I sped down the darkened streets, the city blurring into a mosaic of shadow and light.

The hum of the engine failed to drowned out everything else.

Serafina's cold, distant gaze, the hollow feeling in my chest, the growing weight of everything I'd done, everything I hadn't done.

Tonight was about business, not her. 

Not the mess I'd made of my marriage, or the tangled web of lies I'd spun to keep it all afloat. 

Tonight wasn't about how hard I have fucked up with Serafina, the girl I promised to keep safe.

I clenched the steering wheel tighter, jaw locked. 

Tonight was about the deal—moving our product, keeping the money flowing, making sure the alliance stayed on top.

But thoughts of Serafina lingered at the backends of my mind.

The way she'd stared out of that plane window, as if I didn't exist. Like I wasn't even there. 

I know I have fucked up big time. I got blinded by my duties, forgot that I have another woman in my life I love, and tried to do the deed with Serafina.

I tried to get her pregnant, godammit.

In that moment, I was no better than the Allesandro I killed to save her.

The silence between us had been suffocating, filled with everything we couldn't say, everything we'd let rot between us.

I wasn't sure how much longer I could pretend like it wasn't breaking me. Like I wasn't tearing apart inside.

The car jerked as I swerved into an alleyway, pulling up in front of the warehouse. 

Thoughts of Serafina and the circus my life has become took a temporary pause.

Two men stood outside the door, their hands resting on their holsters as I parked and stepped out. 

My breath fogged in the chilly air, but the sharp bite of the cold felt good.

It grounded me. 

Reminded me that this? This was what I knew how to do. 

Deals, negotiations, threats, violence—it was simple. Clear.

Unlike everything else in my life.

One of the men, Bruno, nodded as I approached. "They're inside. Mexicans showed up earlier than expected."

Mexicans. Of course. 

Ever since Dimitri Morozov decided to make his power move, they'd been encroaching on our territory more aggressively. 

And now, with Serafina's attention divided, it was getting harder to keep things in check. Not that I blamed her. 

She has been dealing with the damage caused by the Russian, and reverting back.

God knows what she must be going through right now.

I rolled my shoulders back, squaring up before walking in. 

If she secures the territory, I try to run it.

Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit, the faint scent of gasoline and metal filling the air. 

I couldn't afford to show weakness, not now. Not with everything falling apart around me.

A group of Mexicans stood by the crates, their hard faces illuminated by the dull flicker of an overhead light. 

Juan, their leader, sat at the center, his lazy, I-got-it-all, gaze locked on me from the moment I entered the room.

"Beauchene," he said with a smirk, his accent thick. "You're late."

"Traffic," I replied smoothly, maintaining the eye contact.

He chuckled, devoid of any humor. "Traffic in your own city? Seems like your grip is slipping."

I smiled, though it didn't reach my eyes. "If I were you, Juan, I wouldn't confuse traffic with slipping. It's an easy mistake to make, and I'd hate for you to regret it."

His expression remained unchanged, but the tension in the room thickened. 

His men shifted slightly, hands drifting closer to their weapons. 

I kept my stance relaxed, but every muscle in my body was coiled, ready.

The game was simple: intimidate without pushing too far. 

But if they wanted the pushing, I am up for it, have got the weight of the world on my shoulders crashing down hard right now, would love to do some Toro de Petate

"Let's get to it, then," I said, stepping closer to the crates. "You've got the shipment, and I've got the cash. No need to waste time."

Juan's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. One of his men popped open a crate, revealing the neatly packed bricks of heroin inside. 

I glanced over, making a show of inspecting the contents, even though I already knew it was good. The Mexicans wouldn't risk showing up with anything less.

"We're upping the price," Juan said, his voice casual but edged with challenge.

So Toro de Petate it is.

I raised an eyebrow, turning to face him fully. "Upping the price? That wasn't the deal."

He shrugged, a cold smirk on his lips. "Things change. This territory is becoming... more competitive. Costs us more to operate here now."

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. "That's cute but I ain't paying a dime more than what we had agreed."

The air between us crackled with tension, but I held my ground, meeting his gaze head-on. 

He was testing me, seeing how far he could push, seeing if I was distracted, weakened. 

And maybe I was—maybe everything with Serafina, with Eleanor, with this fucked-up life I was living had worn me down more than I cared to admit. 

But I wasn't about to let him see that.

Juan's smirk faded, his eyes narrowing. "We won't step back, Lucien."

"Quit playing a losing game," I shot back. "You think because my wife's busy with other matters, you can move in? That we won't notice? You're already losing ground in Oaxaca . Don't make the mistake of thinking you can take what's ours."

He stared at me for a long moment, the tension so thick it was choking. 

I could feel the weight of my men behind me, the way they were waiting for my signal, waiting for me to give the word if things went sideways.

