Chapter 45: Strongest Allies
The warm, smoky scent of roasted meat and expensive wine still hung in the air of Citron Vert’s private room, but the mood had curdled. Pete lay sprawled on a deep velvet sofa tucked against the far wall, nestled amidst shadows cast by the ornate chandelier. Henderson’s straining grunt as he’d hauled Pete’s limp torso back into Karn’s trousers and buttoned the ruined shirt with thick fingers echoed faintly in the sudden quiet. Karn had knelt beside Pete, smoothing back sweat-damp hair from the younger man’s forehead. Pete’s breathing had evened out, hitched only by an occasional soft sob escaping his sleep. His lips moved soundlessly, then a cracked whisper: "S’sorry, Karn… didn’t mean… please… don’t… unfriend…" The raw plea hung in the air like smoke.
Karn’s expression softened, a tenderness entirely incongruous with the setting. He leaned down, his own exhaustion momentarily eclipsing the room’s tension, and pressed a brief, warm kiss against Pete’s slack lips. "Never, Pete," he murmured, the words barely audible. "Sleep." He tucked Karn’s suit jacket around Pete’s shoulders like a blanket. The engraved collar, stark against the pale skin of Pete’s throat above the haphazardly buttoned shirt, gleamed dully in the low light.
Karn pushed himself up, rolling the tension out of his own shoulders. He walked back to the long table, the plush carpet swallowing his footsteps. The Nova Forge executives sat in stunned silence, the remnants of their desserts forgotten, glasses of digestifs untouched. The air crackled, thick enough to choke on. The boisterous laughter that had greeted Pete’s near-striptease felt like an artifact from another century.
Victoria Vongola sat perfectly still, her sharp eyes fixed on Karn as he slid back into his seat. She swirled the deep amber liquid in her glass, the ice clinking like a tiny, cold alarm. The playful feline amusement was gone, replaced by something flinty, analytical. "Karn," she began, her voice low and devoid of inflection, cutting through the silence like a scalpel. "That… display." She gestured minimally towards the sofa where Pete slept, a tremor of something that wasn’t pity flickering across her face. "The collapse. The desperate apology. The… duty he felt compelled to fulfill." She paused, letting the implications sink in. "We all saw the collar. We saw his reaction to failing to… perform." Her gaze locked onto Karn’s with unnerving intensity. "When he was screaming that he ‘couldn’t complete the duty’, Karn… that wasn’t just drunken rambling, was it? That was muscle memory. Instinct."
Karn met her gaze, his face carefully neutral, but a muscle pulsed in his jaw. He didn’t speak.
Victoria leaned forward slightly, the light catching the frost in her eyes. "The stolen performance scores – the ones that kept this brilliant mind buried under a Red Tag for year – that’s monstrous enough. But now…" Her voice dropped even lower, charged with grim certainty. "Now I suspect, Karn Thorne, that Pete Riverton has endured more than just theft. Based on that… visceral, terrified breakdown… I suspect he has been systemically humiliated. Broken down. Conditioned into believing his value lies solely in obedience. In service." She spat the last word like a curse.
A collective, sharp intake of breath hissed around the table. Henderson’s ruddy face paled. The sleek VP of Marketing stared into her untouched drink. The jovial camaraderie was incinerated, replaced by a cold, shared horror. These were predators of the corporate jungle, but the kind of predation Victoria implied was uncomfortably close to home – a dark mirror reflecting practices they publicly condemned yet benefited from.
Karn finally broke eye contact, looking down at his own hands clenched on the polished tabletop. The knuckles were white. The silence stretched, taut and unbearable. When he spoke, his voice was rough, stripped of its usual effortless polish. It carried the weight of buried shame and simmering rage. "Yes." It was a single syllable, heavy as lead.
Victoria didn’t flinch. "Tell us."
Karn exhaled, a sound like steam escaping a pressure cooker. He traced the rim of his untouched glass, the crystal cool beneath his fingertip. "The system at Titan," he started, his voice flat, stripped bare of its usual charm, "it’s… codified. Red Tags obey Purple Tags. Full stop. No questions. Pete?" He glanced towards the sofa, a flicker of pain crossing his face. "He tried to adapt. Play by their rules, head down, work hard. Hoped good work would speak for itself." He gave a bitter, humorless laugh. "Turns out, it just made him a target for bigger sharks."
Victoria’s eyes were chips of glacial ice. "His rivals. The partner company reps."
"Yeah." Karn’s knuckles whitened on the table. "Synergy Partners. Their reps had Tier 4 Purple privileges at Titan. Could order any Red Tag around." He leaned forward, the intensity in his gaze burning. "They targeted him, Victoria. Set him up. Twice."
