Chapter 330 - 0330: I Don’t Joke With What’s Mine

Chapter 330: Chapter 0330: I Don’t Joke With What’s Mine

Jaxx’s Point Of View

I cruised through the silver gates of the estate, the Mercedes engine humming a low, satisfied purr beneath my hands. Sunlight struck the dashboard at just the right angle, casting a warm glow across the interior. For the first time in roughly three years, the persistent knot of tension between my shoulder blades had actually loosened.

I leaned back against the leather seat, an involuntary smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "She’s so damn cute," I muttered to the empty car, shaking my head at the windshield. The words hung in the air, and I almost laughed at myself for saying them out loud.

My mind kept circling back to the doorway of the condo, replaying the scene like a film reel I couldn’t stop. I could still see her standing there with perfect clarity... that massive yellow towel perched precariously on top of her head like some absurd crown, her wide eyes darting everywhere as she practically pleaded with me not to leave. She’d tried so hard to act tough, to project that independent facade.

"Don’t be late, Jaxx. You have exactly fifteen minutes," she’d said, her voice attempting authority. But the slight tremor in her chin had betrayed her completely, revealing the vulnerability she worked so hard to conceal. She wanted me around. She needed me there, even if her stubborn pride wouldn’t allow her to voice those words directly.

I glanced down at my wristwatch, watching the hands tick steadily forward. Seven minutes had elapsed. Eight minutes remained to reach the docks, meet Roman, collect the intel, and return to that front door before she could accuse me of breaking my word. The thought of disappointing her sent an unexpected jolt through my chest.

"Not today," I murmured, pressing my foot harder against the accelerator. The car surged forward with responsive power, tires gripping the asphalt as I tore down the coastal highway toward the industrial district. The ocean blurred past my window, a streak of blue and white foam.

The docks assaulted my senses exactly as they always did: the acrid stench of rotting fish mingling with rusty iron and heavy diesel fuel. I pulled up directly behind an unmarked black SUV near Pier 4, gravel crunching loudly beneath my tires. Before I could even cut the engine, Roman pushed off from the rusted shipping container he’d been leaning against. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, and his expression promised the kind of commentary I didn’t have time for.

I swung the door open and stepped out into the damp, salt-laden air. The wind carried the smell of the sea mixed with industrial waste.

Roman didn’t bother with pleasantries. He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled smoke into the wind, and let a massive, mocking smirk spread across his face. "You’re in such a good mood, boss," he said, his tone dripping with amusement. "I don’t think I’ve seen you smile like that since we intercepted that shipment from Palermo. What was that, two years ago?"

I raised a single eyebrow, my posture stiffening as I approached him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on." Roman scoffed, chuckling as he flicked ash onto the gravel. His eyes gleamed with knowing mischief. "You know exactly what I mean. Elena really is the Donna, isn’t she? She has you completely wrapped around her little fingers. I mean, just look at you. You’re practically glowing. It’s pathetic, Jaxx. Honestly."

"Lovesick?" I barked, the word tasting foreign and absurd on my tongue. Heat crept up the back of my neck... anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t quite tell. I stepped closer, fixing him with the hard, warning glare that usually silenced people instantly. "Stop talking nonsense, Roman. You’re losing your mind. Where is it?"

Roman rolled his eyes, but the playful glint vanished from his gaze. His face turned serious in a split second, the transformation complete. He reached into the inner pocket of his heavy leather jacket and extracted a thick manila envelope along with a small silver flash drive.

"Right here," he said, his voice dropping into that low, professional tone he reserved for business. He held up the flash drive between two fingers. "This contains every piece of evidence I’ve gathered about their operation. The offshore accounts, the shell companies, the text logs between the old man and the city council members. It’s all documented and verified."

He tapped the thick envelope with his knuckle. "And this file has the physical locations marked. The warehouse near the old brewery where they’ve been storing unrecorded inventory. We can move on it tonight if you want to make your play."

I took the envelope and the drive from his hand, the weight of the paper solid in my palm... like an actual weapon I could wield to dismantle the people who had hurt her. "Good job," I said with a nod, my mind already calculating the timing, running through scenarios and contingencies. "This is exactly what I needed."

I walked back to my car and popped the driver’s side door open, reaching down into the footwell. My fingers found the tiny, hidden latch beneath the carpet molding, releasing the secret steel compartment built into the frame. I slid the manila file and silver flash drive inside, pressing the false floor back down until it clicked shut with a dull, heavy thud. The sound was satisfying.

I turned back to face Roman, brushing a stray piece of lint off my sleeve. "I have to get going now. I’ll see you at the warehouse later tonight."

