2. Raiden
Chapter 2
Raiden
L ucrezia Castiglione is a firecracker. She stands before me with all the confidence of someone who either doesn’t know the danger she’s in or doesn’t care. Maybe both. Her dark eyes meet mine without a hint of hesitation, and I can’t help but admire the sheer audacity.
“Alright, darlin’,” I lean casually against the edge of a worn wooden table. It creaks and groans beneath my weight, the aged oak protesting like it’s ready to give up the ghost any second now. “You have my attention. Now convince me why I shouldn’t toss you out and forget this conversation ever happened.”
She crosses her arms, causing her jacket to pull tight against her petite frame. The gesture might seem defensive from anyone else, but from her, it radiates pure defiance. Lucrezia is over a full foot shorter than me, but she holds herself like she’s ten feet tall and bulletproof. It’s hot as fuck. “Because you want what I want,” she replies smoothly, a faint Italian accent giving the words a musical quality that does nothing to soften their edge. “To see Saverio’s empire crumble and burn to ashes. Kristopher used to tell me that the Destroyers had to follow the rules of the Castiglione empire, whether they wanted to or not. I’m here to offer you something better than blind obedience—freedom.”
Her voice carries a unique blend of bitterness and determination that piques my curiosity. Every word she speaks is dripping with years of pent-up resentment. Lucrezia is anger and fire trapped in a beautiful little body, and I would do anything to unleash it. But I never give in to my desires that easily. “Last I checked, family loyalty was a big deal in your world. It’s cute that you talk a big game about bringing Saverio to heel, but isn’t your whole Italian schtick about lifting each other up?”
She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “My brother condemned me to a life of imprisonment in a cold, desolate convent for five long years. And if I hadn’t defied him and escaped, I would still be trapped there, rotting away while he basks in his power over the Midwest. Family loyalty died with my hopes and dreams long ago.”
I study her features, noting the flicker of raw pain that crosses her face before she masks it with practiced efficiency. Her jaw tightens, and her eyes grow distant like she’s reliving memories she’d rather forget. There’s more to her story: years of betrayal and hurt simmering beneath her perfectly controlled exterior—and part of me wants to unravel it thread by careful thread. But getting involved with a Castiglione is a risky move, no matter how enticing the package.
“Five years in a convent, huh,” I muse, letting my gaze drift over her sleek appearance. “Sounds rough. You don’t strike me as the kind of girl that fits in with all those rules and restrictions.”
Lucrezia’s lips twitch into a slight smirk, a glimpse of defiance dancing in her eyes. “I was never model nun material. Mother Superior and I had what you might call creative differences about proper behavior.”
“And what did you do about those creative differences?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“I beat her to death and then buried her body in the precious garden she loved so much.” Lucrezia’s jaw ticks, a muscle pulsing beneath her skin as her fingers curl into loose fists at her side. “I got blood and sweat all over my habit. I feel bad for Sister Agnes; she’ll never get the stains out.”
I chuckle, imagining her in a habit both amusing and oddly alluring. “I bet. So, what did you do for fun? Pray? Knit? Confess your sins?”
She steps closer, narrowing the gap between us. Her eyes hold mine with a mix of challenge and mischief. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” The words come out as a silky purr that suggests her convent days were anything but dull.
I can smell the faint scent of jasmine and sandalwood on her, something exotic that doesn’t belong in a place like this. It stirs something in me that’s been dormant for a while—a genuine interest beyond my usual fleeting encounters. The realization makes me both curious and wary, like waking up to find the world has shifted ever so slightly on its axis.
“Maybe I would,” I reply, my voice dropping lower, rougher at the edges like gravel under silk. “After all, I’ve got a vested interest in knowing who I’m getting into business with.”
“Is that what this is? Business?” Lucrezia challenges. Her hair cascades over one shoulder in a dark waterfall, and I have the sudden urge to brush it back just to feel its softness beneath my fingertips. The thought catches me off guard, making my pulse skip in a way that has nothing to do with our negotiations.
“That depends,” I say, holding her gaze. “On whether you can handle what working with me entails. I’m not exactly known for making things easy.” The corner of my mouth twitches up into a mischievous smile.
Lucrezia raises an eyebrow. “Try me.”
Bold. I like that. There’s something refreshing about someone who doesn’t flinch whenever I speak to them. I push off the table and take a deliberate step toward her, closing the distance until the fabric of her shirt brushes against the fabric of mine. “You should know I don’t mix business with pleasure,” I lie, knowing full well my track record suggests otherwise. “It keeps things uncomplicated.”
But Lucrezia doesn’t back down. Instead, she tilts her head up to maintain eye contact. “And who said anything about pleasure?”
I grin, unable to help myself. “Fair enough. But it’s hard to ignore the elephant in the room.”
“What elephant might that be?” She asks, her eyes flashing with defiance.
“That despite our mutual goals, there’s an undeniable attraction here.” I let the words hang, watching Lucrezia’s reaction, studying the way her fingers curl at her sides and the subtle shift in her posture.
She crosses her arms over her chest, but this time it’s more guarded, defensive even. Her shoulders tense as she draws into herself; it’s the first sign of weakness I’ve noticed since she walked through the door. “Tension or not, I’m here for one reason.” The words come out clipped and precise, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
“Sure,” I acknowledge, my tone remaining deliberately casual. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves along the way.” I let a hint of suggestion color my words.
Lucrezia scoffs lightly, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and irritation. A slight flush creeps up her neck as she meets my gaze. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?” The question drips with sarcasm, but there’s an undercurrent of curiosity in the words.
