ryethenovel Chapter 358: How To Tame A Family Head. [18+]
Chapter 358: How To Tame A Family Head. [18+]
Marcello led Kyle down the mansion’s wide hallways, past paintings worth more than most people’s lives and marble columns that carried the weight of old money and older secrets. The other family heads followed at a careful distance, their faces tight with anger they couldn’t quite hide.
"I need you to understand something," Kyle said low, words just for Marcello. "Whatever you’re planning, whatever moves you’re making, you need to stop."
Marcello glanced sideways, eyes hard to read. "You don’t know what you’re asking."
"Maybe not. But I know what I’m seeing." Kyle stopped walking and turned to face him straight. "You’re not a bad man, Marcello. I can tell. You’re kind. You listen. You’re just stuck with the hand life dealt you."
Kyle didn’t know the full story. Didn’t know the burdens Marcello carried or the choices that had carved lines into his face. He just felt it—the quiet exhaustion behind the power, the look of a man who’d been running too long and couldn’t remember how to quit.
He didn’t push further. Didn’t need to. Marcello’s eyes said the words had hit home.
"I’ll think about what you said," Marcello answered after a beat. Probably the closest Kyle would get to yes.
Kyle nodded and started walking again. Each step felt strange, unreal. Power hummed through him in a way he’d never known. The family heads stared with open disgust. O’Rourke’s scarred face twisted in hate. Lucius watched like he was already plotting angles. Even the stone-faced Kurobane head couldn’t mask the irritation. But none of them could touch him now. Marcello’s word had become armor. One sentence from the Don and Kyle was off-limits.
He was glad he’d used what Nakamura gave him. He hadn’t understood the full weight of those hints—operations in England, loose ends that weren’t so loose—until the moment it mattered. Now it was a blade, and Isabeau knew exactly how sharp.
She lingered near the back of the group, composure perfect, but her eyes moved fast, calculating. Kyle’s new standing gave his words real teeth. Even without proof, a whisper from him would spark questions, audits, scrutiny she couldn’t survive. He could ruin her life with a single conversation, and they both knew it.
"I’ve had a room prepared," Marcello said as they reached a quieter wing. "You look like hell. My doctors will check that shoulder properly. Rest."
Kyle wanted to argue, to leave this place and crawl back to something normal. But his body wasn’t listening. The bullet wound throbbed steady. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle. He wasn’t sure he could even make it to the car without crashing.
"Alright," Kyle said. "Just tonight."
Marcello nodded and signaled one of his men. The guy led Kyle to a guest suite bigger than his whole apartment. The bathroom could’ve fit a family.
Kyle stood under the shower for twenty minutes, hot water pounding out knots in his shoulders and rinsing away blood and sweat. His wound ached where Isabeau had shot him. Yesterday? Felt longer. But the pain seemed farther off now, something he could handle.
He dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, used another to scrub at his wet hair as he walked back into the bedroom. Doctors would be here soon, Marcello said. Kyle just wanted a few minutes of quiet before—
A knock cut through his thoughts.
"Come in," Kyle called, expecting a doctor or staff.
The door opened. Isabeau stepped inside.
Kyle paused for half a second, then kept toweling his hair like she was nothing special. "What do you want?"
Isabeau’s gaze moved over him—bare chest, bandaged shoulder, water still clinging to his skin—but she wasn’t here for the view. The shift in power was clear. She wasn’t looking at easy prey anymore. She was looking at someone who could end her.
She crossed to the chair across from the bed and sat, legs crossed, graceful as ever. "We need to talk."
"So talk." Kyle dropped the towel from his hair, ran fingers through the damp strands, met her eyes steady.
Isabeau watched him a long moment. She’d expected rage, maybe smugness, anything but this cool calm. "How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Don’t play dumb." Her voice sharpened. "How were you so calm back there? What did you say to Marcello to make him spare you—and put you under his protection?"
Kyle looked at her, then sighed. He could drag this out, make her sweat, but he was too tired for games.
"I didn’t tell him about you and Cleopatra."
