The car ride was quiet as we left the city behind. I gazed out the window, watching the busy streets fade into the calm of the outskirts.
Damian sat next to me, as cool as ever, his fingers laced beneath his knee, dressed in a polished black suit. Not a hair was out of place.
He looked every bit the mafia king I'd read about in the news: impenetrable and dangerous, a picture of control.
But now I understood that a lot of that control was just a facade.
He wasn't calm; he was calculated. Always ten steps ahead because, if he wasn't, someone might put a bullet between his eyes.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended.
He didn't even glance my way. "Lucien's estate. He invited us for dinner."
Dinner? The guy who tried to kill me sends an invite, and you just go for it?
Finally, he turned to me, a smirk playing on his lips. "He's not trying to kill you, Claire. Not yet, anyway. He just wants to remind me he can."
So we're walking into a trap?
"We're walking into a performance," he corrected. "And we'll smile until we bite."
The car rolled through the wrought-iron gate, winding up a long driveway lined with perfectly manicured hedges and gardens that looked almost unreal. The house stood ahead like a cold, perfect cathedral, intimidating and beautiful.
My hands trembled slightly in my lap. Damian noticed, of course.
He leaned in, his voice low. "Don't flinch. Don't apologize. And whatever you do, don't let him see fear."
I swallowed hard. And if I see a knife coming?
"You won't. Because I'll be between you and it."
That should have made me feel better, but it didn't.
Inside, the estate was soaked in money and menace. Gold-trimmed walls, oil paintings, and crystal chandeliers created a display of wealth that felt almost overwhelming.
Lucien Marchesi welcomed us into the grand hall like a charming snake. He was tall, pale, and way too handsome. With slick long hair, a tailored gray suit, and a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes.
"Damian," he said smoothly, extending a hand. "It's been too long."
Damian didn't shake it. "Not long enough."
Lucien's smile widened. "And this must be lovely Mr. Cross. Finally, we meet."
I forced a polite smile. Mr. Marchesi.
He took my hands, kissing my knuckles and holding on just a moment too long. His lips were ice, and his eyes were colder.
"I've heard so much about you," he purred, his voice smooth like velvet. "Your father spoke of you often."
My chest tightened. Funny, he never mentioned you.
"Really?"
Damian's hand found the small of my back. It was possessive, grounding a silent warning to Lucien that I belonged to him.
We were led into a lavish dining room. Three places set, candles lit, wine poured. It would've been romantic if it weren't for the venom lurking beneath every word exchanged.
Dinner began with small talk.
I sat quietly, sipping wine and watching closely. Lucien was clever, charming in a way that made my skin crawl. Damian, on the other hand, was all about quiet threats. He didn't say much, but his presence screamed danger.
Still, something about Lucien unnerved me more.
He was reveling in this.
Halfway through the second course, he turned to me.
"Do you know how your father died, Claire?"
The room froze.
Damian's fingers tightened around his glass.
I didn't blink. Heart attack. That's what the rumor said.
He grinned. "Oh darling, you really don't know, do you?"
"Lucien," Damian warned, his voice low.
Lucien ignored him.
"He didn't die of natural causes; he was executed. By someone he trusted."
My heartbeat pounded in my ears. My hands dug into the tablecloth.
Who? I barely whispered.
Lucien's smile turned cruel.
"Does it matter? Your father was many things,a liar, a traitor, a desperate man. He made deals with the devil and thought he could walk away clean. That never happens in our world."
I looked at Damian, and his silence spoke volumes.
Lucien leaned closer. "He offered you to both of us, you know. Told me I could have you if Damian refused. Said you were obedient, naive, and easy to mold."
My breath caught in my throat.
Lucien's smile disappeared, and his next words came out in a whisper.
"I would've destroyed you."
I flinched, disgust churning in my stomach.
Damian shot up from his chair, the sound of it scraping against the marble echoing in the room.
"This dinner is finished."
Lucien just laughed. "So dramatic."
"Touch her again, and I'll bury you next to the others."
Damian's voice was calm but held a deadly edge.
I quickly stood up, my gaze fixed on Lucien. *You want me to be scared of you.* But honestly, you're just a coward hiding behind your stories and your wine.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Be careful, little girl. You're not bulletproof just because the devil has a thing for you."
Maybe that's true, but I don't flinch anymore.
Damian took my hand, and we started to walk away.
But just before we got to the door, Lucien's last words sliced through the tension.
"Ask him what really happened the night your father died. Then you'll know who your real enemy is."