Chapter 9: The Hand of Betrayal

The torches flickered along the stone corridors of James's estate, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted like silent phantoms. Outside, the night was quiet, save for the distant barking of stray dogs in the streets of Rome.

James sat in his private study, a goblet of watered wine in his hand, his mind running through every move he had made in the past few weeks.

Crassus's sponsorship. The assassination attempt. The growing strength of his slaves. The Venatio match against Gaius Septimus.

"Everything is moving faster than I expected," he thought.

Angela stood nearby, watching him with cautious eyes. She knew that whenever he grew this silent, it meant he was thinking five steps ahead.

But then—

A knock at the door.

James lifted his gaze. "Enter."

The door creaked open, and one of his newly trained scouts stepped in, his expression grim.

"Master," the man said, bowing his head, "we have a problem."

James leaned forward, his fingers tapping against the goblet. "Go on."

The scout hesitated. "We… we found a traitor among us."

Angela gasped. "What?"

James's golden eyes narrowed. "Who?"

The scout swallowed. "One of the house slaves, a scribe. His name is Lucius. We caught him sneaking into the storage room. He was hiding letters… letters meant for someone outside the estate."

Angela's face darkened with rage. "He was spying on us?"

James rose slowly from his chair, his expression unreadable.

"Where is he now?"

The scout lowered his head. "We've detained him in the wine cellar."

James set his goblet down. "Good. Let's go see what he has to say."

The wine cellar was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of aged grapes and damp stone. In the center of the room, tied to a wooden chair, was Lucius—a young man with short dark hair, his face pale with fear.

Varro stood beside him, arms crossed, his muscular frame looming like a specter of death.

As James entered, Lucius's eyes darted around, wild with panic. "Master! I—please, I can explain!"

James stopped before him, gazing down at the trembling scribe.

"Explain?" James's voice was calm and controlled. "Go on, Lucius. I'm listening."

Lucius's throat bobbed as he tried to find the right words. "I… I never meant to betray you, Master! I was forced! They—they threatened me!"

James tilted his head slightly. "Who?"

Lucius licked his lips, his hands shaking against the ropes. "I don't know his name, Master. But a man came to me weeks ago, offering gold if I reported on your activities. When I refused… he said he would have my family killed."

James's gaze didn't waver. "And you believed him?"

Lucius nodded frantically. "Master, please! I only passed small information! Nothing important! Just details about the estate! I swear!"

Angela, standing beside James, scoffed. "Lies. You were feeding them everything, weren't you?"

Lucius's eyes darted to her, then back to James.

"Master, I beg you—mercy!"

James's expression remained unreadable, but Angela could see his mind working—calculating, deciding.

Finally, James let out a slow breath.

"Lucius."

The man perked up, hope flashing in his eyes. "Yes, Master?"

James leaned closer. "Who do you think I am?"

Lucius blinked. "W-What?"

James smiled slightly, but there was no warmth in it. "Do you think I'm the kind of man who lets betrayal go unanswered?"

Lucius froze, his breath catching.

Then—James turned to Varro.

"Kill him."

Lucius's eyes went wide. "NO! PLEASE, MASTER! I SWEAR, I'LL BE LOYAL—"

CRACK!

Varro's fist slammed into Lucius's temple, snapping his neck instantly. The scribe's body slumped forward, lifeless.

Angela flinched slightly but remained silent.

James turned away, completely unfazed. "Burn the body. Make sure there's nothing left."

Varro nodded and dragged the corpse away, his expression as cold as James's own.

Angela finally spoke. "Do you think he was telling the truth?"

James exhaled. "Some of it."

Angela frowned. "Then… who was he working for?"

James picked up a letter from the nearby table—one of the scrolls Lucius had been hiding. He unrolled it, reading the contents carefully.

Then, his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"It's from Marcus Domitius."

Angela stiffened. "That bastard…"

James rolled the scroll back up. "This was a test. Domitius wanted to see how much of a threat I am."

Angela crossed her arms. "And now?"

James turned to face her, his golden eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

"Now, we send him our answer."

The next morning, as the Roman sun bathed the city in gold, a messenger arrived at Marcus Domitius's estate.

The noble was lounging in his lavish garden, sipping fine wine when his servant rushed forward.

"Dominus! A… a message has arrived from James Stone."

Domitius raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Let's see it."

The servant hesitated. "It's… not a letter, Dominus."

Domitius's brow furrowed. "Then what is it?"

The servant swallowed hard, then gestured to a wooden box carried by two guards.

Domitius sighed, setting his wine aside. "Very well, open it."

The guards removed the lid.

Inside—

A severed head, staring up with lifeless eyes.

Domitius stared for a long moment.

Then, he laughed.

The guards exchanged nervous glances as their master wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Ahhh… this James Stone…" Domitius grinned, his eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. "He does not disappoint."

He reached into the box, lifting a small scroll tied around the severed head's mouth.

Unrolling it, he read the single sentence written inside:

"If you come for me again… I will come for you next."

Domitius's grin widened.

"Oh, James…" he whispered. "This is going to be fun."

Back at the estate, James stood before Varro and his gladiators, who were now fully trained and ready.

"The Venatio is in two days," James announced. "This will be your greatest test."

Varro stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "We are ready, Master."

James nodded. "Good."

He turned to Angela. "Tomorrow, we go back to the city. Crassus has summoned me. Let's see what else he has planned."

Angela frowned. "Do you think he knows about Domitius?"

James smirked. "If he doesn't yet, he will soon."

He gazed toward the horizon, where Rome's Colosseum loomed in the distance.

"The real war hasn't even started yet."