Relief hit her face fast and plain. Her shoulders eased. "You didn’t?"
"No," Kyle informed her.
"Will it stay that way?" Isabeau questioned him.
Kyle leaned back against the headboard, thinking it over. He was done with the endless moves and countermoves. But having Isabeau neutral—or better, useful—wouldn’t hurt. Especially now that he held real leverage. The kind that could bury her if he ever used it.
"That depends," Kyle said.
"On what?"
"On whether you play this smart." He held her gaze. "You don’t know exactly what I have. Could be everything. Could be scraps. But you know enough to realize I’m the last person you want as an enemy right now."
Isabeau didn’t speak. Her silence said plenty. She got it. Kyle had walked in as nobody. Less than twenty-four hours later he could ruin her with a phone call. The kind of threat that kept people awake wondering when the blade would drop.
"So here’s how it goes," Kyle continued. "You leave me alone. You don’t come after me or anyone I care about. In return, what I know about you and Cleopatra stays buried. If our paths cross and interests line up, we can even help each other. Fair?"
Isabeau’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t a deal. It was surrender dressed as terms. But she had no cards left.
"Fair," she said quietly.
Kyle nodded. "Good. Now get out. Doctors are coming and I don’t want to explain why you’re in my room."
Isabeau stood, smoothed her suit, walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the handle and looked back.
"You’re more dangerous than anyone realized," she said.
"Yeah," Kyle answered. "I’m starting to see that myself."
Isabeau’s fingers lingered on the cool metal handle just a second too long, her heart still racing from Kyle’s words. Then the door slammed shut behind her. She hadn’t touched it.
No footsteps. Not a sound.
Before she could turn, something firm pressed against her ass, it was solid. Warmth seeped through the thin skirt, right into the cleft. Isabeau froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
It was Kyle. He’d moved like a shadow—no noise, no rustle, nothing. The silence unnerved her more than the contact. This was the movement of an assassin.
Her body stiffened. Muscles tightened under the suit as she felt him flush against her from behind, trapping her lightly but firmly against the door.
Then it stiffened. Kyle’s cock swelled between her cheeks, thickening, lengthening, pulsing steadily against her. Huge and rigid.
Like a thick rod wedged in place with warmth radiated through her skirt and panties, making the fabric cling awkwardly. Isabeau’s mind raced, this had to be payback for the games she’d played, the teasing, the control she’d tried to keep. But he’d had easier moments before, in her home when she’d held the advantage. He’d stayed professional then, despite the tension. Why risk it now? Guards patrolled and families were close. One shout and everything would collapse in on Kyle.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" she hissed, voice low and edged, twisting to glance back.
Kyle’s hand clamped her hip. Fingers dug in hard. He yanked her back, grinding forward until his full length nestled deep between her cheeks. The pressure parted her buttocks slightly, friction sending an unwanted spark up her spine.
No answer. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, breath warm on her neck. Isabeau’s heart pounded as she was astonished by his new found audacity. Anger surged, tangled with something darker she didn’t quite understand, tension coiling in her stomach. Their deal was fresh, fragile. One yell and the mansion would swarm but Kyle held too much leverage. Even with that, this was far too reckless.
But then his other hand slid up her side, bold, no hesitation. It slipped under her blouse hem. Fingers brushed the underside of her small breast, then cupped it fully. Palm enveloped the soft curve. His thumb dragged over her nipple, it peaked instantly.
"Hmpphhh!" Isabeau gasped. Rough skin against smooth, squeezing just enough to sting, sending jolts straight down.
She twisted in his grip, hands pushing at his arm, but the struggle felt weak. More instinct than fight. Her body betrayed her with a rush of warmth, pussy tightening as his hold strengthened.
Kyle spun her in one smooth motion. Her back hit the door flat. Now she faced him. His eyes locked on hers, there was something dark and intense behind them, no doubt.
Up close his bare chest, still damp from the shower, brushed her top. The bandage on his shoulder stood out sharp. He towered over her, cock tenting his towel thick and obvious, head inches from her thigh.
"I’m going to give you something to remember me by," Kyle said.