"Don't be too arrogant, Reznik."
The voice came from the far end of the table. A man sat there like a shadow made flesh, his veined hands folded calmly before him.
On the back of his right hand gleamed a tattoo, an ornate crown jewel shaped like a star. Behind him, two men stood silent and still, like wolves guarding their master.
Mikhail's brow furrowed. "Huh. Didn't see you there, kitty. This deal's between me and this bastard, so shut the fuck up."
The man called kitty laughed, deep and heavy, while one of his men lit a cigar between his lips. Smoke curled around his grin.
"Listen, little devil, this isn't just your agreement. That dog gave me one too. Or did he forget to tell you that?"
Mikhail's crimson gaze snapped to Vincent. He slowly pulled a pistol from his pocket and aimed it directly at him. "Explain."
Vincent swallowed hard, his hands trembling. Even his bodyguards froze, refusing to lift their weapons, as if Mikhail's presence alone pressed them down.
One man, against them all, and yet none dared move.
'Fuck,' Vincent cursed inwardly.
***
Lucien sat on the balcony of his seaside manor, staring at the fortress he called home.
Men in suits patrolled the grounds, shooters watched from rooftops, and snipers hid behind windows with crosshairs trained on invisible threats.
The salty breeze and soft cries of seagulls did nothing to ease the coil of tension in his chest.
This was supposed to be a rare holiday, but his mind refused peace. Especially with that damned Diablo haunting every thought.
Fated mates? What a joke. If that nonsense were real, people wouldn't cheat or take multiple partners. Hell, his parents did it all the time.
'Well,' he sneered to himself, 'their marriage wasn't love, it was business.'
His mother belonged to a powerful organization overseas. Their union was a strategy, not romance. And when the time came, he too would marry a woman who suited the famiglia. That was the way of things.
"Fuck! I should never have met him!" Lucien hissed through clenched teeth.
Scarlet Diablo knowing his location could only mean one thing: a rat. And who else but his darling stepbrother?
But still… Reznik couldn't be his mate. Impossible. Because if it were true, the devil would know it too.
Yet, the memory twisted his gut, Reznik had been the one behind the "accident." He was so sure of it.
'Is that why he wants me? To own me completely, even after taking everything?'
His hands tightened on the balcony railing, and his mind dragged him back to that day.
.
.
.
The cathedral bell tolled solemnly as the funeral began. The priest's voice droned in ritual, but Lucien barely heard him. He was next to speak, yet his thoughts were chaos: not grief, not yet, but shock and rage.
A suffocating burden pressing on his eighteen-year-old shoulders. The famiglia, the power, the weight of legacy he never asked for.
And the whispers. Always the whispers.
"The accident was staged."
"Shh, don't say that! Our men found nothing."
"But the boss never takes that road. A sudden change, no bodyguards? Don Cesare would never—"
"Quiet!"
Lucien's nails dug into his palms until blood beaded. His father had been many things, but reckless was not one of them.
Cesare was careful and calculating. A man who read every move before it happened. There was no way he walked blindly into a trap.
And then came the insult of it all, the scene of the crash sealed off, forbidden to him. He, the heir, was barred from his own father's deathbed.
'I'm the future Don,' Lucien seethed. 'How dare they ignore me? How dare they spit on my father's blood?'
Someone suddenly sat beside him, bold enough to tilt back a hip flask and drink in the middle of the church. The sharp scent of alcohol cut through incense.
"How are you holding up?"
Lucien's gaze slid sideways. The man's red hair caught the candlelight like fire, a burning, flashy thing that didn't belong in mourning. Just seeing him there made Lucien's irritation flare hotter. He refused to answer.
But the man leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only for Lucien's ears. "Don't worry. Everything will end."
Lucien's irises widened. The words dragged him back to that night—the night in his father's office.
He had been lurking in the hallway, sharp ears straining when he caught their voices.
"You need to use this track instead. They're waiting."
It was Mikhail's voice, low, commanding. Lucien pressed closer to the door, heart hammering, but before he could hear more, Cesare had noticed him.
The conversation cut short, the door slammed in his face.
But Lucien was nothing if not stubborn. That stormy night, thunder cracked and lightning lit up the estate like a battlefield.
His unease gnawed at him until he couldn't sit still. He waited. And when the two men finally emerged from the office, Cesare didn't spare him so much as a glance.
It was Mikhail who approached instead.
"Oi," he said, and without warning pinched Lucien's cheek hard, stretching it like dough.
Lucien flinched and slapped his hands away, face burning. "I'm not a child anymore!"
Mikhail only laughed, that deep, mocking sound. "Hah! Whatever you say, young lord."
His grin faded then, eyes sharp, tone dropping into something colder. "Just stay here like a good little kid. Everything will be over soon."
The weight of those words sat heavily in Lucien's chest. He knitted his brows, confusion rising, but before he could ask what Mikhail meant, Cesare's voice cut across the hall, calling his consigliere back. Without another word, Mikhail left him standing there, fuming and unsettled.
And the storm roared on.
Back in the present, inside the dim cathedral, Lucien's face twisted. He grabbed the devil's collar with both fists, rage burning through his grief.
"It's you, isn't it? You're the one who killed my father!"
For a moment, Mikhail looked genuinely surprised. Then his lips spread into a smirk: a wide, feral smile that made Lucien's blood run cold.
It was that expression, more than anything else, that still haunted him to this day.
.
.
.
Lucien jolted when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He quickly glanced down at the caller ID. Obscura. The man was rarely called unless it was dire.
He answered, and Obscura's voice exploded through the line:
"Boss! I found more information about your stepbrother! You need to see this immediately!"
Lucien's grip tightened on the phone. "Send the documents to my room. No one hears of this, not even my grandfather."