Chapter 41
S he’s still asleep, curled on her side with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. One of her legs is bared, her skin pale and soft against my black sheets.
She looks like she belongs there—like she’s always belonged here—and for one brutal, fleeting second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this wasn’t ending.
If I could keep her.
If I wasn’t about to do what I have to do.
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, just watching her breathe. The rise and fall of her chest is steady now, not the shallow panic of last night.
I should be relieved that she’s safe, that she’s whole. Instead, I feel like I’m being torn in half.
She looks so fucking peaceful, and it guts me.
Because I know I’m about to destroy that look on her face.
Because I know she deserves someone who won’t lie to her.
But I will.
Because it’s the only way she’ll leave me.
Lorenzo’s men got into my club. My club. Not through brute force, not because we were careless. I can only conclude they got in because someone close to me—someone I trusted—opened a door for them.
And if someone can get inside the Devil’s Playground, they can get to her. They already did.
They nearly killed her last night.
When I think about her taking off that blood-soaked jacket… when I thought she had been shot…
My hand curls into a fist. I force myself to breathe.
There’s still a leak in my house, and until I find it—until I burn it out at the fucking root—I can’t let her stay. Not near me. Not near any of this.
She stirs slightly in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. My stomach knots. Everything about her is soft when she sleeps. All the fire, the brattiness, the smart mouth—it fades. She looks young. Vulnerable.
And I’m about to break her.
But I have no choice.
Not if I want her to keep this war from touching her.
She doesn’t belong in the dark.
She belongs in the light—laughing.
She laughed once in the office—really laughed. I don’t even remember what it was about. Probably something Eve said. Something dry and smug that only lands half the time.
But Sienna let out this unfiltered, bright laugh that didn’t match the black-on-black pencil skirt she was wearing or the cold marble floors beneath her heels.
It didn’t belong in my world.
But I wanted to keep it anyway.
Like a thief with something precious he knows he’ll ruin if he holds it too tight.
I remember turning from my desk, pretending to look at the report in my hands, but really just… watching her. Her head tilted back, eyes crinkled at the corners.
That wild auburn hair pulled into one of those lazy knots she thinks passes for professional. Her whole body relaxed for the first time since I brought her into this place.
It only lasted a second. She caught my stare and straightened like she’d done something wrong.
She hadn’t.
She was just being happy.
And I wanted to bottle it. Frame it. Lock it the fuck away.
But I don’t get to keep that.
I don’t get to keep her.
Not when Lorenzo is still out there. Not when someone I trust is leaking blood through the cracks in my empire. Not when the only way to stop this war is to end it on my terms—and I don’t know who I’ll have to bury to do that.
What I do know is this:
If I keep her in my world, it’ll chew her up.
And I’m afraid too much damage has already been done.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
EVE: I’ll be there in ten minutes.
Ten minutes.
Fuck. I wish I had more time.
More time to hold her. To tell her the truth. To kiss her like it means something—because it does.
But the clock’s ticking on all of this.
This war ends one way— me or Lorenzo. And I’m not planning on dying.
Another buzz. This time from Killian. I open the security feed, scan the Masquerade’s recovery footage again even though I’ve already memorized it frame by frame all fucking night long.
LUCIAN: I want a private meeting within the hour. I’ll be at the office soon. We’re ending this.
Because I need answers. I need to know how DeLuca’s men got through my walls. How they slipped past my protocols. How someone I trust opened the door for them.
If they can get into the Masquerade… they can get into the Ledger.
And if they can get into the Ledger…
They can get to her.
My pulse ticks up. I rub the back of my neck and glance back at the woman still sleeping in my bed—still safe. Still soft. Still mine for a few more minutes.
But not for long.
Because this is where the line is drawn.
Between the life she deserves and the war I’m about to wage.
She’s still curled into the sheets that smell like me, like us—and I know better than to let myself look too long. But of course I do. Just for a second.
Her features are relaxed, lips parted slightly, her breath steady in the way only sleep can bring. There’s a softness there. A safety.
And I’m about to destroy it.
I finish buttoning my shirt, each movement mechanical, deliberate. My fingers find the drawer, searching for the familiar weight of my cufflinks—matte black, the same pair I wore the night we met.
I close the drawer a little too hard. The sound cuts through the stillness like a warning shot.
She stirs, shifting in the sheets. My name follows, quiet and unsure. “Lucian?”
I don’t turn. I can’t. If I look at her now, I won’t do what needs to be done.
I crouch to tie my shoes, slowly. Carefully. Like dressing for war.
With each motion, I retreat further behind the mask she worked so hard to peel away—the man she first met. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable.
Still, I don’t turn around. I secure the second cufflink with precision, then finally speak—flat, clipped.
“Take a few days. Report to Eve when you're ready. She’ll walk you through your first contract selection.”
“What–” There’s a pause, and I can hear her sitting up. Sheets shifting. Confusion thick in her tone. “I thought?—”
“That was a mistake,” I say, cutting her off with surgical precision. My tone leaves no room for questions. Only damage.
The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. I can feel it pressing against my back like her grief is already reaching for me. But I don’t flinch. I don't move.
“You don’t mean that,” she says. Quieter now, but firmer. A soft defiance laced with disbelief.
I grit my teeth. My hand curls around the edge of the dresser until my knuckles burn.
“When have I ever said something I didn’t mean?”
The words fall out like a blade, and I know they land the way I need them to. I hear the breath leave her lungs, feel the shift in the air as her world cracks down the middle.
“You bastard,” she whispers. “You don’t even care, do you?”
Still, I stay silent.
“After everything… after last night… you won’t even admit that this meant something?”
Her voice breaks, and for a second, so does something in me. But I can’t let her see it.
“Look at me.”
It’s a command now—low, trembling, laced with a fury that wasn’t there before.
I don’t move.
“Look at me when you say it, you coward.” She yells it, anger cracking through her steady voice.
That word lands. It sinks in and carves a hole right through me. I turn. Slowly. Because if I move too fast, I’ll fall apart.
Her hair is a mess. Her eyes are glassy. But she’s sitting straight up in my bed like a fucking warrior, holding that sheet to her chest like armor. Her chin trembles but she doesn’t back down.
And still, she looks like the strongest person I’ve ever known.
I look her in the eye and lie through my goddamn teeth.
“You need to learn to separate business from the heart,” I tell her, my voice as cold as I can make it.
Her breath hitches, lips parting in disbelief, but I don’t stop there.
“Because when it feels real… you have to know it’s not.”
She stares at me. Waiting. Hoping I’ll take it back. But I don’t. I can’t. Because if I do, she stays—and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Not with Lorenzo’s reach crawling closer to my door.
I grab my watch—black, polished, weightless in my hand—and head toward the door. My voice is flat, final, as I toss the last dagger behind me.
“Eve should be here in five minutes with clothes for you.”
She doesn’t follow. She doesn’t yell.
But I feel her still. I feel the heartbreak trailing behind me like smoke, seeping into my skin, into my lungs.
Outside, the sun is far too bright. The air too still. As if the world dares to continue like nothing inside me has changed.
I step out of the house, jaw clenched, eyes burning. The Rolex presses into my palm. I stare at it for a beat—then with a harsh grunt, I throw it with all the force I can summon.
It hits the stone siding hard, the glass face shattering on impact, sending tiny fragments scattering across the drive like splinters of time I can’t get back.
I swing my leg over the motorcycle and start the engine. The roar fills the silence, but it doesn’t drown out the echo of her voice, or the echo of my own cowardice.
I don’t look back.
I can’t.
Because I left her in my bed.
In my world.
A place she never should’ve belonged.
But God help me…
She did.