C-9

"Not all girls you see can be used to satisfy your sexual needs, your insatiable desire," Dean barked, his eyes never leaving the cold gleam of his gun.

"Boss, I'm sorry. I had no—" stuttered Jake, his voice trembling as he clutched at Dean's firearm.

"That's the same excuse you've been spouting over and over," Dean interrupted with a harsh edge. "You never bothered to look—if you had, you'd have noticed she isn't one of us."

The words rang out in a tone that belied any semblance of calm. In the dim, tense room, Jake's tearful pleas filled the silence, his pitiful eyes pleading for mercy.

"I hate it when I have to clean up your mess repeatedly, Jake. When was it? Just last week, you raped an escort even after she begged and cried for you to stop," Dean thundered, his voice growing sterner as he darted his gaze toward the unmoving figure of the coffee girl on the floor. Her torn clothes lay in disarray, and it appeared as though she had passed out.

"That wasn't intentional, boss," Jake whimpered, his grip on the gun faltering as he tried to explain. Dean fixed his steely stare on Jake's trembling hand until it immediately retracted.

"That wasn't intentional," he repeated, his tone void of sympathy. "And what do you call this?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing as Jake shook his head in mute admission.

"One last chance, boss, and I promise I won't fail you again," Jake pleaded, clutching Dean's knee as if the contact might somehow redeem him.

Dean scoffed in anger. "I gave you three chances already—three! I overlooked the first two because of your father's influence, but you lost your life the moment you laid your filthy hands on what belonged to me!" Rising abruptly, Dean strode over to the motionless coffee girl and pressed his fingers lightly against her wrist. A small sigh of relief escaped him when he felt her pulse—she was still breathing.

"I knew it; she's yours, huh? No wonder you won't let me go," he muttered under his breath. To his surprise, a dark chuckle came from Jake, and Dean turned sharply, ensuring it was the same man who had been begging moments ago.

"Losing your grip, Dean," Jake smirked, his voice weak as he tried to slump onto the floor. His legs, already numbed by Dean's earlier shots, betrayed him completely.

"Are you possessed?" Dean blurted, unable to comprehend the audacity that now stained Jake's words.

"The moment you fell in love, you started falling from grace," Jake managed, his voice barely above a whisper as if trying to offer a twisted insight.

Before Jake could finish his statement, Dean's patience snapped. With cold precision, he fired multiple bullets into Jake's chest. "I'll be damned before I let you degrade me with your crazy talk and then walk away," he seethed.

Without pausing, Dean pulled his phone from his back pocket and barked into it, "Are you done taking care of the bodies?" The reply came immediately in the affirmative.

"There's one more for you," he said, his voice icily calm. "I'll be right there." Before hanging up, he added, "You might want to get the other guys prepared for war."

Dean's gaze lingered on Jake's lifeless form as he ended the call. Killing a fellow mafia son had its consequences, but Dean had never feared war or bloodshed. Whatever Jake's people planned, he was ready to host the carnage.

Cradling the coffee girl in his strong arms, Dean exited the bar. His next destination was his mansion, where his men would ensure she was thoroughly checked. He couldn't let her out of his sight—not after too many had seen him with her, and certainly not when his enemies were lurking. Ever since she had appeared on his radar, she had become a liability. Dean had to keep her safe at all costs, at least until he uncovered what Baal—Jake's father—had planned. The news of his son's death should have reached Baal by now, and Dean could already picture the old man going berserk. Jake had contributed nothing to his father's cause, and Dean had done many favors by ending the weakling's pitiful life. If the clan learned that Dean had murdered a fellow Don's son because of a woman, they would come for her without hesitation. In this world, it was always a death for a death. That was why Dean was determined not to let the coffee girl out of his sight until the squabble died down.

Placing her gently in the back seat of his sleek car, Dean sped toward his mansion. Upon arrival, his most trusted subordinate, Pete Sky, waited at the gate.

