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Chapter 28 - THE WEIGHT OF A NAME

Celeste's POV:

I woke slowly, a languid warmth still clinging to me, the lingering imprint of Lucien's body a comforting weight against my side.

The unfamiliar scent of his penthouse – dark woods and something uniquely him – filled my senses.

For a moment, the world felt soft, muted, like waking from a long, needed sleep.

Then, fragments of the night before flooded back: the raw intensity of his kiss, the hesitant exploration of touch, the whispered confessions, the shattering of every wall I had so carefully constructed. And then, the name.

The Moretti family.

The weight of it settled in my chest, a cold knot of unease that the lingering warmth couldn't entirely dispel.

It wasn't just a name; it was a shadow, a whisper of a world I didn't understand, a world Lucien inhabited.

His controlled calm when he spoke of them was more terrifying than any raised voice. I sensed the danger, the undercurrent of violence that rippled beneath his polished surface.

He wasn't beside me anymore. The imprint on the sofa was cool. I sat up slowly, pulling the soft throw blanket around myself, my gaze sweeping the elegant, minimalist space. The early morning light painted the city skyline in hues of gold and rose, a stark contrast to the darkness the name "Moretti" conjured.

I found him by the vast window, his back to me, a dark silhouette against the brightening sky. He held his phone to his ear, his voice low and clipped, the language flowing with a melodic cadence I didn't immediately recognize. French, I realized, a language that added another layer of allure and a touch of the exotic to the man who now held my heart, my body, my very sense of self captive.

He ended the call and turned, his gaze meeting mine across the room. There was a guardedness in his eyes, a flicker of something I couldn't quite decipher. Concern? Worry? Or something darker, something protective?

"Good morning, mon amour," he said, his voice softer now, the French lilt still present.

"Good morning," I replied, my voice still husky with sleep and the echoes of the night. "Who was that?"

He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Business."

I sat up straighter, the blanket slipping slightly. "The Morettis?"

His gaze sharpened. "I told you I would handle it, Celeste. You don't need to worry about them."

But I did worry. The casual dismissal in his tone didn't reassure me. It amplified the fear.

This wasn't a boardroom negotiation; this felt like something far more dangerous.

"But what did you do, Lucien?" I pressed, needing to understand the extent of his world, the forces he commanded. "You said you sent a message…"

He walked towards me, his movements fluid and graceful, yet there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there last night. He knelt before me, taking my hands in his. His touch was warm, grounding.

"I ensured they understand that you are under my protection," he said, his gaze intense. "That any attempt to involve you will have… consequences."

The unspoken threat hung in the air, heavy and palpable. I believed him.

I had no doubt he was capable of inflicting those consequences. But the thought of him operating in that shadowy realm, a realm I was now tangentially connected to, sent a shiver of apprehension through me.

"Damien…" I began, the thought of my estranged husband a bitter taste in my mouth.

"He's gone," Lucien interrupted, his grip tightening slightly on my hands. "He left the country last night."

"Naples," I whispered, remembering the sirens, the unease. "He's involved with the Morettis, isn't he?"

Lucien's silence was the only confirmation I needed. A wave of nausea washed over me. Damien, in his petty jealousy and wounded pride, had dragged me into something far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined.

"Lucien," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "What does this mean? For us? For my life?"

He brought my hands to his lips, his gaze unwavering.

"It means you are safe. It means no one will touch you. It means my world is now yours, and I will shield you from its darkness."

His words were meant to reassure, but they also felt like a gilded cage. His world. I had stepped into it willingly, hungrily, but the weight of its implications was just beginning to settle upon me.

"And Damien?" I asked again, unable to shake the image of him, fueled by rage and desperation, making deals with dangerous men.

"I'm watching him," Lucien said, his voice hard. "He made a mistake. One he will regret."

He stood, then pulled me to my feet, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close. I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his scent, seeking solace in his strength.

But even in his embrace, the weight of the Moretti name, the unseen current of danger, lingered.

I had stepped into the fire, wanting to be consumed. But now, I realized that fire could also burn everything around it. And I was standing right beside the inferno. The thaw had led to a dangerous bloom, and the scent of it was both intoxicating and terrifying.

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