Research Question Time:

Whose POV chapters do you enjoy the most? Why?

Note: Goes without saying that these questions help me write my book better so the more answers the better.

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I've often heard my wife and others regard me as a demi-god. They see power when they look at me. Omnipotence. The absolute control. And a man who twists everything to his whim and shapes the world around with mighty will.

They're not wrong except for one thing—I am not a demi-god. I am the supreme deity. A god who's the architect of vengeance and pain.

As I stand outside the sterile torture room that's as dark outside as it's white inside, the rage within me seethes, eager to be emancipated from the shackles I've tied it to.

The glass wall gives me an unobstructed view of the man inside. Strapped and shattered. But not nearly enough. I won't break him just yet. Doing that would be easy and I am a man who enjoys inflicting slow agony. I want him to feel the depths of excruciation before I am done with him.

A decade ago, they took the only person I've ever loved. They didn't just hurt my angelic rose, they shattered her. Fucked up her mind, crushed her spirits, and left behind a shell of the girl she once was.

The ghost of that horror still lurks deep inside her.

I see it every time I look into her mesmerizing emerald gaze that's meant to lure mankind like a siren's song does to sailors.

I see it when she flinches in closed spaces, the way she sometimes begs for help in her nightmares, gasping and trembling, something she doesn't know she does and I'd like to keep it that way.

Her nightmares are not as frequent as they were before when we first started our arrangement in Greece and I used to watch her all night when she'd be fast asleep. But they have resurfaced violently thrice when she was stressed because of her past and mine. I witnessed it the night I told her about Esme, then the revelation about Darina, and recently after the powder room episode.

She has scars that are no longer visible on the surface, but she knows exactly where each one of them were once as if her body is a bloodied and almost destroyed map that she has taped back together.

They did that to her.

Plucked her out of the dome from the fortress and crushed her, petal by petal. Turned my bright, fierce rose into a shadow of her former self, all for their sick pleasure.

I cannot forget the sense of resentment I could feel gnawing at her when she mentioned her attempts to kill herself.

My angel puts a brave face for the world, but I can see the truth right through her. She lets me because I am the only one she trusts explicitly to erase her demons.

I don't want to erase them.

Demons can never be erased or we'll be too pious for our own good. Humans can never be. They'll always have the demonic force within themselves no matter how saintly they'll pretend to be. I will tame her demons, put them on my leash to marry mine, and let them live a happy life.

They say time and love can heal everything. I don't believe in that load of crap. Retribution heals. The whole body for an eye is my motto. Vengeance has been my path to heal and so will hers.

I have never considered revenge as a dish best served cold. To me, it's a feast, a scrumptious banquet to serve simmering hot. No one hurts what's mine and leaves unscathed.

Two of the tormentors who made my Belle's life hell are gone. They're rotting in their graves so there's nothing I can do about them, but I can unleash their share upon the remaining ones–and I will. I will break them, just as they broke her. Scream by scream, inch by inch, I will demolish their souls and make them understand what actual sadism is and how worse it can get. Every fraction of second they suffer will be my vengeance.

As I stride into the room, my hands in the pockets of my pants, the CIA official closes the door behind me.

The sterile cleanliness inside this facility is a mockery of the kind of filth that takes place within these walls. The extra freezing air reek of pain and torture.

The face of the bastard suspended from the ceiling with a suspension around his chest is mottled with dark bruises and is swollen from the beating my men gave him when they caught him. There's blood crusting on his skin.

His blank stare is regarding me fearlessly with an arrogant calm and zero hint of remorse.

He thinks he can fight the fear and has nothing to feel remorseful of. He has no idea who he's dealing with. But he will. Soon. By the time I am done with him, he will cry in remorse for what he has done and plead to meet his end, and I won't give it because that'll be mercy–a concept I am not familiar with.

"Finally. What took you so long?" My brother, seated in the corner on a couch that matches the interior, questions.

"What are you doing here?"