"What's going on, and why are we preparing for war?" Pete asked urgently, his tone a mixture of concern and inevitability. Pete was the one Dean had called earlier, and although Dean rarely trusted anyone, he needed to hear it spoken aloud.

"Jake is dead," Dean declared bluntly as he carried the coffee girl inside.

"Okay—the bastard got what was coming to him eventually," Pete replied with grim satisfaction. Dean let out a dark chuckle, though a flicker of detachment lingered from the act of pulling the trigger.

"I killed him," Dean stated matter-of-factly, now inside his well-furnished mansion. With deliberate care, he carried the coffee girl to his private room. Pete remained silent, his eyes fixed on the girl cradled in Dean's arms.

"Hello!" Dean exclaimed, noticing Pete's distracted gaze. "She's taken—back off."

Pete offered a half-hearted smirk. "By who?" he asked.

"By me, you idiot," Dean snapped, glaring as he placed her gently on the bed. "By me—the only one who can protect her." He hurriedly covered her with a soft blanket, shielding her from Pete's prying eyes. Though Pete was clearly captivated by her beauty, Dean's possessiveness burned hotter than any rivalry.

"It doesn't look like that, Boss," Pete mumbled, shrugging as if the matter were trivial. In that instant, Dean wished it had been Pete he had shot instead of Jake.

"What does it look like?" Dean demanded, folding his arms and staring daggers at Pete.

"Sorry, Boss," Pete mumbled again, quickly tearing his eyes away from her delicate form.

Dean's mind churned with the weight of his actions as he surveyed his surroundings. His voice, low and resolute, broke the heavy silence: "Bound by blood and desire, my word is law."

He moved to the window, lost in dark thoughts of vengeance and protection, his inner turmoil as violent as the world outside. His mind replayed every moment—the seething anger, the blood spilled, and the desperate pleas—and he knew that this dangerous obsession would not be easily quenched. His loyalty to the clan and his twisted, all-consuming need to guard the coffee girl left him teetering on the edge of an inevitable war.

Pete cleared his throat, his voice tentative. "Boss, they say vengeance is inevitable. We must prepare, or our enemies will come at us with everything they've got."

Dean's eyes blazed with a cold fury as he replied, "Let them come. I will host this war, and no one will dare cross me. I will ensure she remains safe."

Lifting his phone once more, Dean spoke in a low, menacing tone as he placed another call. "The other guys need to be ready for war. Tell them we move tonight." The reply was immediate and curt. After ending the call, his gaze returned to the coffee girl lying vulnerable on the bed.

She stirred slightly, blinking slowly as her eyes met his. In that brief, fragile moment, fear and longing warred in her gaze. Dean knelt beside her, his tone softening just a fraction as he ordered, "You will stay with me. No one else will take you away, and you will not leave my sight until this conflict is over."

Her voice trembled as she whispered, "I… I trust you, Boss."

Pete's presence was a silent reminder of the harsh reality they faced. Dean looked from Pete to her, his heart heavy with the cost of his choices. Finally, as the night deepened and the preparations for war were set in motion, Dean spoke in a voice both tender and dangerously possessive, "Remember this: you are bound by blood and desire to me, and I will protect you at all costs."

The coffee girl, her voice barely audible but resolute, replied, "I won't ever leave you, Boss."

In the quiet that followed, Pete murmured from the shadows, "Your word is absolute, Boss."

Dean's eyes darkened once more as he addressed both Pete and the fragile hope in her gaze, "Then prepare for war. Our enemies will soon learn that loyalty and passion come at a heavy price."

As the night wore on and the mansion grew quiet, Dean leaned in close to the coffee girl and whispered, "Now, remember—as long as I breathe, you are mine, and no one will ever steal you away."

She managed a soft, trembling reply, "I won't ever leave, Boss."

Their final words—simple yet searing—echoed in the silence as a solemn promise in the dark:

"Stay with me, and together we will face whatever comes."

"Never," she replied, her voice firm despite the lingering fear, "for I am yours."