Ruthless Kings of Obsession (Leighton Royals University #3)

20. The News Of Redemption

The News Of Redemption

***~ M ATTEO~***

I listen to my brother's broken confessions, keeping my breathing steady despite the ache in my chest that has nothing to do with broken ribs. The raw honesty in his voice, the genuine remorse – it's so far from the arrogant mask he usually wears that for a moment I almost forget our complicated history.

Let him talk , Hannah's voice whispers through my earpiece, barely audible. This might be the only chance we get to understand.

She's right, of course. Hannah's always right about these things. So I maintain the pretense of sleep, giving him the safety of confession without judgment.

But I can't help thinking as I listen: it's not my forgiveness he needs to earn. Not my trust he needs to rebuild.

Everything rests in the hands of my Sweet Precious Gem – my wife, his stepsister, our Queen who holds both their shattered pieces in her equally broken hands.

Only she can decide if his regret is enough to wash away the blood between them.

May God have mercy on his soul if it isn't.

Sleep comes in waves, each one pulling me deeper into much-needed rest. The pain medication makes everything soft around the edges, turning thoughts into clouds that drift lazily through my consciousness. Even the steady beep of monitors fades into white noise as I let myself float...

"Breaking news update on the Leighton University hockey scandal..."

The reporter's voice cuts through the haze, making my eyes flutter open. Domino stirs in his chair, both of us registering Marcus's presence simultaneously. He stands near the wall-mounted television, remote in hand, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

"Following an extensive joint investigation by the FBI and CIA," the reporter continues, her perfectly styled hair and crisp delivery suggesting this is a major network broadcast, "new evidence has emerged regarding the viral video that appeared to show Leighton University hockey star Domino Leighton engaging in criminal behavior."

The camera cuts to footage of federal agents in suits making official statements outside what looks like a government building. "After thorough analysis of the video content and related evidence," a stern-faced agent declares, "we can confirm that the allegations regarding Mr. Leighton's involvement in the abuse and potential murder of Felix 'Flex' Mallon are demonstrably false."

I hear Domino's sharp intake of breath, feel the tension suddenly radiating from his direction. But my attention stays fixed on Marcus, watching the subtle satisfaction in his posture as the news continues to break.

"Sources close to the investigation indicate that the video in question was heavily doctored using advanced AI technology," the reporter explains, professional concern coloring her tone. "Experts suggest this may be part of a larger cyber-terrorism campaign targeting prominent institutions and their affiliates."

The screen splits to show various social media reactions, hashtags like #LeightonLegacyLost and #DominoDownfall being rapidly replaced with #TechTerrorism and #LeightonStrong.

What have you done, Marcus? I wonder, watching him stand perfectly still, like a scientist observing a particularly interesting experiment. And more importantly, why?

The news continues to unfold, rewriting history in real time, while we watch in stunned silence.

"Forensic analysis reveals the video in question was created using sophisticated artificial intelligence technology," the reporter continues, her professional demeanor carrying just the right note of concerned outrage. "Experts from the FBI's Cyber Division have identified markers consistent with deepfake manipulation, where someone's facial features and physical characteristics can be seamlessly imposed onto existing footage."

The screen splits to show side-by-side comparisons – the viral video versus technical analysis highlighting inconsistencies in lighting, pixel patterns, and micro-expressions that only advanced AI detection software could identify.

"What we're looking at," a tech expert in a crisp FBI jacket explains, gesturing to complex data scrolling behind him, "is arguably the most sophisticated deepfake attack we've encountered. The perpetrators used cutting-edge neural networks to map Mr. Leighton's features onto carefully selected base footage. To the naked eye, even to initial forensic scans, it appeared genuine."

Domino leans forward in his chair, knuckles white as he grips the armrests. I watch his reflection in the darkened window, seeing emotions war across his face – relief, confusion, dawning understanding.

"The investigation has been escalated to the highest levels," the reporter announces, touching her earpiece as if receiving breaking information. "Sources confirm the Secret Service became involved after the situation was brought to President Mitchell's attention. The implications of such technology being used to destabilize prominent institutions has raised serious national security concerns."