"You thought I'd let you enjoy the best lunchtime entertainment on your own?" He has a devilish grin as he sits stretched back like a king waiting for entertainment.

It's some sort of bagel he's eating which no doubt is some new popular TikTok recommended crap for which he had his poor assistant travel to some other state or continent to fetch it.

He's the only person I know beside me who can eat and keep his food in even in this white room torture facility that smells of blood despite being sterile clean. Not even our OCDs can make our stomach churn.

I hate to admit that my rose is right—Gus and I are mirror images of each other in many aspects than I can count is one.

"Too bad I do not resort to physical violence or I'd have used him as a punching bag to work up some appetite," he supplies additionally.

"I wonder why you're so arrogant, hmm?" I ask the man who continues regarding me with a gleam of defiance that I fully intend to snuff out. "You couldn't manage to save yourself from my clutches even while hiding in the world's safest hideout, Nikolai. Shouldn't the arrogance leave you by now?"

My voice remains calm, bordering on conversational, even though I want to kill this man.

Zayd's team has been looking for him and so has mine, but in the end, it's I, Nikolai's fate and his grim reaper, who found him before anyone else.

That's how the universe intended it to be.

I am the one who'll end him so it makes sense that I'll be the one who hunts him down.

Chasing the prey, tricking it into believing it has survival chances against me, tiring it until its body gives up, and then leaping to rip it to shreds is my thing. I enjoy watching the fear, the helplessness, and the ultimate surrender in their eyes. That's exactly what happened.

Nikolai thought he could hide from the world, but he had no idea which predator was out on the hunt for him.

Ramon, out of his good will and his wife's adamance, thought he was trying to help me.

He has no idea or anyone else apart from my brothers does that I've already captured this bastard.

Trust never comes to me, even for the people who're close to me. However, Ramon and Chase share a similar bond with me like my brothers do so it's not the matter of trust but my own selfishness as to why I haven't informed them about the capture.

I know that once they find out, they'd want a piece of him regardless of the Rothschild-Alanis and my mutual arrangement that I'll be the only one who gets to deal with this filth. Chase definitely would want and I can't let that happen because I want every piece of this scumbag for me.

"You'll never get anything out of me, Grosevnor. Not even if you keep torturing me until the second I die," he sneers, using my previous last name deliberately to rile me up.

Fool.

"So, you do realize you'll be here indefinitely," Gus says, licking his fingers as he watches us with detached amusement.

"I understand the reason behind this one being a cold bastard. He has been a psychopath since he was a kid. What happened to you? Your parents neglected you as they mourned their middle one. Is that what turned you into one?" Nikolai mocks him.

"Tell him I would respond to that absurdity if I indulged peasants like him, Res."

I settle in front of Nikolai on the wingback chair specifically kept for my interrogation, crossing my one leg over the other's knee, leaning back with my fingers steepled together in my lap.

"I'll start with yesterday's question again. Who killed Ronald and Martin?" I ask.

"I did."

"Wrong answer."

"Why ask when you know I am not going to answer?" Insubordination flickers in his bloodshot eyes.

"I am trying to see how an empath deals with situations. My wife says I should try for a change." I pick up a cold scalpel from the small table, his eyes track my movements as I hand it to Horace. "I can see why she gives up nagging me. It's so boring she knows it's not my deal. Cut through his skin, Horace. I want to see if pedophiles bleed the same color as humans do."

Horace's gloved hands release Nikolai's right hand from being cuffed on the either side to the suspension on his chest and traces a line that splits open his skin.

Blood wells up, and Nikolai hisses in pain.

Gus brings his strides to us and stops next to me.

Taking a bite of the bagel, he lifts his free hand to touch Nikolai's parted skin that's dripping blood, drop by drop on the floor. He rubs it between his fingers.

My brother's eyes gleam with sadistic delight. "Hmm. Red and as thick as normal humans. Maybe it's the brain's functioning of pedophiles that's different. Why don't you tear open his head and study his brain?"