He described the first incident, his voice tight. "Pete was on the daily compliance list. Most days it’s some ridiculous outfit – polka dots, neon green, whatever humiliating nonsense some bored Purple chooses. That day?" Karn’s jaw clenched. "The chosen attire was 'nothing'. Stark naked. And guess who just happened to be touring the floor with a delegation from Synergy Partners? Pete’s rivals from school."
A collective wince went around the table. Henderson muttered, "Christ."
"It gets worse," Karn continued, the words sharp. "The very next day? Pete gets 'urgently requested' to assist those same Synergy reps at their own office. Guess who just happened to drop by Synergy for an 'impromptu visit' that same afternoon?" The sarcasm was acid. "His friends. Nine in total. Walked right into the break room where Pete was… servicing their demands." He couldn't bring himself to elaborate further; the image of Pete, utterly exposed, betrayed by those he trusted most, hung heavy in the air. "They laughed. Took pictures. Shared them. His own friends."
"Betrayal," Victoria breathed, the word a venomous hiss. "Calculated cruelty."
"Exactly." Karn slammed a fist down, a sharp crack on the polished wood that made the glasses tremble. "The timing wasn't just 'unlucky'. It was orchestrated. Someone inside Titan fed Pete’s schedule, his compliance status, his personal connections, directly to Synergy. Someone made sure he was naked and vulnerable right when his world was watching. Someone set him up to be shattered."
The silence was absolute, thick with shared outrage. Victoria’s expression was granite. "The stolen scores were just the beginning. This was the real gutting. Who?"
Karn shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "We know who stole the points – a recently promoted Purple Tag, already dealt with. But the spy? Feeding intel to Synergy? We suspected someone higher. Someone with access. We just couldn’t pin it down. The Board saw the pattern too. Saw how broken Pete was after that." He gestured towards the sleeping figure. "That's why they moved him. Put him directly under me. Officially, 'strategic reassignment'. Unofficially?" Karn’s finger tapped the air near his own throat. "The collar. It's not just mine. It's his shield. A visible marker. No other Purple Tag, not even Tier 1 execs, can give him orders. Only me. It protects him, forces them to go through me."
Victoria studied Karn for a long moment, then gave a single, sharp nod. "I see. It makes a brutal kind of sense within Titan’s… ecosystem." She sipped her drink, her mind clearly racing. "The stolen performance scores. Cleared by Friday?"
"Yes," Karn confirmed. "Board vote and formal reinstatement Friday. His points, his rank, restored."
"Good." Victoria set her glass down with deliberate finality. "As for the spy problem? And Synergy Partners' little games?" A cold, predatory smile touched her lips, utterly devoid of warmth. "Leave that to Nova Forge."
Henderson grunted in agreement. "Damn right. We're experts at finding rats in the walls. Got connections with cyber, with private investigation, even with the boys in blue downtown." Another VP nodded firmly. "We'll flush 'em out. Count on us, Karn."
Relief washed over Karn’s face, visible even through his exhaustion. "Victoria… Henderson… everyone. Thank you. You don't know what this means." The genuine gratitude was palpable.
"Don't thank us yet," Victoria said, her voice low and dangerous. "Just point us at the targets." She snapped her fingers towards the door. Two large, impassive men in expertly tailored suits materialized instantly. "Help Mr. Thorne get Mr. Riverton to his car. Gently."
The men moved with silent efficiency towards the sofa. Karn stood, the gratitude still warming his voice despite the grimness. "Thank you, Victoria. Truly. See you Thursday for the MOA signing." He watched as the two Nova Forge men carefully lifted Pete, one under the shoulders, one at the knees. Pete murmured incoherently, his head lolling against a broad shoulder, the collar stark against his skin even in the dim light. Karn followed them out, sparing one last look at the executives before the heavy door swung shut behind him.
Back in the private room, the atmosphere crackled with a different kind of energy. Victoria watched the door, her expression hardening into something lethal.
"God," she breathed, the fury radiating off her in waves. "The sheer, petty malice of it. Stealing his work, yes. But that?" She gestured towards the empty sofa. "Setting him up to be stripped bare, physically and emotionally, in front of the people he loved? Betrayed by them? That wasn't corporate politics. That was torture."
Henderson’s face was thunderous. "Animals. Deserve whatever’s coming."
