Vincent felt the world narrow to a single cold equation: think fast, or die. Truth meant a bullet through his skull. A lie might get him the same.
Either way, he'd fucked up. He'd never understood why both mafia leaders wanted Lucien so badly.
'What's so special about him anyway?' he thought, swallowing bile.
He closed his eyes and replayed the deal he'd opened with Dominus, an offer to take Lucien off the board, to remove the obstacle and seize the syndicate.
But Diablo had turned the plan sideways. He didn't want the Don dead; he wanted him in bed. Vincent hadn't cared, until Mikhail's counterproposal landed on the table like a gauntlet. He didn't only want Lucien, he wanted a distribution route.
Across from him the Gilded Leopard lounged at the head of the table, cigar glowing, utterly unbothered.
'His offer was cleaner, more profitable, and safer. But how the hell do I tell him that?' Vincent's throat worked.
"What the fuck are you staring at?" Mikhail snapped, impatience sharp as a blade. "Don't play me, rat. You begged me to handle him, remember that?"
"I did not beg," Vincent said finally, forcing his voice steady. "And the decision is mine. Show some respect if you want him."
He tried to sound like the future Don he envisioned: commanding, untouchable, just like him. In his head he had a diamond fist; in the room he felt paper-thin.
Then a crack cut the air.
BANG.
A shot ripped past his ear, warm blood spattering the lapel of his white tux. Pain flared; the sound tunneled into a horrible silence.
Vincent's hands shook—anger, fear, humiliation folding into one. Not a single person in that room bowed to him. Not the future Don. Not now.
"You!" he ground out.
Mikhail's voice was cold iron. "One more word, and the next bullet drills your skull."
He leveled a look at both men, deadly serious. "I don't give a damn about your agreements. Lucien will be mine, even if I have to shred both of you."
The room froze. Even the smokers held their breath. Mikhail's fury wasn't theatrical, it was surgical and inevitable.
Dominus had risen too fast to be dismissed. The Scarlet Diablo at the table was not a man you bargained with; he was a claim waiting to be enforced.
And in that stillness, Vincent understood: this wasn't just about deals or pride. It was a war, and he had just fired the opening salvo that might destroy him.
"Don't be so tense." The man behind the Leopard said, silver-white hair catching the light as he stepped forward.
His voice was smooth, almost amused. "Why don't we just share?"
Mikhail barked a laugh loud enough to make the room go cold. "You want me to share what's mine?"
"He isn't yours," the silver-haired man shrugged, casual as a man choosing a cigar. "He isn't anyone's yet. I'm offering a clean bargain, no war, no bloodletting."
"Tch. Tell your men to shut up, kitty." Mikhail snapped.
The Leopard set his cigar down and stilled it with a practiced thumb. "Adrian is right," he said.
"Why not share? Think what this could be: the first real cooperation between three groups. A precedent. Trade, influence, and profit, all securedsecured."
Vincent's pulse quickened. If this worked, it could be the biggest power play any Don of Lucero had ever pulled. An alliance like that would cement his future, if he played his cards right.
"What do you think, Diablo—" Vincent started, eager.
Mikhail cut him off in a low, lethal tone. "Shut up." He paused, the room hanging on the word.
Then his smirk sharpened. "Fine. But you'll pay, handsomely. And I mean a lot."
All eyes locked on him. The scent of money and menace filled the air.
***
"HAH. So that's what my beloved stepbrother cooked up." Lucien laughed: low, ironical, all mockery and disbelief.
He'd suspected it since Reznik suddenly appeared on the rooftop. Though, they indeed attacking their operation, but his team already checked the leader wasn't there
but the proof made him taste bile.
"FUCK HIM!" He flung the file onto the table, drained the wine in one hard gulp, and slammed the glass down until it rang.
"What do you want us to do, Boss?" Obscura asked, voice small, careful.
He always sounded careful around Lucien now.
Good. He should be scared.
'How did he know I was an omega?' Lucien thought, cold fury coiling in his gut.
Only a handful knew that secret, none of them should have been Vincent. Unless Reznik planted the idea in his stepbrother's head and the idiot had simply followed orders.
But still, it was possible that Vincent finally grew a spine after a long time by his side.
Obscura slid another packet across the table. Lucien flicked it open and read, eyes narrowing as the details hit: the plan to kidnap him during Lucero's fiftieth-anniversary celebration, drug him with Lune Kiss while he was compromised, stage it as an accident on the drive home.
The same pattern as his parents' "accident."
His jaw clenched until it hurt. "So it's true," he murmured. "Reznik killed them."
Obscura's breath hitched. "There's more, Boss." He pushed the next sheet forward.
Lucien skimmed and then ripped the paper as if the name on it burned him. "Fucking Leopard bastard."
The Gilded Leopard—leader of Lunox, usually neutral—had hair in this mess now. Neutrality gone. This was escalation straight to war.
"This is a declaration," Lucien said, voice low.
His mind was already plotting: how to root out Vincent, how to shred Reznik, how to crush the Leopard, though he knew it would take cunning, not blind rage. Naive triumph would get him killed but strategy would win.
Around the table, heads nodded in a rising frenzy. Anger sharpened into focus.
"Yes," someone growled. "Let's gut the rat first."
Lucien's eyes burned. He set the torn document down and, for the first time in a long time, smiled without shame.
"I not only destroyed him, but also humiliated him to death."
And there wasn't any better way to do that than let him take the throne to only shatter him after.