"That'll be the last step before he dies." Lifting the pair of pliers, I hand it to Horace. He drops the scalpel in the tray and accepts the tool. "Judging from how it has been over 48 hours and he hasn't answered my first question from the list of five, I figure it's going to be a long process before we get there."

Without my instructions, Horace clamps the wrist of the same hand he sliced.

Nikolai manages a sneer. "If you think all of this will break me, you're more delusional than that whore of yours who was deluded enough to think nobody could touch her and everyone was beneath her. She would dress up like a cocktease walk around like a fucking peacock. Any man with a functioning dick wouldn't have been able to resist her."

Black rage swirls in me, but I control myself.

That's what he wants. For me to lose control and end his life so he can get an easy way out.

Sensing my palpable volcano-like rage from erupting, my brother presses my shoulder in a silent indication that I mustn't get provoked.

"You'll be regretting what you did to her and these words when you plead me for death, motherfucker." Snatching the plier from Horace, I clamp them hard on his pinky finger, crushing it in the process.

A scream of pure agony tears through his throat and it's music to my ears.

"You see, Nikolai. Today the torture begins. I'll come to you every day and we'll have these little sessions. You're going to die an agonizing death anyway, but your responses will determine how longer this torture is going to last." I drop the plier and hand the scalpel to Horace once again, asking him to carve another slit on his bleeding hand. "I'll get creative every day and I'm in no rush at all. Let's go, Gus."

"It's over so soon?" August grumbles in disappointment. "Man, I haven't even tasted my boba yet. My Lys flew all the way to the docks of Ketchikan, Alaska to get it for me."

"My Lys?"

"Well, she's my assistant," he gives me a nonchalant shrug and heads to grab the ugly-looking green drink from the couch.

"You said you hate those things."

"I have to keep her busy and away so she wouldn't come up with ways to fuck with my mind," he chuckles, opening the lid of it and dumping it on Nikolai's head. "Let me know if the drink is rightfully hyped or overhyped, you fucker. My assistant would be displeased if she doesn't get feedback."

"You piece of shit!" A ruffled Nikolai lifts his leg to kick him, but my brother is fast.

Gus's fist connects with the bastard's balls, making him groan. "I am not a violent person, but I do not spare anyone attacking my proud family jewels, fucker."

"C'mon, let's go," I shake my head and sign before heading out where I meet the agents waiting for us outside. "Clean him up. No one should talk to him or see him for the next ten days. Keep him in the same position and do not drop the temperature. He should see no other color than white. Not even his own blood. Bandage that shit nicely."

"Does Princess Posh know we've got him?" Gus asks as we take the stairs to exit the underground facility in an abandoned train yard.

"It's better she doesn't or it'll keep fucking up with her mind." My steps come to a halt when we're met with Chase's presence lingering at the end of the stairs, blocking our exit.

He's in his business suit just like Gus and I, a mischievous grin playing on his mouth as he stands with his shoulders squared and hands in pockets of his pants.

"He's right. My sister has serious tendencies to self-annihilate herself with her overworking brain," he tosses casually to my brother before zeroing his attention on me. "You motherfucker. When I didn't see your team act on the intel yesterday, I knew you were up to something. You have broken my non-existent heart, Res. I am disappointed you thought you could hide this from me."

I chuckle. "I knew I should have never given you access to use this facility."

His grin widens. "Thought you'd have all the fun on your own?"

"You are not allowed to touch him."

"I'll just enjoy watching the show and might sometimes use him as my punching bag. With your permission of course. Nothing too harsh. Cross my heart and hope to die," he says playfully, doing the gesture with a psychopathic delight gleaming in his eyes.

August playfully shoves him back so we can make our way out of the exit. "He's a selfish motherfucker who did not want me involved as well despite knowing how much I love watching physical violence. The next show is in 10 days. Bring jalapeno cheddar popcorn."

