Chapter 24
LUCAS
The restaurant didn't announce itself. No neon, no sign big enough to read from the street—just a brass number on a black door and a doorman who looked like he'd been hired to intimidate.
He opened the door before we reached it, nodding at Lexi like she was expected, then at me like I was being evaluated.
Inside, the air smelled like money and herbs I couldn't name. Low lighting, dark wood, tables spaced far enough apart that conversations stayed private. A woman in a dress that probably cost more than my first car appeared from nowhere, her smile polite but warm.
"Ms. Montgomery," she said, like they were old friends. "My name is Marie. We're honored. Your table is ready."
Lexi smiled back, that easy charm she turned on without effort. "Thank you, Marie."
I followed them through the dining room, past tables where people ate in hushed tones, their plates looking more like art installations than food.
The woman—Marie—led us to a corner booth tucked behind a partition of frosted glass and trailing greenery.
Private. Secluded. Nobody could see us unless they walked right up to the table.
I liked it immediately.
"This work for you?" Marie asked, glancing at me.
"Perfect," I said.
She handed us drink menus bound in leather, told us our server would be right over, and disappeared.
Lexi settled into the booth, pulling off her blazer and draping it beside her. The silk dress she wore underneath caught the candlelight, and I had to remind myself we were in public. Barely, but still.
"You look tense," she said, a smile playing at her lips.
"I'm not tense."
"You've scanned every exit twice since we sat down."
I shrugged. "Habit."
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands. "Tell me. What's the protocol for restaurant safety?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You really want to know?"
"Humor me."
I glanced around, keeping my voice low. "Back to the wall. Clear sightlines to the entrance. Know where the kitchen is in case we need a secondary exit. No drinks we didn't watch get poured. Never sit near windows if we can help it."
Her eyes sparkled. "And the booth? Why'd you like this one?"
"Can't be approached from behind. Glass partition blocks casual sightlines. If something goes sideways, we've got options."
She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You're like a sexy, paranoid spy."
"I'm not paranoid."
"You just listed six potential threats in a restaurant that serves twenty-dollar olives."
"Twenty dollars?" I stared at the menu. "For olives?"
She grinned, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Relax, soldier. I promise the escargot won't bite back."
"Escargot," I muttered. "That's snails, right?"
"Delicious snails," she said, her smile widening. "Trust me."
A server appeared—young guy, well-trained, the kind who could read a table without being told. He poured water, explained the tasting menu, and left us to decide. Lexi ordered for both of us, because I didn't know half the words on the menu and didn't want to butcher them trying.
When the food started arriving, I understood what I'd signed up for.
The first plate was smaller than my palm—some kind of fish with a curl of foam and three dots of sauce arranged like a constellation. It looked delicate, almost too pretty to eat.
"Go ahead," Lexi said, watching me.
I picked up the fork, took a bite. The flavors hit me all at once—salt, citrus, something earthy I couldn't name. It was good. Really good. But it was gone in two bites.
"I'm going to starve," I said.
She laughed. "There are nineteen more courses."
I blinked. "Nineteen?"
"Twenty, counting dessert." She leaned back, sipping her wine. "It's a tasting menu. Little bites of everything."
The next plate arrived—a single scallop on a bed of something green, topped with caviar.
Then came duck, then lamb, then pasta so thin it looked like lace.
Each plate was a work of art, each bite an explosion of flavor, and each portion barely enough to register.
Lexi took delicate nibbles, savoring each one, while I polished off the rest.
"You're enjoying this," she said, her eyes dancing.
"I'm starving and they keep giving me doll food," I said, but I was grinning.
"You like it."
"Yeah," I admitted. "I do."
She reached across the table, her fingers brushing mine. "Tell me why you're eating like you'll never see food again."
I paused, fork halfway to my mouth. "Grew up never wasting food. Mom drilled it into us—you finish what's on your plate, no exceptions. We didn't always know when the next meal was coming."
Her expression softened. "And now?"
"Now, I'm eating twenty-dollar olives and wondering if I should get used to it."
She smiled, but there was something sad in it. "You don't have to."
"Maybe I want to."
The next course arrived—something involving truffles and gold leaf that looked more like jewelry than food. I ate it, anyway, because it tasted incredible and because Lexi was watching me like I was the most fascinating thing in the room.
By the time dessert came—a small tower of chocolate and caramel that collapsed at the touch of a spoon—I was stuffed. Lexi laughed at the look on my face.
"Too much?"
"I'm going to need a forklift to get out of here."
She grinned. "Or a wheelbarrow."
I leaned back, groaning. "I need to walk this off."
The maitre d’ appeared like he'd been summoned by thought. "Everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Dane?"
"More than," I said. "Is there a place nearby we can walk? Somewhere private?"
He considered for a moment, then nodded. "There's a neighborhood not far from here. Very quiet, very discreet. The locals won't bother you." He glanced at Lexi, the meaning clear.
"Perfect," I said. "Can we get the bill?"
He smiled. "It's been taken care of, sir."
I frowned. "By who?"
"Dominion Hall, I believe."
Lexi’s mouth curved, eyes glinting. “By whom,” she said, her voice lilting with mock primness.
I arched a brow. “You correcting me now?”
She grinned. “Occupational hazard. I spend half my life memorizing dialogue.”
I glanced at her, trying not to smile. "The perks of being a Dane, huh?"
"Apparently," I said, standing and offering her my hand. "Come on. Before they change their minds and make me wash dishes."
She slipped her hand into mine, still grinning. "You're going to need that wheelbarrow."
"Lexi."
"What? I'm just saying. Man up. Lock it up. Whatever you soldiers say."
I pulled her close, my hand at the small of her back. "You're lucky you're beautiful."
