6. Lucrezia
Chapter 6
Lucrezia
R aiden’s house is nothing to write home about - just another weathered split-level with peeling paint and crooked faux shutters. He lives in a crowded neighborhood near Tuttle Creek Lake in a corner lot that could use a lot of sprucing up. The overgrown lawn sports patches of crabgrass between concrete stepping stones, and the rusty mailbox leans at a precarious angle that will topple over on the next windy day.
I stand on his front stoop, balancing two coffee cups from Radina’s while dodging a broken porch board jutting up at an awkward angle. One is for him, though he doesn’t deserve it after his cocky behavior yesterday at the clubhouse. Still, I got him one because my mother always told me never to show up at someone’s house empty-handed—one of her many mannerisms that stuck with me despite my best efforts. And besides, showing up unannounced at six in the morning keeps things interesting, especially since I know he’s probably still tangled in his sheets, dead to the world.
I rap my knuckles on the door sharply, three quick bursts that echo in the stillness of the morning. The sound seems almost offensive in the quiet neighborhood, where even the birds are just beginning to stir. No answer.
I knock again, this time louder, adding a little more force to the motion, my coffee-free hand curled into a determined fist. From inside, I hear the creak of floorboards and muffled grumbling, followed by what sounds suspiciously like a string of colorful curse words. The shuffling gets closer, each heavy footstep a clear indication that I’ve successfully dragged someone from their peaceful slumber.
The door finally swings open with a protesting creak, and I’m greeted by a bleary-eyed Raiden wearing nothing but a pair of faded navy boxers. His hair is a wild mess, dark strands sticking up at odd angles like he’s been caught in a small tornado, and there’s a faint crease on his cheek like he fell asleep on something hard. He blinks at me slowly, deliberately, like I’ve just materialized out of thin air. His confusion slowly gives way to irritation, his jaw tightening in a way that suggests I’m about to get an earful about proper visiting hours.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growls, his voice rough with sleep and heavy with annoyance.
I smile sweetly, holding out one of the coffee cups like a peace offering. “Good morning to you, too. I brought coffee. Thought you might need a pick-me-up.” The rich aroma wafts through the morning air, a tempting proposition even to his clearly irritated state.
His gaze shifts to the cup but doesn’t soften; if anything, the suspicion in his eyes hardens to steel. “How the fuck do you know where I live?”
I shrug casually, taking a deliberate sip from my own cup, savoring both the bitter warmth and his growing frustration. “I have connections.”
“What kind of connections?” Raiden’s eyes narrow, his suspicion as sharp as ever. The early morning shadows play across his face, making him look more dangerous than disheveled now.
“The kind that gets me what I want. Obviously,” I reply smoothly, enjoying the way a muscle twitches near his temple. “Now, be polite and invite me in.”
Raiden shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “fucking Castigliones,” before stepping back and gesturing for me to come in with a resigned wave of his hand. “Fine. But if this is some mafia bullshit, I swear to God?—”
I step past him into the house, ignoring his grumbling and the way he deliberately puts space between us. The interior is exactly what I expected—rugged, masculine, and surprisingly clean, without a speck of dust in sight. The living room has a large leather couch with a few throw pillows tossed carelessly across it, a sleek black motorcycle helmet sitting on the dark wood coffee table, and weights stacked neatly in one corner beside a rolled-up yoga mat. The faint scent of leather and cologne lingers in the air, mixing with the smell of freshly brewed coffee from the cups in my hands and creating an oddly intimate atmosphere I hadn’t anticipated.
I set Raiden’s cup down on the table with a gentle thud and take a slow, deliberate look around, letting my gaze linger on the little details that make up his living space—the keys hanging by the door, a well-worn jacket with the Destroyers patch draped over a chair. “Not bad. I half-expected this place to be a disaster. You know, empty pizza boxes, unwashed dishes, and dirty laundry everywhere.”
Raiden crosses his arms over his bare chest, leaning against a wall with a scowl that deepens the lines around his mouth. “Still waiting for an explanation, Lucrezia.”
“For what?” I ask innocently, taking another slow sip of my coffee and savoring the warmth that spreads through my chest.
“For why the hell you’re here at six in the goddamn morning.” His tone is sharp enough to cut glass, but there’s a faint edge of curiosity behind it that betrays his interest. His fingers drum against his bicep as he waits for my response.
I tilt my head, letting my dark hair fall to one side as I meet his gaze with a sly smile. “I wanted to talk. And I figured this would be the best time to catch you off guard. Before you had all your walls up for the day.”
Raiden snorts, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. As he shakes his head, his hair falls across his forehead. He pushes off the wall and begrudgingly walks over to the table to grab his coffee, the paper cup looking almost delicate in his calloused hands. “You think catching me half-naked is the best way to do that?”
“Worked, didn’t it?” I quip, raising an eyebrow and taking another deliberate sip of my coffee to hide my growing smirk.
Raiden downs half the coffee in one go, as if needing it like a lifeline to keep this conversation going. “Alright, you’ve got me awake. What do you want to talk about?”
I head to the kitchen, surveying the space with languid interest. He has a bright red Kitchen Aid mixer at the end of a long, galley-style counter. “Big on baking, huh?” I ask as I set my cup down on the counter and cross my arms, my tone shifting to something more serious. The playful atmosphere from moments ago dissipates. “I want to talk about my brother.”