💗💗💗

There she is. My beautiful chaos–a category 5 hurricane wrapped in skin. Dazzling, intoxicating, and so fucking infuriating.

All I see is red. Murderous red. Roaring and blinding red.

She is wearing a little black dress. It's absolutely professional, but to any red-blooded male species or even female for that matter, it's a goddamn provocation.

The manner in which it clings to her skin, effortlessly flaunting her long, perfectly shaped legs, a portion of her creamy thighs, and pale skin is enough to make me lose my mind.

I hate it.

It frustrates me to no end when anyone else gets to see even an inch of her exquisite skin. She's my rose. Mine, and no one else should be allowed to even look at her.

It doesn't help my temper that she's sitting there at the breakfast bar in the corner, looking like a temptress, fully absorbed in a conversation with some employee of mine.

She's laughing at something the fucker is saying. Those laughs are mine.

She's so damn over-trusting and child-like, it's pathological and annoying really. I abhor it.

People have abused her friendly nature and hurt her, and yet here she is, having a conversation with a guy like he's not just another pervert ready to pounce on her if given a chance. She's too much at ease with everyone, too open, and it boils my blood. It should be only me she's like this with.

I want to yank her away from him and drag her away, shield her from the world, and keep her on my island where only I can breathe her in, touch her, and see.

"I requested Ms. Rothschild to wait for you in the office, but she refused," Audrey supplies following me as we walk past the rippling curiosity and hushed whispers of employees present in one of the numerous cafeterias of my headquarters.

They've never seen me step a foot here so I can understand their surprise.

As if an invisible thread connects us, she senses my presence before she even sees me as it always happens whenever I'm near, she stops talking to the fucker and spins around in her bar chair.

Her beautiful mouth parts in a naturally sensual smile that's reserved only for me. The heart that I had forgotten existed when she was gone from my life pounds, a prisoner to her existence—the heart she carved herself into with every glance, every breath, and every touch to ensure she's the only one it beats for. The fucker next to her scrambles to climb off his bar stool.

"Hi, baby," she smiles, sliding her arm possessively around my waist.

She senses my dark mood with that magical ability of her and turns to the fucker who's dressed like he's out for jogging in a park.

Even the joggers look more presentable than him. Hair is all kinds of messed up. The tacky neon-yellow t-shirt has some hideous graphic print on it. It's half untucked and his denims have ripped patterns in several places.

Fucking Gen-Z.

"This is Ethan Sullivan," she offers. "He goes to Princeton and is an AI department's intern," she points toward the open album and dried flowers scattered around it that he must be working on when it caught my wife's attention. "He has done a course in flower preservation and was helping with better ways to store all the peonies you keep sending me every day."

"Good noon, Mr. De L'Aquila. It's refreshing for someone without a professional education or background to know so much about flower preservation as Juliette does."

Juliette? They're already on the first name basis? What the fuck?

I barely keep my temper restrained. "You're the one who worked on the prototype for an AI-driven CDN optimization system."

It's not my fault I have a photographic and a super sharp memory and his work happened to be the one I saw last night while doing the random reviews for the ongoing prototype projects. It's his sheer bad luck that out of the 20,000 prototype projects done as a part of some AI competition the department carries out every six months, his work was the one my attention went to and he happens to be someone I personally handpicked based on his excellent recommendations.

"Yes. It uses ML algorithms for dynamic resource allocation, reducing latency, and optimizing data caching for content delivery based on real-time user behavior and traffic patterns." The fucker seems to be so proud of his crappy job.

I should just sack him.

"You haven't paid enough attention to the system's ability to handle peak loads, sudden traffic surges, or unusual content access patterns, which should have been the first thing you were supposed to take care of. Not doing so affects user experience, which means you've not spent your time doing your project well. Fix it before the day ends or I'll have to have a word with your team leader and sack him for having hired an intern who does a mediocre job."

"Areston!" Belle gasps in an appalled whisper, squeezing my bicep that barely fits her palm. "He's a kid."

