Chapter 15
Lucien
"Boss, what the hell's going through your head? You nearly got your brains blown out just now, you know that?"
I ignored him. Raised my hand. Pulled the trigger.
The final crisp gunshot spat fire. The screaming from behind the barricade cut off. The entire abandoned dock fell silent as death.
I stood, ejected the magazine, and holstered the gun.
"Clear. Full sweep complete." Enzo emerged from behind a bullet-riddled shipping container on the opposite side. "Boss, we done?"
"Done."
I handed off the pistol to the guard behind me, straightened my rumpled black shirt collar, and headed toward the Rolls-Royce waiting outside the dock.
Damn it. In the middle of that firefight, crouched behind cover reloading, my mind kept flashing back to Elora—her face flushed and sulky when she said "faster," the cool, tingling sensation of her bare toes pressing into my back.
"Fuck." Rocco caught up from behind, shoving my heavy suit jacket into my hands. "Boss, you zoned out six times tonight! If word gets out, Casalesi's gonna think you've lost it."
"Shut up."
Rocco's mouth twitched up, his amber eyes gleaming with schadenfreude. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a woman, would it?"
I shot him a look. He snapped his mouth shut and hustled ahead to open the car door.
Late now. Traffic sparse on the highway. Cold yellow streetlights stretched an endless ribbon of light across the asphalt. I leaned back against the cool leather seat, staring out at the blurred nightscape rushing past, my mind a tangled mess.
I was thinking about her. About her warm breath against my neck when she buried her face there. About her eyes rimmed red, voice small and aggrieved when she whispered, "I promise."
For years, I thought I could get through that day alone—push myself to the limit, fill that all-consuming black hole inside me with endless violence and exhaustion. But this year, she'd lit a single small candle and illuminated my dark, frozen past.
This woman had completely thrown me off balance.
"Boss, there's something I need to tell you." Up front, Rocco dropped the smirk. His tone went serious.
"We've been having friction with the Moretti family lately. That new deep-water cargo line in Brooklyn—our guys and theirs showed up at the same port warehouse at the same time. They either lost their damn minds or planned it, because they opened fire."
My fingers, toying with my tie clip, froze.
"Results."
"Lost ten men. A shipment got seized." Rocco's voice was grim. "They didn't come out clean either, but that shipment... was classified. No way the outside could've known without someone on the inside."
"So?"
"Exactly what you're thinking." Rocco didn't hesitate. "Boss, we've got a mole."
I stared out the window.
"Cover the loss from the Red Hook take. Start digging. Tonight." My voice went cold. "Sweep the manor first, then clean out every location we've got in New York."
"Understood."
Silence filled the car again.
A mole. How long had this infiltration been going on?
The car rolled through the manor gates. Warm yellow light from the main hall pierced the darkness first. I pushed open the door and stepped out. Night wind hit me, driving the smell of blood from my collar straight into my nose.
Instinctively, I scanned the living room. Elora wasn't there. Must be asleep already.
I felt oddly relieved. Turned toward the study. Just reached the door when Marco emerged, face dark.
"Lucien, we need to talk. Red Hook and the port."
"Come in." I pushed open the door. Marco followed, settling into the chair across from me.
"I know about the port interception."
"Word travels fast."
"Can't keep this one quiet." His tone was harsh. "Moretti's testing our limits. Genovese needs a rock-solid alliance now."
I took a sip of coffee. Said nothing.
"If we had the Casalesi alliance locked down, tonight never would've happened." Marco slapped the desk. "Serena's devoted to you. Carlo's made his intentions crystal clear. Interests and bloodlines—that's the eternal law of the mafia. Feelings are just expensive consumables!"
"Get to the point."
Marco paused. His gaze sharpened. "That woman—Elora.
I know you're protecting her. You even put her in the family registry.
But betting the family's safety on some nobody with no background is another matter entirely!
