CHAPTER 33 : The Devil’s Whisper

The city never truly slept, and neither did the ghosts that haunted it. Rain slicked the streets, neon lights casting fractured reflections in the puddles. Alexander sat in the car, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, his mind a battlefield of thoughts. He had spent years outrunning his past, but it had found him again—this time, with a purpose.

Carver's base was a fortress of steel and shadow. Alexander moved through the underground hallways like a predator, the weight of his past pressing against his spine. He wasn't here for a fight. He was here for answers.

Carver was waiting for him in the lounge, draped across a leather chair with a glass of whiskey in hand. His smirk was infuriating, but it was the casual flicker of recognition in his eyes that made Alexander's blood run cold.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Carver mused, sipping his drink. "Or maybe you're just realizing that ghosts don't stay buried."

Alexander stepped closer, his voice controlled steel. "I need answers. Now."

Carver chuckled, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "You always had a habit of demanding things, kid. But tell me—do you really want to know the truth, or are you just here to confirm what you already suspect?"

A muscle in Alexander's jaw twitched. He hated that Carver could read him so easily.

"Who's pulling the strings?" Alexander demanded. "Who's bringing this war back to my doorstep?"

Carver leaned forward, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh, come on, Alexander. You already know the answer. You've known it your whole life."

And then he said the name.

A name Alexander had spent years trying to erase. A name that made his ribs feel like they were caving in.

"Your father never left, kid," Carver whispered, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "He's been waiting for you. And now? He's ready to take back what's his." He tilted his head, a slow, taunting grin curling at his lips. "You thought you escaped, boy? No one leaves the family. Not even the dead."

The drive back was a blur. The city lights bled into streaks of color, his grip white-knuckled on the wheel. Eve's voice echoed in his mind—We face this together. But how could he let her face this?

His father was a monster. A man who built an empire from blood and bone. A man who saw his own son as nothing more than a pawn in a grander game. And now, he was calling Alexander home.

His pulse pounded in his skull. He had killed men to escape that life. He had burned every bridge, erased every trace of himself. But his father had never needed a trail. He had always known where to find him.

And now, he wanted him back.

Eve was waiting for him at the apartment, her arms crossed, worry etched into every line of her face. The second he walked through the door, she knew.

"What happened?" she asked, voice soft but urgent.

Alexander didn't answer right away. He leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly, gathering the shattered pieces of his control. Then, finally—

"It's him."

Eve's brows furrowed. "Who?"

He looked at her, his dark eyes haunted. "My father. He never stopped watching. He never stopped waiting. And now, he's making his move."

For the first time, Eve's confidence wavered. She had known Alexander's past was dark, but this—this was something else. This wasn't just a man with enemies. This was a man who had been running from a devil wearing his own bloodline.

She took a step forward, reaching for him, grounding him. "Then we fight."

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "You don't fight men like him, Eve. You survive them."

She grabbed his face between her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "We face this together. Remember?"

His throat tightened. "I don't know if I can win this time."

Eve's fingers traced his jaw, her touch both gentle and unyielding. "Then we don't fight to win. We fight to end it."

The words settled into him, threading through the cracks in his armor. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't fighting alone.