"Who should be grateful to have had a chance to intern in my company and should prove his worth." I pull her closer.

"Thank you for your honest feedback, sir. I apologize for the oversight. I'll fix it and provide an update by EOD," he says humbly, gathers his crap and turns to leave, but not before flashing a smile at my wife. I want to break his teeth.

My wife gives me a disapproving look and offers a genuine, sweeter-than-sugar smile to the fucker–one that can have people eating crap off her hands if she wants. "Ethan, I hope you take your senior's criticism in a constructive manner. Don't let this get to your head, but he's disappointed because he personally handpicked you for the prestigious internship. I am certain he has had high expectations that weren't met. You'll fix it and work hard to prove that he didn't make a mistake by choosing you, won't you?"

How the fuck does she know? This woman.

I suppress a smile that threatens to appear on my face. She's an angel. My angel.

"I would," his face lights up like a damn Christmas tree. "I assure, Mr. De L'Aquila. I won't disappoint you again."

"Let's go," I take my wife's hand and march past the cafeteria. I gather her in my arms the moment we're alone in my private elevator.

"What makes you look so grim today, your highness?" My wife slips into a flirty tone, snaking her arms around my neck. "I thought seeing your wife would be the highlight of your day."

"What do you expect when I find my wife laughing with strangers?" I drop a kiss on her wrist, right below her palm. She shivers, it's one of her most sensitive points. "Your laughter is supposed to be for me. Just me. How did you know I hand picked Ethan for the internship?"

"Because I handpick all interns irrespective of departments and so does mama so I figured you must too. He's an intelligent kid, baby."

"Doesn't excuse his mediocre work or making my wife laugh. You are harmful for my sanity, wife."

"I better be. I'm lethal like that, your highness, and you need to learn some manners on how to interact with humans," she narrows her rising on her toes even in her heels and kisses me.

"That's boring," I run my fingers in her silky strands. "I want to eat you up."

"You better. I wanted to surprise you so I thought I'd come over and bring lunch.
Chicken caesar wrap for you and hamburger for me," she grins, sinking her teeth playfully in my lower lip. "You can spread me on your desk and have me for dessert. I changed my dress for easy access."

"Now, you're talking."

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The steady rhythm of hooves on the field pulsates through my core as I urge Predator, my horse, onward, swinging my mallet with a practiced arc. The sharp crack of the ball is followed by the thunderous hoof beats as Ari barrels towards me to intercept.

I was supposed to go home to my wife, but my brother called and demanded I see him at our polo field. It's rare for him these days to spend his post work evenings with us or anyone else other than his wife and kid. And honestly I can relate to that. I hate spending time away from my wife so I try to make up as much as I can by trying to go home early whenever I can. There's no one else I'd rather spend it with or be with. Especially now when I need her the most to calm my demons with all the Nikolai related shit going on.

The thought of him starts clawing at my chest from the inside once again. I pour all my aggression into the game, pushing the dark thoughts regarding that bastard to the back of my mind momentarily.

Ari's intensity mirrors mine, his fluid and calculated movements offsetting my brute force. Though his demeanor might appear serene on the outside, I'm aware he harbors the same ruthless drive and competitive spirit as mine and it shows in the game.

The familiar rush of adrenaline surges through me as I urge Predator closer to the ball. With one decisive swing, I send the ball cannoning through the goalposts, tying our scores.

Ari's eyes gleam with a mixture of father-like pride as he slows Fury, his horse, beside mine.

"Let's go for a stroll," he announces, pointing his chin towards the beach outside the polo ground.

The sound of the sea and its waves slamming against the shore is relaxing to an extent.

If everything else fails to calm your mind, come to the sea. Its roar can declutter your mind and help put things in perspective. Consider the sea as your friend and a reset button for your restless soul. Althea used to say.

"There was a distinct intensity in your performance today. I would have applauded it if it were because of your practice, but we both know it's not. You have been distracted and simmering with rage," Ari remarks after a brief period of silence. His deeply perceptive nature never fails to catch the nuances others can easily miss.

