15. Raiden
Chapter 15
Raiden
I glance around at the clutter: a stack of motorcycle magazines on the coffee table, their pages dog-eared and worn from repeated reading, a couple of empty beer bottles on the windowsill catching the moonlight, and Lucrezia lounging on my couch as if she owns the place. She’s sipping the last of the coffee I begrudgingly made for her, a sly smile playing on her lips, one leg crossed elegantly over the other in that infuriatingly composed way of hers.
I pace the length of the room, my boots scuffing against the hardwood floor, casting the occasional glare her way. The tension in my shoulders builds with each pass. “Just so we’re clear,” I say, jabbing a finger in her direction, “I’m not gonna make a goddamn charcuterie board or whatever for your little meeting. These aren’t my guests, and this isn’t some fancy dinner party you can host in my living room.”
She looks up, eyes sparkling with barely contained amusement. “Relax, Drake. I’m sure we can all survive without your five-star hosting. Though I must say, the coffee’s not half bad. A step down from Radina’s, but better than your average home brew.”
I roll my eyes, fingers twitching as I resist the urge to toss one of the empty beer bottles in her direction. “Don’t start with me, princess. You’re lucky I didn’t leave you out on the porch with a blanket and a thermos. Would’ve served you right for inviting your little friends over to my house.”
“Such a gentleman,” Lucrezia retorts, rolling her eyes. “It’s a wonder you’re still single. Really, with charm like that, the ladies must be busting down your door.”
I smirk, leaning against the wall and folding my arms across my chest, enjoying the familiar rhythm of our verbal sparring. “I’ll make sure to engrave that on my tombstone: ‘Single by choice, thanks to Lucrezia Castiglione.’ Maybe add a little footnote about how you drove me to eternal bachelorhood.”
She chuckles softly, but before she can fire back with another witty retort, the doorbell rings—a sharp, grating sound that cuts through the room like nails on a chalkboard. I sigh, muttering under my breath, “Here we go.”
Making my way to the door, I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders before swinging it open. Kristopher Tate stands on my porch, his pale face framed by dark hair that looks like it’s never seen a brush, let alone considered making friends with one. His eyes are intense, a shade too bright, like fever-glass, and they flicker with something I can’t quite place but don’t like one bit. There’s a tension in his jaw that wasn’t there the last time I saw him, a hardness that makes me want to take a step back. I remember him as Kris Castiglione, but the truth behind that moniker has since come out.
“Long time no see,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, carefully balanced between polite and wary. My hand stays on the doorknob, ready for anything.
Kris barely meets my gaze, his eyes darting to a point somewhere over my left shoulder. “Wish it would’ve been longer,” he mumbles, shoulders hunched forward like he’s bracing against an invisible wind.
“Still a ray of sunshine, I see.” I step aside, motioning for him to enter. He brushes past me without another word, his shoulder bumping mine with enough force that I have to steady myself against the doorframe.
As he walks into the living room, I follow a few careful paces behind, watching the way his entire demeanor changes the moment he spots Lucrezia. The tension in his shoulders eases like ice melting in the sun; his eyes soften from steel to velvet, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. It’s unsettling, to say the least, this Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation happening right before my eyes.
“Lucrezia,” he says, moving toward her with an almost reverent air, his voice carrying a warmth that was completely absent moments ago. His hands, which had been balled into fists at his sides, now hang loose and open.
Something about the change in Kristopher’s posture puts me on high alert. Every instinct screams that this isn’t right, that his level of transformation can’t be natural or healthy.
Lucrezia stands up, and he takes her hand, holding it a moment too long, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a gesture that’s far too intimate. “You look perfect, as always,” he breathes, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst.
She shifts slightly, her shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly as she gently pulls her hand back. A flash of discomfort crosses her face before she masks it with politeness. “Thanks, Kris. Glad you could make it.” Lucrezia’s voice carries a forced lightness that makes my stomach turn because it sounds nothing like her.
