3. Lucrezia
Chapter 3
Lucrezia
I watch as Raiden’s eyes flicker with confusion and a hint of jealousy, his gaze darting between Priest and me. His clenched fists and the tight set of his jaw tell me everything I need to know. He’s frustrated, maybe even a little hurt, but that’s not my problem.
Priest chuckles softly, leaning against the back of a couch with infuriating nonchalance. “Easy there, Raiden. Not everything is as scandalous as it seems.”
I sigh, realizing that if we don’t clear the air now, this will only fester. And I can’t afford distractions. “This is gonna be a fucked up story. You sure you want to hear it?”
Raiden crosses his arms over his chest, skepticism etched on his face. He looks like he doesn’t scare easily. “I’m all ears, Lux .”
Priest and I go back to a time before the convent, to a time when I still struggled with weakness in my soul. My fingers dig into my palms as the memories begin to resurface. “Several years ago, before I ever met Priest, my father offered my virginity and my body to his men as a reward for a job well done.” I can still feel their hands on me when I think about it for too long; I can still see my father’s smirk as he watched them tear me apart, his cold eyes gleaming with satisfaction at my pain. The memory burns like acid, threatening to strip away the layers of strength I’ve built since then.
Raiden, unflappable so far, flinches when he hears the truth. The angered certainty on his face fades into something softer, something closer to pity. I press on before he can apologize for something that has never been his to apologize for, before that look of sympathy can fully form on his face and make this even harder than it already is.
“I took it in stride. I was the daughter of the mafia boss, a prized jewel that he should have traded for leverage, money, and power. Instead, he tossed me into his den of wolves and watched as they ripped me apart.” The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I force them out anyway. I’ll never forget the way he sat there at the head of the table, smoking his expensive cigars and watching as his men defiled my body with that same detached interest he showed his business ledgers. “Afterward, I hated and blamed myself for what happened. I could handle the self-inflicted guilt most days. You don’t grow up a Castiglione without learning how to deal with unpleasant situations from time to time.”
“ Unpleasant ?” Raiden interrupts me with a glare, his hands balling into white-knuckled fists at his sides. “Your father let his men rape you, and you call it unpleasant ?”
My jaw twitches with anger, a familiar heat rising in my chest at his tone. “Yes, it was unpleasant . That’s why I wanted to kill myself.” The words come out clipped and harsh, each syllable sharp enough to cut through bone.
Raiden’s expression softens just a fraction, the admission shocking him into silence.
“I’m not a weak person for wanting to kill myself,” I explain, my voice steady despite the weight of the words. “Most days, I didn’t even think about what my father had done to me. I buried it so deep that sometimes I could even pretend it never happened.” I retell the story with an apathy reserved for strangers, like I’m describing someone else’s life through a foggy window. This isn’t something I think about often, or ever at all if I can help it.
“But every once in a while, it felt like someone was sucking all the oxygen out of the room. I couldn’t breathe, and my chest would tighten until it felt like my lungs would collapse in on themselves. Google said it was an anxiety attack—a clinical term for something that felt like drowning on dry land. But every time it happened, I found myself on Manhattan Hill. I stood up there above the entire town, staring down at all the happy, joyful families, watching their perfect little lives unfold like scenes from a movie I could never be part of.”
I don’t know how I got there—those moments are still blank spaces in my memory. One minute, I’d be clutching my throat in my bedroom, fingernails leaving crescent marks on my skin as I fought for oxygen, and then hours later, I would wake up and find myself looking out at the town, my feet somehow having carried me to the same precipice every time.
“On the night I met Priest, I was ready to end it all. I was tired of feeling guilt that wasn’t mine to feel. I was tired of wondering which of my family members would betray me next. And I was tired of carrying secrets that were too heavy for my shoulders. I was fifteen, and I felt like I’d lived two lifetimes already. I was ready to be done.”
To this day, I don’t know if I would have had the guts to do it. I’m lucky enough that I didn’t have to find out. “But as I was standing there contemplating whether my brothers would care if I was dead or if my mother would even notice that I was gone, Priest showed up. He found me standing on the ledge overlooking Manhattan, ready to throw my life away. And instead of walking past like so many others might have done, he stopped. He talked me down with a patience I’d never experienced before. Took him a while, too—almost three hours, if I remember correctly.”
Priest smiles faintly at the memory, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “You were a stubborn kid. Wouldn’t even look at me for the first hour.”
I shoot him a look, unable to hide the fondness in my voice. “Still am.” I pause for a minute, remembering every word we exchanged that night, how his kindness had cut through the fog of my despair like a beacon of hope. He was nearly two decades older than me, but it didn’t matter—age meant nothing in the face of compassion. He was the father I’d never had, the one I’d always dreamed of having.
“We talked for hours that night. I told Priest everything about me, about the Castigliones, about every dark thought I’d ever had, and how I hoped my entire family dropped dead. I spilled secrets I’d never dared whisper aloud before. And Priest never judged me; he never chastised me for feeling the way I did; he was just there for me.” He was as solid as a mountain we stood on and twice as dependable.
Raiden uncrosses his arms, his posture less defensive, shoulders dropping as understanding dawns across his features. “He helped you.”