Finally, Juan broke the silence, letting out a low laugh. "Fine. No change in price. But you better keep your house in order. Rumors are spreading. They say you're distracted. Preoccupied."

My jaw clenched, but I forced a smile. "Rumors are for the weak. My wife and I are still here, . And that's all you need to worry about."

The deal was sealed with a handshake, though the tension between us remained palpable. 

As the Mexicans loaded the crates into their trucks, I watched them closely, my mind already racing with the next steps. 

I couldn't afford any more slip-ups. 

Not with Serafina's silence hanging over me like a dark cloud, not with Eleanor constantly at my heels, looking for cracks in my armor.

As soon as the last of the they left, I turned to Bruno. "Make sure the product gets to the safe house without any issues. I want eyes on every corner. No mistakes."

Bruno nodded and set off with the others. I stayed behind, leaning against one of the empty crates, letting out a long breath. 

The adrenaline from the deal was fading, leaving behind a gnawing emptiness in my gut.

This used to be easier. The deals, the threats, the violence—it used to be second nature. Now? 

Now it felt like I was going through the motions, doing what was expected of me, but without any of the fire that used to drive me.

And I knew why.

The look in her eyes that night, the way she'd pulled back from me—she wasn't just angry. 

She was done. She was tired. 

And that terrified me more than any Russian or rival family ever could.

I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know if I could.

And then there was Eleanor. The woman I'd thought was my escape, the one I'd believed could give me something simple, something easy. 

But nothing was ever simple with her, and lately.

She'd talk cryptic, act cryptic.

I shoved off the crate, heading back to the car. I didn't have time to deal with any of this right now. 

There were more deals to be made, more territory to secure. The family couldn't afford for me to fall apart. Not now.

As I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, my heart sinking when I saw Eleanor's name.

Fuck.

I let it ring for a few moments before picking up.

"Lucien," her voice came through the line, soft and sweet, but there was an edge to it. There always was. "Where are you?"

"Working," I replied, my tone clipped. "What do you need?"

There was a pause, and I could almost feel her calculating, deciding how to play this.

"You've been distant," she said finally. "Is everything okay?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. 

These days she only cared about sex, herself and the latest edition things she wanted to buy.

The thing we had, the love, the companionship, has been fading lately fading.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice flat. "Just busy."

"Busy," she repeated, her tone thoughtful. "You mean with Serafina?"

Did I mentioned her new attitude against Serafina?

I mean, I know watching us trying hard to not let the mafia know that we are a pretentious pair, must be difficult for her. But all these things we are doing are for our relationship.

Serafina brought her back to me, not caring about consequences we'd have to face, and yet she talks like this about her.

She should be thankful to her. We all  should be.

I didn't respond, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"You know," Eleanor continued, her voice lowering to a near purr, "we have grown distant ever since you are back from the island, did something happen on the island?"

My jaw clenched. I should've cut the conversation off right then and there.

I couldn't bring to tell her that how I almost cheated on her or how I almost became the monster I saved Serafina from.

I am dick for being this way.

"Nothing that you should be worried about." I said finally, starting to pull away from the warehouse.

"You're not the only one who's noticed," Eleanor added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Everyone's talking. They're watching, Lucien. You might want to be careful before they start seeing you as... vulnerable."

The word hung in the air.

The word hung in the air like a curse. 

Vulnerable. 

It wasn't something I could afford to be, not now, not ever. 

Vulnerability in this life was a death sentence.

I stayed silent for a beat, letting the tension simmer before speaking.

"I am a human Eleanor and they know that ," I said, my voice sharp. "humans can feel emotions, and not stay stern the entire time."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could almost hear her smirk. 

She thrived on this kind of back-and-forth, loved pushing buttons just to see how far she could go. This is all nice and cool in the bed but not here.

"As you say, darling," she purred, but there was a hardness to her tone. "I just hope, for your sake, you remember who your real allies are. I hope you know where your loyalties lie."

Before I could respond, she hung up, leaving the weight of her words lingering like a cold shadow. 

My chest tightened as I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, cursing under my breath. 

I sped through the city, my mind in a thousand different places—none of them good. 

Serafina. Eleanor. The Russians. 

It was all slipping out of control, and I was caught in the middle of the mess I'd helped create.

But the truth was, I wasn't sure I even knew where my loyalties lay anymore.

I pulled up to the house—our house. My estate loomed in the darkness, all grand stone and iron gates, a fortress built to withstand everything except the cracks within. 

As I stepped out of the car, the weight of the night pressed down on me.

Serafina wasn't home, not that I expected her to be. She'd been staying out late more and more, throwing herself into work, into deals, anything to avoid talking about what was unraveling between us.

Inside, the house felt empty, almost suffocating in its silence. 

