. “We’re talking.”

“That’s what your brother does. You? You bait.”

He didn’t deny it.

“Every time I see you,” I added, “you’re trying to push some button I don’t know I have.”

“That’s because you’ve never figured out how many you actually do have,” he said, eyes flicking up. “And I’m just dying to find out what happens when I press the wrong one.”

I stepped closer. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“No.” He smiled. “I think you want to be.”

I stared at him.

It was strange how beautiful Jace was. Not in the clean, sculpted way Nikolai carried himself, or the mysterious calm of Enzo. No—Jace was chaos in human skin. The kind of handsome that burned too hot and too fast. The kind that left you scorched long after the touch.

And he knew it.

That made him dangerous.

“Tell me about the photo,” he said suddenly.

My heart jumped.

“What?”

“You know which one,” he said, casually aiming his cue. “The woman with the scratched-out face. Kai’s obsession. Your father’s little secret.”

I didn’t answer.

He struck the ball clean and smooth. Two solids dropped into pockets without effort.

“Was she your mom?” he asked.

I blinked. “What?”

He leaned on the table, resting the cue like it was a sword. “You ever ask why your dad ran? What he was protecting?”

“I thought you knew,” I said tightly. “You’re the ones who’ve been hunting him.”

“Hunting him, yes,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean we know everything.”

“Why are you even telling me this?”

Jace straightened and walked toward me. His steps were unhurried, but his eyes stayed locked on mine like I was prey and he hadn’t decided whether to play or pounce.

“Because I think you know more than you think,” he said softly. “And I think your brain’s doing that fun trauma thing where it hides the truth under layers of bullshit.”

“Thanks, Dr. Jace,” I muttered, stepping back.

But he followed.

“Let me guess—you're starting to see her in flashes, aren’t you?” he asked. “In dreams, maybe? In the corner of your eye when no one else is there?”

I froze.

Because… he was right.

I had heard her. Last night.

That whisper. That warning.

She’s not dead. Don’t trust them.

“Leave me alone,” I said.

“No,” he replied. “I don’t think I will.”

He backed me against the wall without ever touching me, arms braced on either side of my head, caging me in without laying a finger on my skin. My heart thudded wildly—half fear, half fury, half something else I didn’t want to name.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmured.

“Get what?”

“You’re not a prisoner anymore, Rory.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He tilted his head. “You’re something worse. You’re a variable.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re unpredictable,” he said. “And unpredictable things get tested.”

“You mean tortured?”

He smirked. “I prefer ‘observed under pressure.’”

I shoved him away with both hands.

He let me.

“You’re sick,” I snapped.

“Probably,” he said. “But I’m also right.”

He turned back toward the pool table and took another sip of his drink like we hadn’t just danced the edge of something volatile.

“You think you know who the villain is here,” he said over his shoulder. “But maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s not Kai. Or Enzo. Or Nik.”

“Then who is it?” I asked, voice hoarse.

He looked at me, smile gone.

“Maybe it’s you.”

I stared at him.

“What are you talking about?”

He tossed me something.

I caught it purely out of reflex.

It was a small flash drive.

“What’s on it?” I asked slowly.

“Your first test,” he said. “Plug it into your laptop. Watch the video. If you still believe you’re the victim after that... maybe you really don’t remember anything.”

I looked down at the flash drive.

“Why are you giving this to me?” I asked.

He walked to the door, the devil’s grin curling back onto his face.

“Because watching people unravel is kind of my thing.”

And then he was gone.

I didn’t want to look.

Every bone in my body screamed no.

But curiosity was a cruel drug.

So I sat down on the edge of the bed, opened my laptop, and plugged in the flash drive.

One video file. No name.

I clicked it.

Grainy footage filled the screen. Security cam footage. A hallway I didn’t recognize.

And then—me.

I was younger, maybe seventeen. Wearing a black hoodie and jeans.

Walking confidently into a room.

A few seconds passed… and then gunshots.

Screaming.

I watched myself walk out of the room.

Blood on my hands.

Expression blank.

Dead.

Like someone who had just committed murder and felt nothing.

The video ended.

My hand flew to my mouth.

I couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t possible.

That wasn’t me.

I would remember.

Wouldn’t I?

But deep down, something cracked. A hollow space inside me opened and whispered:

What if you do remember… and you’ve just been lying to yourself all along?

I played the video again.

And this time… I noticed something else.

Someone else was in the hallway.

Watching.

And he looked just like Nikolai.