Roman glanced at his watch, then looked back up at me, that annoying, knowing smirk creeping across his scarred face. "Running back to her already? The clock’s ticking that loudly in your head, boss?"

I didn’t even try to hide my own smirk this time. I leaned one arm against the top of the open car door, regarding my second-in-command with cold, sharp amusement. "What the hell do you think, Roman? If I’m a minute late, she’ll lock me out of the house and make me sleep in the garage. And frankly, the garage is dusty."

"God save us," Roman muttered, shaking his head as he took one last drag of his cigarette. The smoke curled around his words. "The most ruthless man in the underground is terrified of a girl in a bathrobe."

"Shut up," I said, sliding into the driver’s seat. I closed the door, waved once through the open window, and slammed my foot onto the gas before he could shoot another sarcastic comment my way.

The tires shrieked against the concrete as I pulled away from the pier. I glanced at the dashboard clock. Two minutes. I had exactly two minutes left out of the fifteen she’d granted me. My heart started beating a little faster... not out of fear, but out of this weird, urgent necessity to keep my promise to her. I didn’t break promises to Elena.

When I reached the main security gate of her exclusive residential estate, I didn’t slow down all the way, just tapping the brakes enough to let the scanner read my windshield tag. The old security guard, a balding man who always wore his uniform shirt a size too big, stepped out of the booth. He recognized my car, smiled brightly, and bowed his head slightly in greeting.

"Welcome back, sir," the man said, leaning slightly toward my window with that friendly, familiar tone.

I gave him a brief, curt nod, my hand already reaching for the gear shift to speed away. "Afternoon."

The guard smiled even wider, completely oblivious to the fact that I was on a strict clock. His next words came out cheerfully, casually. "Oh, by the way, sir... Ms. Elena’s husband came by just a few minutes after you left. He’s such a nice man, very polite. He said he had some things to deliver to her."

My hand froze completely on the steering wheel.

The leather under my palm suddenly felt hot. The air in the car turned completely still, the sound of the engine fading into a low, ringing buzz in my ears. I slowly turned my head to look at the guard, my eyes narrowing into two dangerous slits. A cold dread settled in my stomach, quickly morphing into something far more volatile.

"What?" I asked, my voice dropping so low it sounded like gravel grinding together.

The guard, entirely oblivious to the sudden, lethal shift in my demeanor, just nodded cheerfully. His smile remained plastered on his face. "Yes, sir! Mr. Sinclair. He went right up to the condo. I figured it was fine since they’re married and all... "

I didn’t even let him finish the sentence. I slammed my foot onto the accelerator, the Mercedes roaring like a wounded beast as it tore through the half-opened gate, nearly clipping the wooden barrier as I flew into the estate. The guard’s startled shout faded behind me.

My knuckles turned completely white against the steering wheel. Graham. That spineless, desperate piece of trash. He’d actually followed her here. He’d waited until I left like the gutless rat he was. The thought of him anywhere near her made my blood boil.

As I rounded the final corner leading to her condo, my tires leaving black rubber streaks on the clean pavement, I didn’t even park properly. I just threw the car into park right on the lawn, the engine still screaming as I flung the door open. My heart hammered against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my system.

And then, through the open window of the second floor, I heard it. A sharp, terrified shriek pierced the air. "Help me! Someone help me!"

Every drop of blood in my veins turned to liquid fire. My vision literally went red around the edges, a hot, blinding wave of pure fury crashing through my skull. My heart pounded against my ribs like a sledgehammer. That was her voice. Elena’s voice. Screaming for help.

I didn’t use the key. I hit the front door with my entire shoulder, the heavy oak lock splintering with a massive CRACK as the door flew inward, bouncing violently off the drywall. The frame shattered, wood fragments scattering across the floor.

The scene in front of me made every single vein in my neck pop against my skin.

Elena was on the floorboards, her face covered in tears, her wet hair plastered to her cheeks, struggling with everything she had left. Her eyes were wide with terror, her body trembling. And Graham was on top of her, his hands tearing at the white towel, his knees forcing her legs apart. The sight of it... the absolute violation of it sent me into a rage I’d never experienced before.

I didn’t think. I didn’t speak. There was no warning.

I crossed the foyer in two massive strides. My hands flew down, grabbing the collar of Graham’s expensive Italian wool suit jacket with a grip that ripped the fabric right down the seam. With one violent, explosive heave of my arms, I tore him completely off her body. I swung him through the air like a piece of garbage and launched him across the room.

CRASH.

His back slammed squarely into the opposite drywall, the impact making a massive, spiderweb crack in the plaster before he slumped down onto the floorboards, gasping for air like a dying fish. The sound of his body hitting the wall echoed through the condo.

I didn’t look at him yet. I turned my eyes down to the floor.