“Yes,” I confirm, a ghost of a smile touching my lips. “He gave me a reason to fight back instead of giving up. He showed me I wasn’t alone and that I didn’t have to accept the hand I’d been dealt. After that night, I went home and started planning revenge against my family, piece by meticulous piece. Priest and I stayed in touch. Our weekly calls kept me sane. And when my revenge plan needed someone to keep tabs on my brother’s obsession, Lucia Terlizzi, he and the Destroyers were the obvious choice. They had the resources, the discretion, and most importantly, my trust.” I didn’t know anyone else in the motorcycle gang, but it didn’t matter. I knew Priest, and I knew he could be trusted.
Raiden’s brow furrows, a shadow crossing his face. “And your other brother, Kristopher? Where does he fit into all this?”
“That’s how I met him,” I explain, leaning back against the wall and sipping on the bottle of water Priest brought me. “He was working with the Destroyers at the time, working with you, in fact. Priest sent him to keep an eye on Lucia. When Kristopher got curious about the woman he was stalking, he traced the trail back to me, and we realized we shared more than a father— we shared the same anger, the same drive for justice, and the same desire for revenge. We became friends.” I don’t tell them about what happened after that, how my half-brother’s interest turned darker.
Raiden shakes his head slowly, processing the information. “So all this time, you’ve been orchestrating plans against your family.”
I lift my chin defiantly, feeling steel enter my spine like fluid. “I never claimed to be a damsel in distress. I’ve been fighting my battles long before you came into the picture.” The bitterness of those early lessons lingers in my mind, sharp as metal and twice as cold. Every scar and callus earned has been a teacher, showing me exactly what it takes to stay alive when the whole world seems determined to break you.
Raiden nods, a hint of respect flashing in his eyes. “Fair enough. I can see why you want to destroy your brother now. After what you told me, I want to bring him to his knees myself.”
Priest pushes off the couch, his boots scuffing against the worn floorboards. “Well, now that that’s cleared up, I’ll leave you two to whatever this is.” He gives me a knowing look, one eyebrow raised suggestively, before strolling toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything, Lux. Raiden’s one of the best I got.”
“One of what?” Raiden glares, drawing himself up to his full intimidating height. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he stares across the room at his boss. “It better be one of one. I’m the meanest fucking man you got in this place, and we both know it.” Priest exits with a snort, not even bothering to respond. “Fucking fruitcake,” Raiden grumbles under his breath.
With Priest gone, all that’s left is tension between Raiden and me. When he turns to look at me, I see the last vestiges of his sympathy threatening to return. “I don’t let my past dictate who I am, Drake. It drives me to settle old scores, but it does not define me.”
“I can see that,” he replies.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The distant hum of the building’s ventilation system only emphasizes the silence between us. Finally, I break the stillness. “Are you still willing to help me with Saverio?”
“More than ever.” There’s a newfound resolve in his voice that wasn’t there before. The shifting power of our tenuous relationship has found a little balance with Priest’s help.
“Good.” I move to walk past him, but he grabs my wrist to stop me. His grip is firm but careful like he’s handling something fragile. I grit my teeth in frustration, knowing he’s only treating me with kid gloves because he’s afraid I’ll break. This is why I don’t tell people about what happened.
“Wait.”
I raise an eyebrow, turning back to face him. “What?”
“Thank you for telling me.” His words are soft but sincere, carrying the weight of someone who understands the cost of sharing painful truths.
I search his eyes, surprised by the sincerity I find there. I swallow hard before responding, “Don’t mention it. Ever.” The words scratch against my throat like sandpaper.
Raiden releases me a moment later, and I walk out of the room, feeling a strange sense of relief and hope well up in my chest. As I walk back through the clubhouse, it’s emptied out since I arrived, the raucous energy replaced by an almost eerie quiet: only a few empty bottles and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke hint at the earlier crowd.
I head outside into the cool evening air and find Priest leaning against his motorcycle outside, the chrome gleaming under the parking lot lights. He looks up as I approach, his expression carefully neutral but questioning.
“Everything sorted?” he asks, straightening slightly.
“For now,” I reply, trying to ignore my hands still trembling from the conversation, adrenaline slowly seeping out of my system.
Priest nods thoughtfully. “Raiden’s a good man, you know. Rough around the edges, but good. He’s been through hell and back, just like you.”
I cross my arms, shooting him a warning look that I hope masks my discomfort with the direction this conversation is heading. “Don’t go playing matchmaker. I’ve got enough complications in my life without a man fucking everything up.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Priest winks, a mischievous glint in his eye that tells me he’s doing exactly that. “I’m just stating facts, is all.”
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a smile, feeling some of the tension finally drain from my shoulders. “Thank you, Priest. For everything. And I don’t just mean tonight.”
He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder gently, his hand warm and reassuring. “Anytime, Lux. You know that. My door’s always open for you.”
As I turn to leave, he calls after me one last time, voice tinged with that fatherly concern I’ve grown familiar with. “And Lucrezia?”
I pause before climbing into my stolen car, one foot already on the running board, and toss a glance back over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Your brothers will pay for their part in your torture. I promise you that. We will not let them get away unscathed.” His words are dangerously soft, but they carry the weight of divine retribution.
I offer him a final nod before climbing into my car and driving off. His words linger in my mind like a dark promise as I head into Manhattan, watching the city lights grow brighter through my windshield. The familiar skyline looms ahead, a concrete jungle full of possibilities and danger.
Now that I have my army, I need generals—people I can trust to lead the charge. And there’s no one better to go to war against family than more family. After all, they know exactly where to strike to make it hurt.