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, clenching my jaw so hard it hurts. The muscles in my face twitch with irritation. Before the awkwardness can deepen any further, the doorbell rings again. I let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling. “Let the circus continue.” The words drip with sarcasm as I brace myself for whatever fresh hell awaits on the other side.
Opening the door, I find Daniela standing there, looking every bit a porcelain doll in a world made of concrete. Her cream-colored dress and perfectly styled hair seem almost offensive against the backdrop of my dingy house. She’s clutching her designer handbag like it’s a lifeline, her perfectly manicured fingers white-knuckled around the strap, her eyes wide and uncertain beneath carefully applied mascara.
“Come on in,” I say, stepping aside without much enthusiasm. The words taste bitter in my mouth, like day-old coffee. If this is Lucrezia’s army, I don’t think much of them.
“Thank you,” Daniela whispers, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile veneer of civility we’re all maintaining. She slips past me, and I catch a whiff of rosewater perfume—soft, delicate, completely out of place here, like butterfly wings in a thunderstorm.
She moves into the living room with tiny, measured steps, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She offers a timid smile to Lucrezia, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. “I’m glad you’re okay. Saverio asked about you again.” The name hangs in the air, making the room feel even smaller than it is. Everyone here hates that man.
Lucrezia’s eyes flicker with something—annoyance, worry, maybe both tangled together—but she nods, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “We’ll talk about that in a minute.” Her tone brooks no argument, crisp as autumn frost.
I watch the exchange, my skepticism growing with each passing second. These are her choices? An obviously lovesick psycho and a scared little bunny with ambivalent feelings for the brother we’re about to kill? Fantastic. Just fantastic. We might as well write our obituaries now and save everyone the trouble.
“Alright,” I announce, clapping my hands once. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get this over with.” My voice carries more confidence than I feel, but someone has to take charge of this circus, and with anxiety radiating off Lucrezia, I might as well take something off her plate.
We gather around the coffee table, its scratched surface reflecting the dim overhead light. Lucrezia takes the center of the couch, commanding the room without even trying. Kristopher sits uncomfortably close to her, his knee touching hers. Daniela perches on the edge of an armchair like a sparrow ready to take flight, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse, pulling at a loose thread until it starts to unravel. I lean against the wall, lighting a cigarette and taking a slow drag, letting the familiar burn of nicotine steady my nerves. I usually don’t smoke inside, but this gathering of idiots is enough to make me break my own rules. The acrid smoke curls upward in lazy spirals, and I watch it drift toward the water-stained ceiling, wondering how many more of my principles I’ll have to compromise before this mess is over.
“So,” Lucrezia begins, her gaze sweeping over all of us like a searchlight cutting through fog. “Let’s go over the plan. You all had a job to do. Dani, do you know when Saverio’s family will be gone?”
Daniela clears her throat, her voice soft but steady. “Lucia takes their son to daycare in the morning before she goes to work at Bluemont Elementary. Saverio has a meeting downtown at eleven on Friday, but he should be home before that.” She pauses, double-checking a small notebook she’s pulled from her purse, the pages dog-eared and filled with her precise handwriting.
I add my contribution without having to be asked. “My guy’s delivering the package tomorrow afternoon, right on schedule. Everything’s set on my end.” When Lucrezia asked me to provide a bomb, I put Bash to work. I didn’t tell my best friend what I needed it for, but I’m sure he knew I didn’t need it in my line of work. That’s the thing about friends: if you pick the right ones, they know when to ask questions and when to leave well enough alone. They understand the delicate balance between loyalty and plausible deniability, between support and scrutiny. Bash has always been good at walking that line.
Kristopher leans forward eagerly, his elbows propped on his knees, his eyes never leaving Lucrezia. “I’ve been studying the layout for a few days now. The kitchen is the best spot—gas lines run through the east wall, and there’s less risk of detection from the neighbors or street. It’ll be quick and clean. I got a guy who works for Blueville Nursery who’s gonna let me borrow his work truck. I’ll tell anyone who asks that I’m there to winterize the plants or some shit.” He pauses, a smile playing on his lips, his expression bordering on devotion. “Anything for you, Lucrezia, you know that.”