"Whatever is coming," Victoria echoed, her voice dropping to a near whisper that somehow filled the room. "Karn alone? He’d make them pay. Slowly. Thoroughly. He’s got the brains, the reach within Titan, and now? He’s got a righteous fire lit under him after seeing that." She nodded towards the door Pete had been carried through. "But Karn alone?" Her smile returned, colder than liquid nitrogen. "Now they have Nova Forge in the game."
She picked up her glass, swirling the dregs of her drink. "We don't just find spies, gentlemen. We dismantle networks. We ruin careers. We erase futures." She took a final sip, her eyes gleaming with ruthless anticipation. "Those culprits? Synergy’s little puppeteers? The traitor inside Titan? They played with fire. Now?" She set the empty glass down with a decisive clink. "They get the inferno. And trust me, when Nova Forge ignites it, there won't be ashes left to identify." The silence that followed wasn't stunned; it was the quiet before the executioner’s axe falls.
The silence that followed wasn't stunned; it was the quiet before the executioner’s axe falls. Victoria Vongola’s promise hung heavy, a chilling counterpoint to the lingering scent of chocolate soufflé and spilled champagne. Karn, walking beside the impassive Nova Forge security men carrying Pete’s limp form through the hushed, plush corridors of Citron Vert, felt the cold fury radiating off Victoria like a physical wave. It mingled with his own simmering rage at the unseen architects of Pete’s suffering. They reached the sleek black town car waiting at the discreet service entrance. The night air, thick with city exhaust and distant sirens, hit Karn’s face as the security team gently maneuvered Pete into the cavernous back seat. Pete mumbled incoherently, curling instinctively towards Karn’s warmth as the car door thudded shut, sealing them in leather-scented silence. The engine purred to life, gliding them away from the restaurant’s opulence into the glittering, indifferent sprawl of the city.
Karn’s penthouse occupied the top floor, a stark, minimalist expanse of glass and steel overlooking the restless city lights. The elevator ascended silently, the only sound Pete’s ragged breathing and the soft hum of machinery. Karn half-carried, half-dragged Pete’s unresponsive form down the hallway, finally depositing him onto the deep cushions of the vast sectional sofa dominating the living area. Pete groaned, flopping onto his side, face buried in a velvet throw pillow. Karn carefully tugged off Pete’s scuffed dress shoes, then wrestled the borrowed suit jacket off his shoulders. The collar stood out starkly against Pete’s neck. Karn sighed, running a hand through his own hair, exhaustion warring with the adrenaline still coursing through him. He sank into an armchair opposite, watching Pete sleep, the Nova Forge revelation replaying in his mind – the confirmation of Pete’s conditioning, the planned betrayal, Victoria’s lethal promise. He poured himself a large measure of whiskey from a crystal decanter, the amber liquid catching the city’s glow. Thursday can’t come fast enough, he thought grimly, taking a deep pull. We end this.
A soft rustle broke his grim thoughts. Pete stirred. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, pupils wide and dark in the low ambient light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He blinked slowly, the world a hazy smear of shadows and city sparkle. Recognition flickered, then confusion. He pushed himself upright on unsteady elbows, swaying precariously. "K...Karn?" His voice was thick, slurred. He squinted across the dim space, spotting Karn silhouetted in the armchair. A wide, dopey grin spread across his face, pure, unfiltered affection blooming through the alcoholic fog. "Karn!" he declared, voice gaining volume. He clumsily launched himself off the sofa, staggering across the polished concrete floor.
Karn set his glass down, bracing himself. "Easy there, Pete. Lie down." But Pete was already upon him. He stumbled forward, momentum carrying him directly into Karn’s lap. Before Karn could react, Pete’s hands clumsily grasped the sides of his face. He smelled of champagne, sweat, and expensive restaurant air. "Love you," Pete breathed, the words warm and wet against Karn’s skin. "Love you so much, Karn." His lips pressed clumsily, insistently, against Karn’s. It wasn't skilled; it was pure, drunken need, wet and off-center.
Karn froze for a fraction of a second, surprise locking his muscles. Then instinct kicked in. Gently, firmly, he gripped Pete’s shoulders, pushing him back an inch. "Pete. You're drunk. Sleep it off." But Pete, fueled by the alcohol and overwhelming emotion, surged forward again, trying to recapture Karn’s mouth. "No, love you," he mumbled insistently, his hands tangling in Karn’s shirtfront. His balance, never good in this state, finally betrayed him. As Karn tried to hold him steady, Pete’s knees buckled. He slid gracelessly off Karn’s lap, landing with a soft thud on the plush rug, collapsing onto his side like a sack of potatoes.
