Chapter 19
NINETEEN
LUCIEN
I stand in the kitchen, watching the kettle boil, but I’m not really seeing it. My hands are shaking, fists clenching and unclenching against the marble countertop. The doctor has just left. Briar is in the bathroom, being helped into the shower by Stacy.
My chest feels like it’s been split open and wired with explosives.
Her lip is stitched—three tiny sutures threading through swollen flesh, a butterfly bandage reinforcing the edges. She’s lucky the blow didn’t break the skin on her chin too, only splitting her lip. The doctor said the cut was clean enough that it shouldn’t scar.
Lucky.
There’s nothing lucky about any of this.
I don’t want her to have even a shadow of Matteo Romero left on her body. I don’t want her to ever look in the mirror and see a reminder of the hell that man put her through. He has taken enough. He doesn’t get physical scars too.
But that terror ends today. For good.
I thought the warning I sent through my men would’ve been enough to keep him away—enough for him to understand that Briar is under my protection and that there are consequences to touching what’s mine. I thought he’d disappear into whatever gutter spawned him and stay there.
But it seems Matteo is determined to die—and so now he will.
I grab my phone and start firing off messages to my brothers, and finally to Anthony, the head of security.
Find him. Now. I don’t care how. I want a location before sunrise.
The time for playing by the rules is over. He wants to play dirty? He’ll learn exactly how dirty Lucien Moretti can be.
Earlier, when the doctor injected a second dose of lidocaine into Briar’s lip, she flinched, tears sliding down her cheeks despite how hard she tried to hold herself still.
I stood there watching, feeling every one of those tears carve another line of rage into my bones.
Seeing her cry was like watching someone carve pieces out of my ribcage with a serrated blade.
My determination to kill the bastard who did this to her tripled.
There isn’t a law, a judge, or a goddamned moral code on this earth that could stop me now.
Anthony is currently coordinating with the police, pushing them to locate Matteo.
That’s the official story. The legal route. The one I promised Briar.
But so far, Matteo has been elusive, like smoke, slipping between fingers. The fact he managed to get close to her today—close enough to lay his hands on her again—means he’s been watching. Tracking her like she’s some goddamn animal he wants to slay.
Maybe the café was an old favorite from before she escaped their marriage. Maybe he guessed and got lucky. Maybe he had eyes in the crowd. It doesn’t matter.
He took a chance. He won’t get another.
The doctor helped Briar stand earlier, hovering over her like she was glass about to shatter. After securing the butterfly bandage and checking her pupils again, he gave her instructions, gently speaking as if his voice might break her further.
“She’ll heal,” he said quietly as he came to stand beside me. “She shouldn’t scar. But she’s very fragile right now. She’s had a terrible shock.”
Fragile. The word made my stomach turn.
“I think this assault should be reported,” he continued. “There needs to be a record. A restraining order, at minimum.”
“I understand,” I say, the lie smooth and cold. There will be no police report. No restraining order. No courtroom. I will deliver the only judgment that matters. And Matteo Romero won’t be breathing long enough to appeal.
The doctor handed me pain medication. “She may have tooth pain. The door struck her mouth—she might have bruising on the gums. If she complains, get X-rays.”
“I will,” I say, walking him to the elevator and thanking him.
He pressed my arm with a sadness I didn’t ask for, and I watched the doors close, swallowing down the fury boiling in my blood.
The moment he was gone, my phone buzzed—Franco and Mace arriving downstairs, wanting to know what the emergency is.
But before they entered, I heard Briar cry out softly from the bathroom, a broken sound choking past the running water, and everything inside me snapped like bone under pressure.
I can’t do this the legal way. I can’t pretend civility in the face of this. I can’t let him breathe another fucking day.
The elevator opened and Franco and Mace stepped into the loft, faces grim. “What happened? We heard Briar was assaulted,” Franco stated.
“She was,” I say, voice flat as concrete. “She and Stacy were getting lunch after shopping for The Met charity gala. Matteo found her. Put his hands on her again.”
Silence fell like a hammer.
Mace swore under his breath. “How the hell did he get past security?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. I already know what matters. He touched her. That is the only detail I need. “We need to find him and we end him.”
They nodded, no hesitation.
“Double security here,” I say. “Full perimeter. Nobody gets close. I want every camera feed on every entrance. As for Romero, if he leaves this city, I want to know which highway he breathes on. I want him brought to me on the quiet. No one must know. Now go.”
They left immediately, the lift door shutting behind them like the seal of a tomb.
I remain still, staring at the hallway leading to the bathroom. The shower is running. Voices murmur—Stacy’s quiet whispers, Briar’s broken sobs.
I should have protected her. I promised her she was safe. She trusted me. And I failed her.
I move toward the bedroom doorway, just far enough that I can see the open bathroom door. Stacy is helping Briar wash her bloodstained chest, guiding her gently through her shower. Briar sits on the small built-in ledge, letting the warm water run over her hair, her shoulders, her face.
Her bandage is soaked now, the edges bleeding through. Bruises are already blooming along her jaw and the side of her neck—finger-shaped, purple and rising beneath the skin.
I grip the doorframe so hard the wood creaks.
How am I supposed to keep the promise I made to her—to do this legally—when he marks her like this? How am I expected to be merciful when every part of me wants to peel Matteo’s skin from his bones and watch him choke on his own teeth?
I hear the bathroom door open and turn. Stacy steps out, wiping her damp hands on her jeans, eyes rimmed red.
“She’s… She’s in shock,” she whispers. “She barely said anything. Just that he cornered her and made her promise to go back. She was bleeding everywhere. People were staring and crying out in alarm. It was awful.”
I nod once, jaw locked hard enough to crack teeth. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For being with her. For not leaving her side.”
She nods, swallowing hard. “I’m staying here tonight. If that’s okay. I’m not leaving her alone.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Guest room is yours.”
She nods again. “You should go to her. She needs you.”
I inhale slowly. God, I’m not sure I deserve to be near her right now. But I need to see her. I run a hand through my hair, then step past Stacy toward the bathroom.
The shower steam fills the air, fogging the mirror. Briar sits beneath the spray, shoulders curled inward, head bowed. Like she’s trying to disappear inside herself. Her hair is plastered to her cheeks, strands clinging to the dried blood.
Her breath shakes. She doesn’t look up. She doesn’t move.
I stand there watching her break, the fury inside me turning silent and deadly. This is my fault. I should have eliminated him when I had the chance. I thought giving her space meant restraint. But restraint nearly cost her life. I won’t make that mistake again.
I step forward and kneel beside the shower, resting a hand against the glass. I don’t speak yet. Words are useless. They don’t matter. All that matters now is action. Matteo Romero will never touch her again.
Not in this life.
Not in any next.
Not ever.