"I know," she said, her smile radiant.
And she was. Radiant. The kind of light that made everything else dim by comparison.
The car ride was short, just a few blocks through Manhattan's maze of streets.
The neighborhood the maitre d had recommended appeared like something out of a time capsule—narrow cobblestone lanes, wrought-iron lampposts glowing soft yellow, brownstones with ivy climbing their facades.
It looked like it had been plucked from pre-WWII America and dropped in the middle of the city, untouched by the glass towers and neon just blocks away.
Lexi stepped out of the car, her eyes wide. "Oh, my God."
"What?"
"This is perfect." She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in—the quiet street, the old-fashioned storefronts with their hand-painted signs, the flower boxes under windows that glowed with warm light. "It's like we stepped back in time."
I watched her, the way her face lit up, the way her shoulders relaxed. Here, in this pocket of the city, she wasn't Lexi Montgomery, actress. She was just Lexi. And she loved it.
"Come on," she said, grabbing my hand. "Let's walk."
We walked for blocks, her heels clicking against the cobblestones, her laughter spilling into the quiet night.
She pointed out details I wouldn't have noticed—the brass numbers on the doors, the way the streetlights cast soft halos, the faint scent of jasmine drifting from a garden we couldn't see.
She was lighter here, freer, and I felt something tighten in my chest watching her.
"My feet are killing me," she said finally, stopping near a bench tucked under a tree.
"Sit," I said.
She collapsed onto the bench with a dramatic sigh, pulling off one heel and rubbing her foot. "Heels are a lie. A beautiful, painful lie."
I sat beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched. The street was quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists in cities when the world decides to take a breath. A few windows glowed above us, but no one was out. No cars. No voices. Just us.
She turned to me, her eyes soft. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For this. For tonight. For letting me pretend the real world doesn't exist."
I cupped her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. "You don't have to pretend with me."
She leaned in, and I met her halfway, our lips finding each other in the kind of kiss that said more than words could. Slow. Deliberate. The kind that made time stop and everything else fade to nothing.
Then I felt it.
A presence. A shift in the air.
I pulled back, my body going rigid, every instinct I'd honed over years of combat snapping to attention. Lexi noticed immediately.
"What?" she whispered.
I didn't answer. My eyes tracked the end of the street, where a figure had appeared—an old man, bent with age, leaning heavily on a cane. He moved slowly, the tap of his cane echoing in the quiet, each step deliberate. He was heading toward us.
"Lucas?" Lexi's voice was tight now, laced with fear.
"Stay behind me," I said quietly.
The man stopped a few feet away, his face shadowed by the brim of a hat. He was old—eighties, maybe older—but there was something about him that set every hair on my body on edge. His posture, his stillness. He wasn't just an old man out for a walk.
He reached slowly into his jacket.
I moved.
My hand went to my waist, fingers closing around the grip of the pistol hidden under my jacket. I shifted, putting myself between Lexi and the man, my body a shield. "Don't," I said, my voice low and hard.
The man's hand stopped. Then, slowly, he pulled out an envelope. Plain. White. Nothing threatening about it except for the fact that it existed.
"I was told to give this to a Mr. Dane," he said. His voice was rough, accented—Eastern European, maybe Russian.
My pulse hammered. "Who told you?"
He didn't answer. "Are you Mr. Dane?"
I hesitated, then nodded once.
He held out the envelope. I didn't take it immediately. I studied him—his hands, his stance, the way he held the cane. Looking for a weapon, a threat, anything that screamed danger. But he just stood there, waiting.
Finally, I took the envelope.
The man nodded, turned, and walked away. The tap of his cane echoed down the street, fading into the night until it was gone.
Lexi grabbed my arm. "Lucas, what the hell was that?"
I didn't answer. I turned the envelope over, examining it. No markings. No return address. Just my name, written in neat black ink: Lucas Dane.
"Should we open it?" Lexi asked, her voice shaking.
I ran my fingers over the edges, checking for anything unusual—wires, bumps, anything that didn't belong. It felt like paper. Just paper. But that didn't mean shit.
"Lucas."
I tore it open. Inside was a single card, heavy stock, expensive. The kind you'd use for a wedding invitation.
I pulled it out and read the words written in the same neat handwriting:
Welcome to the real war, Lucas Dane. We'll see you soon.
The world narrowed. My blood went cold, then hot, adrenaline spiking through my veins. I read it again, trying to process, but my mind was already moving—tactical, calculating, prioritizing threats.
"What does it say?" Lexi whispered.
I handed it to her. She read it, her face going pale. "Who—"
"I don't know," I said, my voice tight. "But we need to go. Now."
"Go where?"
"Back to Dominion Hall." I pulled out my phone, already dialing Noah. "We need to figure out what the hell is going on."
She stood, her hand gripping mine like a lifeline. "Lucas, I'm scared."
I turned to her, pulling her close. "I know. But I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You hear me?"
She nodded, her eyes wide.
The phone rang once, twice. Noah picked up on the third ring. "Lucas?"
"We've got a problem," I said. "Someone just delivered a message. We're coming back. Now."
There was a pause, then Noah's voice, sharp and all business. "I'll have the jet ready. Get here fast."
I ended the call and looked at Lexi. Her face was a mix of fear and trust, and it twisted something deep in my chest.
"Let's go," I said.
We walked quickly back to where the car was waiting, the quiet street suddenly feeling less like a refuge and more like a trap. My hand stayed at the small of her back, my eyes scanning every shadow, every doorway.
The note burned in my pocket like a live coal.
Welcome to the real war.
Whoever they were, they'd just made their first move.
And I'd be damned if I let them make a second.