He scrambled immediately, pushing himself onto his knees before Karn could even rise. Tears, sudden and fat, welled in Pete’s eyes, tracking paths through the sheen of sweat on his flushed cheeks. He looked utterly shattered. He shuffled closer on his knees until he was practically leaning against Karn’s shins, grabbing fistfuls of Karn’s trousers. "Please," he choked out, voice cracking. "Please, Karn. Please don't... don't unfriend me. Didn't mean... didn't mean to fail. At dinner. Couldn't... couldn't finish stripping. Failed the executives." Sobs wracked his frame. "Failed you. Please. Please don't unfriend me. Master Karn. Please." He buried his face against Karn’s knee, shoulders shaking, the engraved collar pressing cold against Karn’s leg.
Karn stared down at the crown of Pete’s head, at the bare nape of his neck exposed above the collar. The raw, drunken despair, the immediate regression to conditioned terror at the perceived failure, the absolute vulnerability – it hit Karn like a physical blow. He saw the terrified kid stripped bare in the Titan breakroom, the brilliant strategist trembling at the Nova Forge table, and now this weeping, clinging figure begging not to be abandoned. The protective fury warred violently with something else entirely. A low, involuntary sound escaped Karn, almost a growl. He reached out, his hand hovering just above Pete’s trembling back, fingers twitching. He wanted to haul Pete up, shake him, make him understand he was safe, cherished. He wanted to crush him close and never let go.
Instead, Karn forced his hand to gently settle on Pete’s head, fingers brushing through the messy hair. His voice, when it came, was rough, strained, barely above a whisper meant only for his own ears as much as Pete’s, a desperate dam holding back a flood. "God, Bunny... you're too damn cute like this. Almost can't stop myself... almost..." He took a sharp, shuddering breath, the image of Pete not on the floor, but pinned beneath him, those wide, tear-filled eyes looking up for a very different reason, flashing unbidden and dangerously vivid in his mind. "Not on the bed." The words were a harsh exhalation, a command to himself, a physical ache settling low in his gut. He forced his gaze away from the vulnerable curve of Pete’s neck, focusing instead on the glittering, indifferent cityscape beyond the glass, trying to find calm in its cold, distant lights. Pete’s muffled sobs against his knee were the only sound in the vast, silent room.
The city lights painted shifting patterns on the polished concrete floor as Pete’s muffled sobs gradually subsided into ragged, exhausted breaths. Karn’s hand remained a steady, warm weight on Pete’s head, the repetitive motion through his hair the only anchor in the swirling aftermath of adrenaline and alcohol. Pete’s grip on Karn’s trousers relaxed, his body finally surrendering to the deep, leaden exhaustion pulling him under. He slumped sideways onto the plush rug, cheek pressed against the cool wool, utterly still except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Karn remained motionless in the armchair, staring into the glittering void beyond the glass, the echo of Pete’s desperate plea and his own dangerous urge reverberating in the silent penthouse until the first pale streaks of dawn crept into the sky.
Moonlight, sharp and intrusive, stabbed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, landing directly on Pete’s closed eyelids. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that scraped his raw throat. His head pounded with a sickening rhythm, each throb echoing behind his eyes. Every muscle ached as if he’d wrestled a combine harvester. He blinked, squinting against the glare, his vision swimming. Polished concrete ceiling. Glass walls. City skyline. Not his cramped Titan dorm. Panic, cold and immediate, seized him. Where? How? Fragmented images flashed: harsh conference room lights, Nova Forge faces, champagne bubbles, Victoria’s predatory smile… Karn’s suit… Henderson grabbing him… Karn’s kiss? He bolted upright, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain lancing through his skull. His hands flew to his chest. Karn’s expensive shirt, now hopelessly wrinkled and missing buttons, hung open. Beneath it… the collar. Solid. Unmistakable. He was kneeling. On Karn’s rug. Clutching Karn’s knee.
"Karn?" Pete croaked, his voice like gravel. He scrambled back slightly, confusion warring with a dawning horror. "What… what happened? How… how’d I get here?" He looked around wildly at the vast, sterile luxury of Karn’s penthouse living area. "Last thing I sorta remember… was Citron Vert? The soufflé? Then… nothing?"
Karn, looking immaculate in fresh black slacks and a soft grey sweater despite the early hour, sat in the same armchair, a sleek tablet resting on his lap. He regarded Pete with an unnerving calm, a faint, unreadable curve on his lips. "Hi, Sleeping Beauty," he said, his voice smooth but holding an edge Pete couldn't quite place. "You had quite the night." He paused, tilting his head. "You sure you want the full tour? It’s… colorful."