What can she possibly give you? Besides, Julian Moretti's been hanging around that pathetic essential oil shop of hers every other day—"
"Marco," I set down my cup hard, "you came here tonight to gossip?"
"I came because we're out of time!" Marco bit out each word. "Cut ties with Elora. Marry Serena. Lock down Casalesi's support. That's the optimal solution right now."
"This has nothing to do with Elora." I shot back. "You think the mole just appeared yesterday?"
"How does it not?" Marco frowned. "Julian and her—"
"I said it has nothing to do with her."
"Lucien!"
"Marco. It's late. You should go."
Marco stayed silent for a long time. Finally stood.
"Feelings are the most expensive luxury. We can't afford to lose."
He slammed the door on his way out. I leaned back in the chair, hands behind my head, closed my eyes. The mole, the hijacked cargo line, Marco's pressure—any one of these I could handle easily. But all of them crashing down in one night.
Another knock on the study door.
"Come in."
Serena. White silk robe, face still pale, holding a glass of warm water. "Lucien, still working? You trying to kill yourself?"
She spotted the blood on my collar. "You're hurt?"
"Someone else's blood." My tone was flat. "Take your medicine?"
"Yes, I was good." Serena forced a smile, walked over, and set the glass on the desk. She lowered her head, fingers twisting her robe hem, eyes shifting.
"If you've got something to say, say it." I rubbed my temples.
Serena hesitated, pulled out a tablet, swiped a few times, then pushed it toward me—but covered the screen with her hand. "I didn't want to show you this... but it's important. Lucien, promise me you won't lose your temper after you see it."
I looked at her, then took the tablet.
The screen showed high-definition surveillance footage. Location: the corner of Seventh Avenue in Greenwich Village—outside Serenity Essence.
In the frame, Elora stood at the bottom of the steps. Julian Moretti faced her, standing close. Julian held her hand, head bowed, pouring out something heartfelt. Elora's head was down. She didn't pull her hand away in the first second.
The timestamp in the corner was crystal clear. Four days before the Brooklyn port cargo line got intercepted.
I remembered that day. Julian's regular appointment at her shop. The day Julian confessed to her.
I pushed the tablet back. "Julian's her client."
"I knew you'd say that..." Serena looked anxious. "But Lucien, the timing's too perfect! Moretti got our classified cargo line schedule, and Julian saw her just days before. I'm just worried you're being kept in the dark..."
"Thank you." I cut her off. "I'll handle it. Go rest."
Serena bit her lip. Finally said nothing more, wished me good night, and left the study.
I sat under the dim desk lamp, staring at the frozen screenshot.
I knew Julian sent her roses. I knew Julian looked at her with undisguised desire. I knew Julian confessed. Elora refused every time—that's the only reason I hadn't slaughtered Moretti yet.
But this timeline was too convenient.
Who could access the classified port cargo line schedule? Only someone with access to core confidential files. And Elora slept beside me. I'd even let her move freely through my study.
The serpent of doubt began devouring my reason.
I closed my eyes. Forced myself to remember her body heat when she held me tight on my birthday. Her tearful, soft promise in bed. That tenderness wasn't an act. Her clumsy affection was real.
Another knock.
"Come in."
Enzo. Expression serious. "Boss, we've got preliminary results on the mole."
"Talk."
"We've narrowed the leak down to three people with access to core files." Enzo paused, eyes evasive. "Marco, Rocco... and the lady who entered the study last Wednesday. That port transport manifest was on your desk that day."
The study went silent enough to hear the wind outside.
"That's just one possibility." Enzo quickly added. "We haven't confirmed anything yet."
"Keep digging." I was actually trembling. "Before morning. I want solid evidence."
Enzo acknowledged and left, closing the door.
I stood and walked to the window. Freezing rain hammered the glass.
This wasn't simple.
"Until you have iron-clad proof, no one gets convicted." That was the first lesson Father taught me. The same words Mother screamed in my face at the hospital that day.
Find out first.
This time, I wouldn't let my emotions spiral out of control.