The camera cuts to White House footage, showing stern-faced officials descending the iconic steps. "This isn't just about one student or one university," the Press Secretary declares. "This represents a direct attack on our educational institutions and the integrity of our digital infrastructure. The President has authorized full resources to identify those responsible."

"Jesus Christ," Domino whispers, his voice barely audible over the continuing broadcast. Marcus remains silent, still holding the remote like a conductor's baton.

"Had this investigation not revealed the truth," the reporter continues gravely, "the consequences for Domino Leighton would have been catastrophic. Already, we've seen how quickly social media can destroy lives without verification or due process."

Footage plays of the initial reaction – Twitter storms, Instagram cancellation posts, TikTok videos calling for Leighton's expulsion and arrest. The timestamps show how rapidly the destruction spread: three million shares in the first hour, trending worldwide within two.

"The speed at which society embraces destruction while eschewing verification is deeply troubling," a social media expert comments, her credentials identifying her as a Harvard professor of Digital Ethics. "Everyone rushes to be part of the trending conversation, but few stop to question its validity. The dopamine hit of participating in public shamming overrides our responsibility to truth."

The scene shifts to live footage outside Leighton University's gates, where hundreds of students have gathered. But instead of angry protests, they're holding supportive signs: #JusticeForDomino, #LeightonStandsTogether, #TruthPrevails.

"The change in public sentiment has been dramatic," the reporter narrates over crowd shots. "Multiple GoFundMe campaigns have raised over $2.5 million collectively to help Mr. Leighton rebuild his life. Petitions demanding his reinstatement at Leighton University have garnered hundreds of thousands of signatures, with prominent alumni threatening to withdraw donations if the administration doesn't comply."

Domino's breathing grows uneven as the camera pans across familiar faces in the crowd – teammates, classmates, people who'd condemned him hours earlier now chanting his name in support.

"Perhaps most significantly," the reporter continues, "we're seeing major reversals from professional organizations. The NHL teams that initially distanced themselves from Mr. Leighton are now actively competing for his attention. The New York Rangers' general manager released a statement calling him 'exactly the kind of resilient character we want representing our organization.'"

"How..." Domino starts, then stops, seemingly unable to process the complete reversal of his fortune.

"However," the reporter's tone grows more somber, "questions remain about the lasting impact of such an incident. How does one recover from having the world turn against them, even briefly? What scars remain when you've witnessed how quickly society will believe the worst about you?"

The camera returns to the studio, where the reporter faces it directly. "In less than 24 hours, Domino Leighton experienced total character assassination followed by complete vindication. But the deeper question remains: in an age where technology can make anything appear real, and social media can destroy lives in minutes, how do we protect ourselves from becoming the next target? And more importantly, how do we as a society learn to verify before we crucify?"

Marcus finally moves, clicking off the television and plunging the room into relative darkness. For several long moments, no one speaks. The only sounds are the steady beep of monitors and Domino's slightly ragged breathing.

"Marcus," I break the silence first, studying his carefully neutral expression. "What did you do?"

But before he can answer, Hannah's voice comes through my earpiece, soft but clear: "He did exactly what our Queen requested – gave society a narrative they could believe, a villain they could blame, and a redemption story they could celebrate."

I look at Domino, seeing the same realization dawn in his eyes. This wasn't just damage control – this was Eva's plan all along.

Break him completely, then offer a path to redemption that binds him even more tightly to her service.

The true question is: does he understand just how masterfully he's been played?

Marcus breaks the weighted silence that followed the news broadcast, turning away from the darkened television with calculated precision.

His movement carries that clinical grace he's perfected over years in operating rooms – each gesture measured, nothing wasted. The look he gives them now is the same one he uses when studying particularly complex pathology slides: analytical, searching, slightly unsettling in its intensity.

"Having you two in the same room is a legitimate mindfuck," he finally says, his words carrying genuine fascination beneath their casual delivery. A slight smirk plays at his lips as he adds, "Though Matteo's definitely more handsome."