“I call it confidence. And I think you appreciate it more than you’d like to admit.” I lean back slightly, letting a knowing smile play at the corners of my mouth. Her reaction tells me I’ve struck a nerve.
She meets my gaze steadily, her eyes hardening with defiance. “Don’t assume you know anything about me, Drake.” There’s a slight tremor in her voice that betrays the steel in her words.
“But maybe I want to.” The words slip out before I can stop them, softer and more earnest than I intended. I kick myself for the momentary lapse in judgment. I’m supposed to be playing her, not the other way around.
I’m not the pussy whipped type. I can find a good woman anywhere, on any corner, with nothing more than a smile and the tip of an imaginary hat. I’m just that. fucking. good. But there’s something about the way Lucrezia doesn’t give a single fuck that piques my interest.
Before I can explore my interest or talk her out of her panties, the door swings open, and the Destroyers’ Club President, Priest Whittaker, walks in.
Lucrezia tosses him a glance, the look on her face never changing. “Who’s this?”
Priest snorts. “Do you know this girl, Raid?” He asks, jutting his chin toward her.
“Kinda sorta. I was trying to get to know her better before you barged in.” Priest is such a cockblock. I remember one year at Christmas, I was ten seconds away from two girls taking turns spinning on my dick when he burst through my front door and said we had shit to do. It’s like he’s got a sixth sense for when I’m about to get laid, always showing up at the worst possible moment with his serious face and club business. The memory of those two disappointed ladies still haunts me to this day.
He walks over to Lucrezia with slow, deliberate steps and looks her up and down, taking in every detail of her appearance. This is a man whose grizzly reputation for cold-blooded murder reaches all the way to the East Coast, a reputation built on a mountain of bodies and whispered warnings, but she never flinches or breaks eye contact. “What do you want with Raiden?” He asks her, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that makes most people stumble over their words.
Lucrezia looks bored, examining her nails with an exaggerated yawn. “What’s it to you, old man?” Her tone drips with casual disrespect as if she’s speaking to a random stranger rather than one of the most dangerous men in the country next to her brother.
“Hey,” I interrupt, taking a step forward with my fists clenched at my sides, “speak with respect toward Priest, or you can see yourself out.” The words come out as a growl, my protective instincts flaring. I don’t care how fucking hot Lucrezia is with her curves and attitude. My brothers come before any woman, and I won’t stand for anyone disrespecting our President in his own clubhouse.
“What?” Lucrezia snaps at me. “Are you saying forty isn’t old?”
Priest’s face breaks with a smile, the hard lines around his mouth softening. “I could be sixty and more spry than you, Lux. Hell, I can outrun half the prospects we get these days.” Without skipping a beat, he opens his arms and embraces Lucrezia in a hug. “I searched for you, you know. I had eyes and ears in every city in Europe trying to track you down.”
I stand there with my jaw hinged open, watching the unexpected display of affection between them. “What the fuck?” I frown, suddenly confused by their familiarity and the complete shift in Priest’s demeanor. The tension from moments ago seems to have evaporated like morning dew, leaving me feeling like I’ve missed some crucial piece of information.
“Saverio made it impossible to find me,” she whispers against his chest, her voice muffled by his shirt. “For the first year at the convent, I didn’t even know where I was. I was drugged in the dead of night, blindfolded, and shipped overseas before I even knew what was happening.”
I’m still as lost as I’ve ever been, maybe even more so now. “What kind of fucking family reunion is this? I thought you came here for me.” My voice cracks with a mix of confusion and something that feels dangerously close to jealousy. “Since when do you two even know each other?”
Priest snorts again as he pulls away from Lucrezia, though his hand lingers protectively on her shoulder like he can’t quite bring himself to break contact completely. “We go way back, don’t we, Lux?” There’s an edge of dark humor in his voice when he uses the nickname, as if they’re sharing some private joke I’m not in on.
“Six years ago?” She frowns, tilting her head to the side as she does the mental math. “Something like that. Time gets fuzzy after a while.”
“Six years ?” I scoff, my voice rising in disbelief. “You would have been what, twelve? Did you fuck a twelve-year-old, Priest?” The accusation hangs in the air like poison, and I can feel my hands starting to shake with a mixture of rage and revulsion. I’d follow Priest into the pits of hell if he asked me to, but fucking a minor is where I draw the line.
Lucrezia pins me with a glare that could cut steel, her dark eyes flashing with indignation. “I was fifteen, and I didn’t fuck anyone. Not that it’s any of your business, but I needed help, and Priest provided the manpower. He helped me get out of a bad situation, nothing more.” Her jaw clenches, and I can see her fighting to keep her composure in the face of my crude accusation.
“If someone doesn’t explain what the fuck you’re talking about in the next ten seconds, I’m going back to work,” I growl, frustration sharpening my words.
Priest and Lucrezia move around one another with a comfort I don’t understand. He gets her a bottle of water from the fridge, unscrewing the cap before handing it over with a gentleness that seems at odds with his intimidating presence. She leans into him when he places his hand on the small of her back, a casual intimacy that makes my teeth grind until my jaw aches. The way they orbit each other, sharing space and unspoken signals of safety, speaks of a history I can’t decipher. I don’t understand a second of it, and the realization burns like acid in my gut.
“Do you want to tell him, or should I?” Priest defers to Lucrezia, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. I’ve never known him to care about anyone’s opinion, not even mine, and watching him yield to her makes my skin crawl.
“I came here for his help,” she admits, fingers tightening around the water bottle until the plastic crackles. “I should be the one to tell him.”
“Somebody better fucking tell me something,” I snap, my patience fraying like a worn rope.