I raise an eyebrow, taking another long, deliberate drag from my cigarette to keep from saying something I’ll regret. This guy is one bad breakup away from starring in a crime documentary, and the way he’s looking at Lucrezia makes me think she’ll be the hapless victim he preserves and sleeps next to until the smell tips off the neighbors.
Lucrezia offers a curt nod to her half-brother, her posture rigid and professional. “Good. We need to ensure there are no mistakes. We can’t have a nosy neighbor ruining the whole thing.”
As the discussion continues about timing and logistics, I can’t help but notice Kristopher’s hand inching closer to Lucrezia like a predatory spider. Finally, he places it on her knee, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her pants, possessive and presumptuous. She tenses, her eyes flicking down to his hand, a flash of something—disgust, anger—crossing her otherwise composed features.
That’s it. I’ve seen enough.
“Hey,” I say sharply, pushing off the wall with enough force that my shoulder blades sting. “Keep your hands to yourself.” The words hang in the air like a thrown gauntlet, and I can feel the temperature in the room drop several degrees.
Kristopher looks up, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits beneath his furrowed brow. “What Lux and I have doesn’t concern you,” he says, each word dripping with hostility.
I let out a dry laugh that holds no humor whatsoever. “Oh, it concerns me when you start pawing at your fucking half-sister like a dog in heat. Back off, Kris, or I’ll make you back off.”
He stands up slowly, squaring his shoulders in that universal male display of dominance. His knees hit the table and it scrapes against the floor with an ugly sound. “You think you can tell me what to do, Raiden?” There’s a muscle twitching in his jaw now.
I step forward, closing the distance between us until I can smell his cheap cologne. “I think I just fucking did.” The words come out low and steady, a promise rather than a threat. If he wants to fight, I guarantee he’ll wind up in the hospital. I might lose a tooth or get my nose broken, but I’ll cripple this motherfucker right in my living room.
“Enough,” Lucrezia interjects, rising to her feet and placing a hand on my chest. Her touch is light but firm, a physical barrier between two storm fronts. “Both of you.” Her voice carries a tone that says she’s not interested in an argument, but I feel a slight tremor in her fingers against my shirt.
Her eyes flash with irritation as she looks between us, but there’s a hint of gratitude when her gaze meets mine. “This isn’t the time for distractions. We have a job to do, and I won’t let testosterone-fueled posturing derail us.”
Kristopher holds my gaze for a moment longer before scoffing and turning away, shoulders rigid with unspent aggression. “Fine,” he spits out, the word dripping with false acquiescence.
I take a step back, but the tension in the room is palpable, thick enough to choke on. Lucrezia drops her hand from my chest, and I immediately miss the warmth of the small point of contact that somehow kept my rage in check.
Daniela, who has been silent this whole time, suddenly speaks up. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, Lucrezia.” Her voice is soft but carries an unexpected strength, like steel wrapped in silk. Her delicate hands are clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white with determination.
I glance at her, a bit surprised. Maybe she’s not as fragile as she looks. There’s something in the set of her jaw, the unwavering focus in her eyes, that suggests hidden reserves of resilience I hadn’t noticed before.
“Glad to hear it,” Lucrezia replies, offering her sister a small smile. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, as if Daniela’s declaration has lifted some invisible weight. Or perhaps it’s because the focus is no longer on Kristopher and me.
The meeting wraps up with final confirmations and a rough timeline of what’s going to happen between now and Friday. As we begin to disperse, Kristopher lingers, his gaze fixed on Lucrezia with an intensity that makes my jaw clench. He steps closer to her, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers hovering near her cheek with deliberate slowness.