Elena was trembling from head to toe, her fingers clutching a corner of the discarded towel against her chest, her bare skin bruised and red where his hands had been. She looked so small, so entirely broken down by the terror of it, sobbing into the floorboards. The sight of her like this... vulnerable, hurt, violated made something inside my chest crack wide open.

A heavy, dark ache squeezed my chest so hard I could barely breathe. My eyes went misty with a sudden, hot protective rage, bloodshot from the sheer pressure in my skull. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands. But first, I needed to take care of her.

Without a word, I reached down and ripped my own shirt right off my body, the buttons popping off and scattering across the hardwood floor with tiny clicking sounds. I was shirtless now, the cool air hitting the tattoos on my back as I knelt down beside her. I didn’t want any rough fabric touching her. I carefully, gently slid my arms beneath her trembling torso and pulled her up from the floor, cradling her against me.

"Bambina," I choked out, my voice thick, raw with an emotion I couldn’t even name. The word came out broken, barely a whisper.

The moment my skin touched hers, she completely collapsed against me. She curled her entire body into my chest, her fingers burying into my bare shoulders as she sobbed uncontrollably, her hot tears soaking into my skin. I could feel her whole body shaking, the trauma of what had almost happened rippling through her in waves.

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth would shatter. I reached down with one hand, grabbed the white towel from the floor, and wrapped it carefully, securely around her shoulders, covering every inch of her bare skin. I lifted her up gently and carried her over to the velvet couch, setting her down on the cushions as if she were made of glass. I smoothed her wet hair back from her face, my hand lingering on her cheek for just a moment.

"Stay here," I whispered, my voice sounding completely dead, devoid of any humanity. "Don’t look."

I turned around.

Across the room, Graham was in a massive fit of coughing, clutching his ribs as he tried to drag himself up against the baseboard. Blood trickled from his nose, staining his expensive shirt. The sight of him... the sight of the man who had dared to put his filthy hands on what belonged to me made every single ounce of my logic and reasoning fly straight out the window.

I walked over to him, my heavy boots thudding against the floor like a death march. Each step was deliberate, measured. I reached down, grabbed him by the front of his bloody shirt, and hauled him to his feet with one hand. He weighed nothing to me. He was nothing.

Before he could even blink, I brought my right fist down directly into his jaw. CRACK.

His head snapped back, blood spraying from his lip onto my bare chest. I didn’t stop. I rained blows down on his face, his ribs, his nose... left, right, a brutal, rhythmic striking that felt like pounding raw meat. Each impact sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. He was completely defenseless, his hands flailing weakly in the air as I systematically broke him apart. I wanted him to feel every ounce of pain he’d caused her.

I threw him back against the wall, his face a swollen, bloody mess. His features were barely recognizable now, distorted by the damage I’d inflicted. But instead of crying, Graham let out a wet, wheezing laugh, spitting a mouthful of dark red blood onto the floor near my boot.

"You bastard!" Graham croaked, his eyes swollen half-shut as he glared up at me with a pathetic, desperate malice. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. "Elena is mine! She’s mine and mine alone... you son of a whore!"

I didn’t explode. I didn’t scream back at him.

Instead, a terrifying, icy calm settled over my entire body. My muscles stopped twitching. My breathing slowed down into a steady, cold rhythm. I stepped closer, looming over him like a shadow, my shadow completely swallowing his small, broken form. This was the moment he should have been afraid. This was the moment he should have realized the magnitude of his mistake.

"Son of a whore?" I muttered, a slow, razor-sharp smirk spreading across my lips. The words didn’t sting. They never did. I’d heard worse.

Graham nodded weakly, his chin dripping red onto his ruined tie. He thought he’d found my weakness. "Yes... your mother... she was a slut. A hole for my father to use when he was bored of his real family."

"You see, Graham," I said, my voice dropping into a dangerously quiet, conversational tone that made him instantly freeze. I watched the fear flicker in his eyes, finally breaking through his bravado. "I don’t care what you say about me, and I certainly don’t care about your pathetic little insults. Words don’t bleed."

I leaned down, my face inches from his swollen nose, my eyes completely black with an ancient, dark promise. I wanted him to see exactly what was coming for him. I wanted him to understand that there was no escape.

"But you see where you crossed the line... where you officially signed your own death warrant... was laying your filthy hands on my woman. And you are going to pay so dearly for that, Graham. You have no idea what’s coming for you."

I grabbed him by the back of his neck, dragging his face closer to mine. His breath came in ragged gasps, reeking of fear and blood.

"I don’t joke with what’s mine," I whispered against his ear, my voice dripping with pure, unadulterated venom. Each word was a promise, a vow. "And I’m sure as hell not starting today."