The world is not black or white for me, and neither is it for Gus. But for Ari it is.

Regardless of being an unapologetically ruthless person about his conquests, my brother has drawn himself a line he would never breach.

A line that doesn't exist for Gus and I. We simply don't see it, especially me. It's the line that keeps Ari continue being a human and shackles him from becoming the monsters with bloodlust his two brothers happen to be.

I relish the chaos. The darkness. The absence of boundaries. And the thrill, power, and control it offers me. I get off on it. So does Gus.

That's why I do not bother including Ari in some gory aspects. Not because he'd condemn it, he never would because he knows what we're capable of and accepts us the way we are. It's just that I don't want him to be a part of the mess when he has his own new family to take care of.

He already spends a lot of time worrying about us so it doesn't make sense to me why I should give him more on his plate. However, it doesn't mean he doesn't observe.

I shrug, not meeting his eyes, and continue to look ahead. "It's nothing to worry about."

"I'll decide if it isn't." His tone is casual but I know he's restraining himself from snapping at me. "Why are you slow-torturing Nikolai to know who killed Martin and Ronald when you said he did it?"

Fucking Gus. I am going to kill that pissant. "I thought he did, but he didn't. The trail doesn't add up. There was someone else. I have a hunch. I'll let you know when I have proof."

The thought of it makes me grit my teeth with murderous rage.

"Don't go too far," he warns.

"What's too far?"

"Don't take matters in your own hands, Res. That's what I mean!" This time he snaps openly.

"I already took it too far when I imprisoned him in my facility. I won't spare his life if that's what you're implicating. I won't hand him to the authorities either like my wife and her father want. I have never cared about righteousness and I'm not about to start."

"You're letting your bloodlust rule your sanity."

"My sanity will remain in place when I let my bloodlust win. Don't ask be to so righteous when you'd be doing exactly what I am had it been you in my place and Selene in Belle's."

His jaw clenches and he looks ahead. I know I've made my point. He wouldn't hesitate once before burning the world for his wife and daughter. Ari is just as pussywhipped as I am.

"What's the deal with Darina? I found out you've served all business ties with her. What's going on?" He presses, his tone gentle but probing.

I inhale deeply, my fingers tightening around Predator's reins. "She tried to mess with my wife and had a hand in what Belle went through. I'll spare you the details."

"Hmm. Honestly, I am glad you're done with her. She has been close to you since you came into our lives so I did not want to say this to you earlier. It's a good decision if you ask me. I know for certain Zio would be delighted when he hears about this."

"He has never really liked her, has he?"

"He hates her."

I snort, looking ahead as we ride on our horses side by side. "Did she disappoint his cock or something?"

"Not his. Mine." His sudden laughter makes me throw a questioning stare at him. What the fuck? "Don't give me that look, Res. I was just a 25 year old guy needing a release."

"25? You mean 11 years ago?"

"Yes, genius. In fact 2-3 months before we found you. She and I had flown together to attend a conference nonno wanted me to be a part of. We were dead tired and having a drink in my suite at the end of the evening when she almost seduced me. I was inebriated, exhausted, and couldn't give a shit that I'd never fucked a woman beyond my age. I just needed a release. She was stroking my bulge when Zio barged in unannounced. I've always wondered if she has had a thing for younger guys."

"Christ. Not you too."

"What the fuck do you mean by you too, Res?" My brother asks, his eyes having turned into a vicious glare.

As if sensing my temper, Predator starts restless too and I have to calm him. "Well, to answer your first question and second both at the same time, yes, she loves sucking cocks of younger guys. It's either that or she sucked mine 11 years ago in the backseat of the limo on purely humanitarian grounds," I snort, spilling the truth out in front of the man who has been a father-figure and a mother hen to me since the hour we were introduced.

Rendered speechless, he stares at me as if there are a pair of horns that have sprung up on my head out of nowhere.

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