Lucien's POV:
Adrien had just left, his face grim, the news he'd delivered tightening a noose I hadn't realized was already around my neck.
Damien Morano, the weak, pathetic fool, wasn't just sniffing.
He was digging.
He'd reached out to Angelo Moretti, a viper of a man with a smile as sharp as his blade.
Angelo was a relic from my father's era, a man who saw every opportunity as a way to claw back what he felt he was owed.
And now, he saw Celeste.
He saw her as a vulnerability, a weakness in my armor.
My hand clenched around the heavy crystal tumbler, the ice rattling. I hadn't touched the bourbon. Alcohol would dull the precision I needed.
This wasn't about anger. It was about strategy.
I'd sent her the rose. A silent acknowledgement. A quiet message.
I know. I'm here.
And the moment I saw her car pull away from the clinic, leaving her afternoon session behind, I knew she had received it. She wasn't just feeling me anymore. She was moving.
---
I walked to the oversized map of the city that covered one wall of my private study. Red pins marked my assets. Blue pins, my rivals.
A single, gleaming gold pin, newly placed, marked Celeste's clinic. And now, a new red pin had appeared, a dangerous proximity to her apartment: a known Moretti safe house, recently activated.
Angelo wasn't subtle. He was making a statement.
He was testing me. And I could not, would not, allow Celeste to become collateral in his twisted game.
"Adrien," I spoke into my comms, my voice a low rumble. "Track Damien Morano. Every movement. Every call."
"Already on it, Lucien. He's booked a flight for tonight. Private jet, to a discreet location in the Caribbean. Money laundering hub. Likely a quick, dirty deal to get Moretti's attention."
A ghost of a smile touched my lips. "Let him go."
Adrien paused. "Sir? We have him."
"I said, let him go. He's not the target. Not tonight. Not yet."
My focus was singular. Celeste. And the immediate threat. Angelo Moretti.
I moved with a chilling efficiency. I called my most trusted men, the silent, deadly few who operated purely in my shadow.
Their instructions were precise, concise. No direct confrontation. No noise. Just a message.
A clear, unmistakable warning to Angelo.
The best way to deliver a warning to a snake? Cut off its head. Or, at least, its most prized possession.
I sent a single man, a ghost, to the Moretti safe house. Not to engage. Not to kill.
But to extract.
Something precious. Something that would make Angelo understand the depth of his miscalculation without a single word being spoken.
---
As the dusk deepened into night, I walked through the penthouse. My gaze fell on the portrait of Celeste in my private gallery, the raw, defiant woman on her knees. My queen.
The thought of her, oblivious, vulnerable, fueled a cold rage I rarely allowed myself to feel.
This wasn't about power plays anymore. This was primal. This was possession.
I checked my comms again. "Status update."
Adrien's voice was calm, almost bored. "The package has been delivered, Lucien. No resistance. No casualties. Message received, loud and clear."
A satisfaction, cold and deep, settled in my chest. Angelo would wake to a devastating absence, a sudden void where his most prized, illicit commodity once lay.
He would understand that I was not to be trifled with.
And that Celeste? She was untouchable.
But this was only the first move. The game had just begun.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that Celeste would be caught in the shifting currents.
She would question. She would demand answers.
And I would give them to her. Not in words, but in the raw, undeniable reality of my world, and her place within it.
Because when she came to me again, truly came to me, it wouldn't be just to see. It would be to stay. And I would make sure the path was clear.
Even if it meant paving it with blood.