Pete rubbed his temples, the pounding intensifying. He needed to know, even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt. "Yeah. Yeah, Karn. Tell me. Did I… did I embarrass you?" Dread pooled in his stomach, cold and heavy. "Did I screw things up with Nova Forge?"
Karn didn’t answer immediately. He tapped the tablet screen, waking it. A grin, sharp and anticipatory, flickered across his face. "Let’s just say… they were impressed. Thoroughly." He held the tablet out towards Pete. "Victoria sent this. A little… souvenir."
Pete took the tablet with trembling hands. The screen showed the blurry, slightly shaky footage of Citron Vert’s private room, clearly filmed on someone’s phone. It was him. Standing unsteadily beside the table, grinning drunkenly. Victoria’s voice, off-camera but clear, commanded: "Off with the jacket, at least!" Pete watched his past-self wrestle clumsily with Karn’s suit jacket, finally yanking it off and letting it fall. A ragged cheer erupted from the unseen Nova Forge executives.
Then, fueled by the cheers and deep-rooted conditioning, Pete saw himself fumble with the shirt buttons. He ripped it open, sending buttons flying. Off it came, joining the jacket on the floor. Bare-chested now, the collar stark against his skin. He grinned wider, swaying. Hands dropped to his belt buckle. The video zoomed in slightly as Pete clumsily undid it, shoving the trousers down over his hips until they pooled around his ankles. He stood there, triumphant and dazed, in just his briefs. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, starting to pull them down. Henderson’s large hand suddenly shot into frame, grabbing Pete’s wrists firmly. "Whoa there, son! Easy! Easy!" Henderson’s voice boomed. The camera jolted, catching Pete’s bewildered, thwarted expression before swinging wildly upwards as Victoria’s distinctive, delighted scream filled the audio: "Oh, Riverton! You absolute legend!" Then black.
Pete stared at the blank screen, the blood draining from his face, then flooding back in a scalding wave. His skin felt like it was on fire. "Oh my god," he whispered, hoarse. "Oh my god. I… I did that? I nearly… in front of…" He looked up at Karn, eyes wide with horrified disbelief. "Why? Why would I…?"
"Body memory, farm boy," Karn said, his tone almost conversational, though his eyes were fixed intently on Pete’s reaction. "Too much fancy booze, too much emotional whiplash… and a year of Titan conditioning kicking into overdrive. Victoria only asked you to take off the jacket." He paused, letting that sink in. "After Henderson stopped the grand finale, you dropped to your knees right here," Karn tapped the rug near his feet, "and started crying, Pete. Loudly. Something about…" Karn’s voice took on a remarkably accurate imitation of Pete’s broken, drunken plea, "...'Failed! Couldn't fulfill the command to be naked! Failed my duty! Sorry, Master Karn!' Then you passed out cold. Henderson and I wrestled you back into the trousers and shirt, and I brought you here. Slept like a rock. Mostly on the floor."
Pete buried his face in his hands, a low groan escaping him. The humiliation was absolute, suffocating. He’d stripped nearly naked in front of the most powerful people he’d ever met, cried like a child, and called Karn 'Master' in front of them. He wanted the polished concrete floor to swallow him whole.
Karn wasn't finished. He leaned forward, tapping the tablet again. "But wait," he said, the hint of amusement back in his voice, "there's more. Victoria sent you a personal message." He hit play.
Victoria Vongola’s face filled the screen, beaming. She was clearly still riding the high of the night, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Pete! you magnificent disaster!" she chirped. "Just wanted to say, officially? That presentation? Flawless. Vespera never knew what hit them! Nova Forge is thoroughly impressed. Henderson’s already planning to name his next yacht after you, probably 'The Riverton Reprieve'." She chuckled. "And that little… performance at dinner?" Her smile turned positively wicked. "Pure gold! Utterly hilarious and strangely adorable. Don't you dare be shy around us next time, darling! Thursday’s just a formality, but I expect full attendance from our star strategist." She leaned closer to the camera, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And Pete? If you ever feel the urge to give us that… full encore? Do it sober, sweetheart. It’ll be far more entertaining for everyone." She winked, blew an elaborate kiss directly at the camera, and the screen went dark.
Pete sat frozen. The flush that had started on his face during the first video now consumed him entirely, spreading down his neck and chest like a wildfire. Every word, every teasing lilt in Victoria's voice, the wink, the kiss – it all slammed into him with the force of a freight train. The sheer, unadulterated, mind-melting embarrassment.
A strangled, high-pitched noise escaped his throat. It built, gaining volume, fueled by shock, horror, and the crushing weight of his own drunken actions immortalized on video. It erupted from him, raw and loud, shattering the penthouse silence.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"