His expression hardens as he follows me, all traces of sleepiness gone. The warmth in his eyes freezes over, and his shoulders tense beneath his shirt. “What about him?” The question comes out clipped and sharp, a warning edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.
I lean back against the counter, my fingers curling around its cool edge as I watch Raiden carefully. “I was thinking we should blow up his house. With him inside.” The words come out calm and measured like I’m suggesting we order takeout.
Raiden freezes mid-step, his eyes narrowing to dark slits. “Jesus Christ, Lucrezia,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face in a gesture of pure exasperation. “The guy has a kid.”
I wave a hand dismissively through the tension-filled air between us. “Fine. We’ll wait until the kid is at daycare, then.” My tone remains unnervingly casual, at odds with the violence of my suggestion. But deep inside, a part of me aches to meet my first niece or nephew.
“You’re insane,” he says flatly, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. His posture has gone completely rigid, and there’s something close to horror flickering across his features as he takes in my apparent nonchalance about murder.
“Am I?” I challenge, meeting his gaze head-on with unflinching determination. “Or am I just practical? Saverio doesn’t deserve to live, and you know that. After everything he’s done, death is the kindest fate he could hope for.” Not the kid, though. I’m glad Raiden said something before I did something I could never undo.
Raiden shakes his head, his jaw tightening until I can practically hear his teeth grinding together. “There’s a difference between taking someone out and blowing up their goddamn house. This isn’t a video game. You can’t just reset if civilians get caught in the crossfire.”
“But it’s effective,” I argue, crossing my arms over my chest. “And it sends a message. Everyone who’s ever thought about crossing me will think twice when they see what’s left of his place.”
He exhales sharply, pacing across the worn linoleum floor of the kitchen. “You really don’t give a shit about collateral damage, do you?”
I shrug, keeping my tone deliberately casual and almost bored. “Collateral damage is just another word for acceptable losses. The world’s full of them.”
Raiden stops pacing and turns to face me, his expression a complex mix of frustration and reluctant admiration. I can see him searching my eyes for something; I hope he finds what he’s looking for. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” I reply with a smirk, enjoying his discomfort. “Usually right before people realize I’m right.”
After a long pause filled with tension thick enough to cut, Raiden shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds like a curse. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. But we’re making damn sure the kid isn’t anywhere near the place. That’s non-negotiable.”
I grin, savoring the taste of triumph. My way is always the best way, after all. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Sometimes, the messy solution is the right solution.”
Raiden sighs heavily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s too early for this shit, Lucrezia. Anything else you want to spring on me while you’re here? Any other outrageous plans I should know about before I go back to bed and try to get a full eight hours of sleep?”
“Not right now,” I reply breezily, grabbing my now-lukewarm coffee cup from the counter and taking a quick sip. “I’m reconnecting with Kristopher tonight, but I’ll let you know if I think of anything in the meantime. I’m full of surprises, after all.”
Raiden snorts, shaking his head with a mix of exasperation and begrudging amusement. “You’re something else, Lucrezia.” As I head for the door, he calls after me. “Wait. Give me your number.”
I pause mid-stride, glancing over my shoulder with an arched eyebrow. “What for? Worried I’ll disappear on you?”
“So you can stop showing up at my house unannounced,” he says dryly. “I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime. You’re lucky I didn’t open the door with a shotgun in hand.”
I smirk, pulling my phone out of my pocket and tossing it to him with a casual flick of my wrist. “Fine. But don’t expect me to answer every time you call. I’m not your girlfriend, Drake, I’m your partner in crime.”
Raiden catches it easily, his fingers moving quickly as he punches in his number and sends himself a text message. The soft tapping of keys fills the brief silence between us. When he tosses it back, I catch it and tuck it into my pocket, patting it with mock solemnity. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” he deadpans, his expression perfectly flat. “I can hardly contain my joy, partner.”
I open the door, stepping out into the cool morning air that nips at my exposed skin. A light breeze catches my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. Kansas in late fall is perfect—all golden leaves and crisp mornings without the brutal bite of winter. I missed it here, missed the way the sunlight catches on the old limestone buildings and the familiar rhythm of life waking up in Manhattan.
Raiden calls out to me one last time before I reach my car. “Hey, out of curiosity, where’d you spend the night last night?”
I glance back, raising an eyebrow and letting a hint of amusement color my expression. “Why? Planning to show up at my place at 6:00 am?”
His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, something that makes my usual defenses waver. “Call it me being polite,” he says in a gentle tone that makes my heart unexpectedly skip.
I hesitate for a moment before replying, my fingers fidgeting with my car keys as I fight the urge to give him the real answer. My voice is deliberately light and dismissive, an old defense mechanism I’ve perfected over time. “None of your business.”
Raiden leans against the doorframe, his gaze flickering between uncertainty and something kinder. “If you need a place to stay—and if you promise to stop waking me up at six in the goddamn morning—you can crash in my guest room. It’s not much, but it’s yours if you want it.” His offer comes out casual, like he’s commenting on the weather rather than extending an unexpected lifeline.
The offer catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. My carefully constructed walls threaten to crack just a little. I’m not used to his brand of kindness. Finally, I nod. “I’ll think about it,” I reply, my voice surprisingly softer.
As I climb into my car, I can feel his eyes on me, watching me, waiting for an answer. For the first time in a long while, I wonder if I’ve found someone I can trust. The thought is both comforting and terrifying, like a double-edged sword I’m not sure I’m ready to wield.