Lucien stared at the document lying between them, then at Edmund, trying to decipher what the hell went on inside that man's head.
The Leopard was a puzzle, every piece polished, but never showing the full picture.
Of all the young Dons he'd crossed paths with, Edmund Hale was the most dangerous. He was meticulous, calculated, and always a step ahead.
And Lucien had theories, none of them comforting.
Maybe Edmund really did want to double-cross Vincent. Maybe he wanted to double-cross him.
Or maybe—and this was the worst possibility—he wanted to gut them both, break Lucero from the inside out, and crown himself "King of Kings."
All while keeping Lucien tucked away in his bed like some treasured possession.
Love? Lucien doubted a man like Edmund even knew what that was. Obsession and ownership, that sounded more like him.
But showing doubt now would only wreck his own plan. So instead, Lucien slammed his palm against the table, dragging the document closer.
"Are you accusing my stepbrother, Edmund?" His voice was sharp, the paper crumpling beneath his grip.
"If this is nothing but a lie you forged, then you're declaring war against the Luceros."
The Leopard chuckled with disappointment. "Still clinging to that naive mindset of yours, even after all this time?"
He shook his head slowly, as if Lucien were a child who'd failed a test. "You disappoint me, Serpent."
The insult cut deeper than he wanted to admit. His brows pulled tight, but he forced his expression into controlled disdain.
"Why should I believe such atrocity from a man who is neither ally nor enemy," Lucien shot back, his voice cold, "over my stepbrother who's stood at my back for over ten years?"
That landed. He saw it, the tiny flicker, Edmund's jaw tightening even as his face remained composed.
Lucien almost smiled. It was strange, he rarely saw him crack. The insult hadn't even been half as sharp as the ones Randolph Hale, Edmund's late father, used to throw at him.
Randolph, who had treated him with more warmth than his own blood. Who'd treated him more like a son than he ever had his real son.
Lucien's stomach twisted. 'Wait, is that it? Is this revenge?'
The realization hit like ice water. Had Edmund been wearing the mask of a friend all these years, only to bare fangs now?
"What is it, Hale? Cat got your tongue?" Lucien sneered, letting the name fall cold and impersonal.
For the first time, Edmund jolted ever so slightly. He drew in a slow breath, then leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"And what about you? Would you rather choke on blind trust, even knowing that your so-called childhood friend abandoned you once already?"
A smirk curved his lips as he tapped the armrest. "Read it carefully, Serpent. Everything else—whether you work with me, or let yourself burn—is in your hands."
Lucien stayed silent and skimmed the document. Nothing new, just the same as Obscura's report about Vincent teaming up with Dominus and Crimson Diablo. No surprises. No fresh information.
But that wasn't the real problem. The real question was: if he went along with this, would Leopard be the one orchestrating his kidnapping, or the one sabotaging it?
Either way, this was outside of his script, and Lucien couldn't afford to be reckless.
In the end, he tossed the document back across the table and rose smoothly, adjusting his suit jacket.
"Thank you for this, Leopard. Lucero will see to it you're rewarded generously." His voice was cool, final. Then he added, "But I won't work with you."
He turned and started for the door. Edmund rose too, his voice following him.
"You'll regret this, Lucien."
Lucien's lips curved into a smirk as he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Oh, I won't."
And with that, he slipped out of the room.
***
As the night went on, the party only grew more lively, though Lucien stayed on the sidelines, watching everything from a distance. He was tired, his mind already fixed on Scarlet Diablo's next move, kidnapping him…
If he were honest, there was a touch of nervousness in him. Leaving Luceros and all its glory behind, even for a short while, was no small thing.
Still, he trusted his famiglia and the people he had chosen. He knew they would hold everything together in his absence.
'Everything will be fine. Everything will go according to plan.'
That thought had barely settled when a champagne glass appeared before him.
He looked up to see Vincent smiling.
"Long time no see, brother."
Lucien's lips curled as he took the glass. "It's only been two weeks."
"Yes, but I've never been apart from you that long."
The words made his stomach twist, though his expression gave nothing away.
"Do you distrust me?" Vincent asked, a small frown forming.
"No," Lucien replied, his tone lazy and bored. "You're my right hand. But you can't even protect yourself. I only sent you away so you could fix that."
The truth was, he no longer gave a damn about his stepbrother. If anything, he'd rather put a bullet between his eyes and be done with it.
But where was the fun in that? Better to let the pest dance until the game grew amusing.
Vincent gave a soft laugh. "That was a wise choice, especially if one day I'll be the one to replace you as Don."
The confidence in his smile was ridiculous. To Lucien, he looked like nothing but a clown, and he could not hold back his laughter.
It rang out loud enough to make people turn their heads, wondering what joke the right hand had managed to tell. They would never know that Vincent himself was the joke.
"Oh, brother." Lucien gripped his shoulder tightly.
"That is the funniest thing I've heard tonight."
He shoved the champagne glass into his chest. ""Now be useful. Put this down somewhere. Bring me a white wine instead, and the charcuterie looks excellent, don't you think?"
Vincent's face turned red. He swallowed his pride, took the glass, and said nothing.
Before he could walk away, Lucien's voice stopped him.
"You are a dog, Vincent. No matter what you do, you will never be able to replace me. You'll choke beneath my shadow, too blind to notice until everything collapses around you and dragged down by your own ego
He let the words sink in before finishing.
"My men will never follow a mongrel who stains his hands with filth and pretends it is a crown. Stay in your place, Vincent, beneath me where you belong."