“Be careful with that brute, Lux,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of manufactured concern. His fingers finally make contact with her skin, trailing along her jawline in a way that makes me sick. “I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”
Before I can stop myself, I interject. “I warned you, Kristopher.” If he places one more finger on Lucrezia, I will break every bone in his body.
He turns to me with calculated slowness, a smug grin spreading across his face like oil on water. “Jealous?” The word drips with condescension.
I grit my teeth, feeling the muscle in my jaw jump. “Jealous of whatever sick interest you have in your half-sister ? Hardly.”
Kristopher chuckles softly, shaking his head as he lets his hand drop to his side. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Raiden.” His eyes glitter with triumph. He’s no dummy; he knows I’m not trying to protect Lucrezia out of the goodness of my heart. A man can tell when another man is interested in his woman, and both Kristopher and I are keenly aware of what the other person wants. His possessive stance mirrors my protective one, two predators circling the same prey. The difference is my interest isn’t twisted by blood relations like his.
Lucrezia steps between us, her expression unreadable, though there’s a subtle tightness around her eyes. “Kristopher, we’ll touch base tomorrow when the package is delivered. Get some rest.” Her tone brooks no argument, firm but professional.
He nods stiffly, casting one last measured glance my way before heading toward the door. “See you soon, Lux,” he says over his shoulder.
Daniela stands as well, clutching her designer handbag close to her chest like a shield. “I’ll make sure everything is in place. The arrangements, the timing—all of it.”
“Thank you,” Lucrezia replies. “I appreciate it more than you know.”
Daniela offers a tentative smile, uncertainty flickering across her delicate features before following Kristopher out. The door closes behind them with a soft click, and silence settles over the room once more.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly as the tension bleeds from my shoulders. “Your army’s a mess, princess,” I say, unable to keep the wry amusement from my tone.
She turns to me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Good thing I’m not relying on you for moral support, now am I?”
I chuckle, shaking my head at her sharp-tongued response. “You never have.”
Lucrezia crosses her arms, leaning back against the plush leather couch. “Kristopher is intense, but he’s useful. Sometimes, you need someone with that kind of drive.”
“He’s obsessed,” I correct, my voice taking on a harder edge. “There’s a difference. He’s the kind of obsessed that makes people dangerous.”
She shrugs her shoulders dismissively, the gesture somehow both casual and refined. “I can handle him. I’ve dealt with worse.”
I study her for a moment, noting the way her eyes harden ever so slightly, like frost creeping across glass. There’s steel beneath that polished exterior, but even steel can break. I know she’s been through hell, but I want to prevent her from going through it again. “You sure have, but that doesn’t mean you have to deal with him. Or trust him, frankly.”
Lucrezia raises an eyebrow, and a knowing smile curves her lips. “Why, Drake? Worried about me?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s something else there, something that makes the air between us feel charged.
I scoff, though the question hits closer to home than I’d like, sending an uncomfortable flutter through my chest. “Just don’t want your little plan falling apart because of a jealous meltdown.”
“Is that all?” she challenges, a glint in her eye.
I hold her gaze, fighting the urge to look away from those knowing eyes. “Do want that to be all?” We’re treading dangerous waters, but something about Lucrezia Castiglione makes me want to dive in head first.
She pushes off the couch and covers the space between us with a slow, seductive walk, her hips swaying with each step. When she’s standing in front of me with nothing more than a breath between us, Lucrezia reaches up to unbutton my shirt. “No. I want you. Right here. Right now.” Her voice is low and husky with desire.
The last time we fucked, I had to get Plan B. But I’m a man who learns from his mistakes; I picked up condoms, too. They’re sitting in my bedside drawer, ready and waiting for exactly this kind of situation.
“Well, rub my lamp and call me a Genie, darlin’, because I’m gonna make your wishes come true.” My words betray just how much I want her, and I don’t care if she knows.
I hope Kristopher’s hiding in the bushes outside and watching through the window. I want him to see me fuck the object of his obsession on my kitchen table.