"Fuck off," Domino snaps, but the words emerge hollow, exhausted. The news broadcast seems to have drained what little energy he had left, leaving him slumped in the expensive armchair like a puppet with cut strings. Dark circles beneath his eyes speak of more than physical fatigue – the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from watching your world implode and rebuild itself in the span of hours.

"Is that how you talk to the one who saved your ass faster than anyone else he's ever provided services for?" Marcus's voice carries an edge sharp enough to draw blood. His usual calm facade cracks slightly, revealing something darker beneath. "Do you have any idea how many favors I had to call in? How many people now own pieces of me because I needed this done immediately?"

The questions land like physical blows, making Domino sink further into himself. His hands – the same ones that held the gun so steady in that rain-soaked alley – tremble slightly as he runs them through his disheveled hair.

"Even if you did intervene first," he finally mutters, voice rough with something that might be shame, "it doesn't erase the fact that I've asked too many people for help. Made too many promises." A broken laugh escapes him. "The debts I've collected... I'm basically doomed to be hunted eventually." His eyes find Marcus's, carrying a desperate kind of hope. "Can't I just... call it off or something? There has to be a way out."

Matteo and Marcus exchange a look heavy with shared knowledge – the kind that comes from understanding exactly how their shadow world operates. The machines monitoring Matteo's vital signs seem to beep louder in the loaded silence, marking time like a countdown to something inevitable.

"No one in this society backs off from a deal," Matteo says quietly, each word carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "You can't run when you've made a deal with the devil."

"The devil has a name," Domino responds, something like genuine fear creeping into his voice. The admission seems to cost him physically, making him curl slightly inward. "The Blind One."

Marcus's clinical mask slips completely as he looks to Matteo, clearly expecting answers. "Speaking of which," he says carefully, moving closer to the bed, "during Ascension, when Eva dropped that name as our representative... the reaction was intense." His frown deepens. "Everyone seemed shocked. Scared, even."

"Who exactly is this person?" Domino sits up straighter despite his obvious exhaustion, something like desperate curiosity overtaking his fatigue. "Are they really more powerful than the founders? Than Mr. Leighton, Mr. Prescott, and Saint Joaquin?"

Both brothers turn to Matteo expectantly, but he remains silent, choosing his words with obvious care. The darkness beyond the windows seems to press closer, as if the night itself leans in to hear these dangerous revelations.

"All I know about The Blind One," he finally says, voice dropping almost to a whisper, "is that he was meant to be the founder of a fourth university."

"Was meant to be?" Marcus moves even closer, troubled by something in Matteo's tone. The scientist in him clearly senses a deeper truth waiting to be uncovered. "What happened?"

Domino's expression shifts from exhaustion to growing unease, clearly sensing the change in atmosphere. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees, though the environmental controls haven't changed.

Matteo takes a careful breath, pain medication making his words slightly slower but no less precise. Each syllable falls like stones into still water, creating ripples that can never be undone: "The university burned to the ground."

The silence that follows holds physical weight, pressing against skin like a living thing. No one moves. Even the medical equipment seems to beep more quietly, as if afraid to disturb whatever dark truth has been awakened.

Domino breaks first, a shudder running through his frame. "Burned," he repeats, the word carrying echoes of other fires, other destructions. "Was anyone...?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," Matteo cuts him off, something warning in his tone. "Some knowledge comes with a price none of us can afford to pay."

Marcus studies them both with renewed intensity, his brilliant mind clearly connecting pieces of a puzzle they can barely see the edges of. "Is that why everyone reacted so strongly when Eva named him? Because of what happened with the university?"

"No," Matteo says quietly, his eyes finding something in the darkness beyond the windows. "They reacted because she shouldn't have known about him at all. No one talks about The Blind One. Not if they want to survive in our world."

"But she knew," Domino whispers, realization dawning in his expression. "She knew exactly what that name would do to them."

“Maybe she didn’t know,” I confess. “But took the chance.

“He gave us his name as if he knew the weight it carried in our secret society,” Marcus mutters and sighs. “His involvement won’t be beneficial to anyone.”

No…it won’t, and that’s the problem because Domino already played all his cards.

And now, we have to wait until The Blind One is ready to collect.