Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 63 - 67

Chapter 63: Chapter 67

Akio POV

The car slows to a deliberate stop before the secluded estate, its structure, gaudy and overcompensating, is framed by the dying light of dusk. My gaze tracks every visible point of entry, noting the two guards stationed at the front—Botan’s personal detail—now standing like statues flanking the massive front door. Their presence, a body without a head, is as unusual as it is telling.

I’d suspected something was amiss the moment I received word: Botan had summoned the cleaners. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t care, but their deployment to his current location—the estate of an associate with whom Botan was supposed to broker an arms deal and secure the Baltic shipping routes—for some reason—and none of them good. The cleaners were sent.

"Stay here. All of you."

I exit the car, pushing the door close without looking back as I make my approach. There are no guards, not Alessio’s men, nor do I see a contingent of our own. The front parking bay is decked with luxury vehicles, exotic sports cars that I’m sure belong to the Gianni men. The SUVs with blacked-out windows and reinforced exteriors—bulletproof—must belong to their security. I’m sure.

"Where are the others?" I ask, climbing up the short flight.

The two guards keep their eyes fixed ahead, their expressions unreadable, but there are tints of tension in their minor muscles, whether in their jaw or the strained cords in their neck.

"Perimeter sweep, clearing the area on Botan’s command," one of them answers.

"So why are you two posted outside?"

"On Botan’s command," they say in unison.

"What about the Gianni’s men?" I ask, looking around the property pensively.

"They’re... inside," the one replies awkwardly, not from discomfort but from the dread of the words he restrains that strangles his voice.

A simple step forward sparks impulse and they pivot to each grab a handle of either door before hauling each slab open outwards. I wait only until it’s large enough for me to slip through. And the moment I do, the potent smell of blood becomes an acrid taste in my mouth. I mutter a curse under my breath, each word lost in the cavernous silence of the foyer. The pristine and palatial stretch ahead darkens. The polished floor glistens from the fresh pools of blood that ripple slightly with each step I take. Expensive oil paintings hang like silent witnesses, their gilded frames spattered with crimson streaks. The walls, once immaculate, are smeared with violent handprints—each a desperate declaration of men that sought to flee and a man that wouldn’t let them. The sprays of red like silent screams telling a story of chaos and carnage. Every breath I take is tainted with the metallic tang of fresh death.

A distant scream—my hand whips out my gun from my waistband. I follow the swelling sound, traversing the hallways, a cacophony of cries that is the sound of torture. I keep my barrel in front of me, checking each corner before I advance and that is when I see that a multitude of men are scattered throughout the network of corridors, corpses slumped against walls or sprawled on the floor with limbs bent unnaturally like dead roaches. Sometimes I wonder why we bother with security when Botan is able to massacre an entire elite unit on his own. At least seven men—eight if you’re counting the poor fool he’s currently having fun with.

I end at the verge of an open archway. I poke my head inside as Botan is only enticed by the ear-piercing screams. Alessio is pinned down underneath him and Botan—

I leap out, darting inside the lounge as I sheathe my gun. "Botan—stop!"

But it’s already done. Even I wince at the sight of Alessia’s gauged sockets, his eyes ripped out—more like carved out with the drenched blade in his hand. Alessia appears to be an unrecognizable thing beneath him with blood pouring from the marred, warped and gaping holes in his face—exploded blood vessels making the sight even more grisly.

"Botan, what the fuck?"

A feral glint in his eyes, still wrought with something wild.

"He had his eyes," Botan says with deadly calm. "The same set as the Vacheron brothers."

"His eyes?" I repeat with a ridicule I know I will regret. "Which brother? Her first fake fiance or the second?"

He levels me with a violent glare. He rises, something so simple yet so foreboding, with his black sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the rivulets of red streaking down his striated forearms, his hands soaked in blood before he discards the blade with a careless toss. His own face still flecked with a fresh spatter.

"You did all of this—risked war with a powerful syndicate, not because of this visage of the Vacheron. But for her!"

"I risked nothing," he says with a voice as cold and crisp as winter air, bearing the same effect with the chilling clarity of his voice. "Their entire organizational structure is built on scavenging. The Giannis are vultures that skim off the top of every lucrative deal they have brokered as intermediaries. Their only real power comes from the strength of their allies."

"Exactly!" I did a rapid revolution to gesture expansively at his mass murdering exploits. "What do you think Alessio’s father will do once he hears that you butchered his son and his security?"

"They’ll do nothing," he replied, his voice terrifyingly composed for someone who just gauged someone’s eyes out. "For all the deference they afford the Gianni, they fear us more."

I exhale sharply, attempting to rein in my rising anger, though it only fuels itself further. "It doesn’t matter. They’ll retaliate—not out of grief, but out of necessity. Losing Alessio... well, let’s face it, he won’t be missed. His loss may mean nothing to them, but appearing weak? That impression could shatter their operations more than the loss of one flagrant son ever could."

"They can try," he said smoothly, brushing off the implication with maddening ease. "It won’t even dent our defenses, nor interfere with any of our ventures in a way that matters."

It’s not just about the result, but also the risk—it was reckless. Everything that Botan is not, everything that the girl is making him into. Each day, every thought of her challenges his clarity and veers him further from the precision and cunning he needs to get the work done. I hate to say it, but despite the blatant and senseless slaughter committed against the Gianni—including one of three sons. Had the killings been done by anyone else, Gianni would rally the powerheads of other organizations to retaliate brutally, as such, an offense can’t go unpunished. The problem is most fear Haru Black more. They fear his displeasure and what would happen if he would send his wolf after them.