I poured myself a drink, sinking into one of the leather chairs in the study. 

The burn of the whiskey barely registered, but it was something to hold onto, something to numb the thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind.

How had it all gone so wrong?

When I'd married Serafina, it wasn't for love—not in the traditional sense. It had been about power, legacy, securing the future of the family. 

But somewhere along the way, things had shifted. Serafina had become more than just my partner in business. 

She had become... everything.

And that's what scared me the most.

I have always cared for her, but this marriage has changed he light we see eachother in.

I downed the rest of the whiskey, the liquid fire scorching my throat as I tried to push her face from my mind. I couldn't afford to think about her now. 

I needed to focus on what was in front of me. 

The Russians were closing in, our territory was under constant threat, and my relationship with Eleanor was fraying at the seams.

Eleanor was the one thing that had always made sense—easy, passionate, uncomplicated in the way Serafina could never be. 

But now even she was slipping through my fingers. 

She'd sensed the shift in me, the way my attention was divided, and it was only a matter of time before she grew tired of waiting for me to choose.

And maybe that was the problem. 

Maybe I didn't know how to choose between the two halves of my life—the part that craved the love, the companionship, the care that Eleanor brought, and the part that needed the adrenaline, the legacy, the fire that Serafina represented.

With a frustrated growl, I slammed the empty glass onto the table, the sound echoing in the empty room. 

None of this was supposed to happen. I was supposed to be in control, to keep everything balanced. 

But now, everything was slipping, and I couldn't stop it.

The door creaked open behind me, and I turned, expecting one of the guards or maybe Bruno with an update. But it wasn't either of them.

Serafina stood in the doorway, her expression cold, distant. Her eyes, once so full of fire, now looked at me like I was a stranger—someone she couldn't quite figure out anymore. 

And maybe I was. Maybe I'd become someone even I didn't recognize.

"You're home early," she said, her voice devoid of emotion as she stepped into the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

"I had business," I replied, my tone matching hers. "Just wrapped it up."

She nodded, her gaze drifting over the empty glass in my hand, then back to my face. "Another deal with the Mexicans?"

"Yeah," I said, leaning back in my chair. "It's handled."

Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable. 

There was so much unsaid, so much we'd both been avoiding for too long. And now it felt like there was a chasm between us, one that neither of us knew how to cross.

Serafina looked at me for a long moment, her jaw clenched as if she was holding back a thousand things she wanted to say. 

But instead, she just shook her head, turning toward the door.

"This isn't going to work, Lucien," she said quietly, her voice laced with exhaustion. "Whatever it is we're doing... it's not working anymore."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I didn't let it show.

"You're right," I said, my voice low. "But what's the alternative, Serafina? Walking away? We both know that's not an option."

She stopped at the doorway, her back to me. 

For a moment, I thought she might turn around, might say something that would cut through the fog that had settled between us. 

But instead, she just sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of everything left unsaid.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know what the alternative is anymore."

And then she was gone, leaving me alone in the silence once again.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the empty glass, the burn of the whiskey long gone, but the ache it left behind still throbbing in my chest.

The life I'd built, the empire I'd fought for, was crumbling around me. 

The woman I'd married to protect was distancing, and the woman I'd thought would be my escape was becoming a trap of her own.

This was all my fault.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if I knew how to fix it.

I stepped into the kitchen, my head still swimming from the events of the day. 

Every damn thing felt like a pressure cooker ready to blow, and I was the idiot standing too close to the flames. 

The more I tried to make sense of it all, the more it slipped through my fingers—just like everything else in my life lately.

But then, my eyes landed on the island, and for a second, I thought I was imagining it. A glass of cold coffee sat there, a scoop of vanilla ice cream slowly melting into the drink. And beside it, a small chocolate dagger.

It didn't take a genius to figure out who had left it there.

Serafina.

My heart clenched, a mix of frustration and something else twisting deep in my chest. 

She hadn't said a word when we spoke earlier, hadn't let on that she would leave this for me.

But she did.

It was her way. Quiet, thoughtful, but laced with meaning.

I stared at the glass for a moment, then the chocolate dagger, and a flood of memories hit me—years ago, before all the bullshit, when things were simpler. Before I messed everything up with Eleanor, with the family, with her.

I swallowed hard, running a hand down my face.

She knew me better than anyone, even now. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was losing her—if I hadn't already.

The cold coffee wasn't just a gesture. It was a reminder. 

Of everything we'd shared, of everything I was on the verge of throwing away. Of her patience.

Of her.

I reached out, my fingers brushing against the cool glass. The ice cream was melting, sinking into the coffee, blending like everything in our lives—one thing bleeding into another, slowly losing shape.

And I wondered how much longer I had before she disappeared for good.