Chapter 12 Erion
ERION
I'm in Luan's kitchen looking for Lily.
Which is stupid.
I should be in the office with Artan going over last-minute details for the meeting.
The meeting that could legitimize everything I've built.
Everything I've fought for. The meeting that determines whether the Blood Council recognizes this alliance and me as an equal or dismisses me as an opportunist with delusions of grandeur.
Instead, I'm here. Looking for a woman I barely know.
It pisses me off.
I've had beautiful women before. Plenty of them. Women who know what they want and how to get it. Women who don't pretend to be anything other than what they are. Women who understand that want is a transaction, not a promise.
But Lily is different.
I can't explain it. Can't pin down exactly what it is about her that's gotten under my skin after just a few brief encounters.
Something about her made me take notice in a way I haven't before.
And now I'm distracted. Right before the most important meeting of my life.
I should be focused. Ready to prove I belong at the table with men who've held power for decades. Ready to show them I'm not just some outsider clawing my way up.
Instead, I'm waiting in a kitchen like some lovesick fool.
Budalla. Idiot.
The door opens.
Lily walks in.
Her cheeks are flushed. Pink spreading down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her simple shirt. Her breathing is slightly uneven. Her hair is mussed, blonde strands falling out of whatever she had it pulled back in, framing her face in a way that makes her look soft and young.
What the hell just happened?
She stops when she sees me. Surprise crossing her face, followed quickly by something more guarded. "Oh. I didn't know anyone was here."
"I came with Artan," I say. Lean back against the counter, making myself comfortable in her space. "He's in the office setting things up for an important meeting."
She moves further inside the kitchen, putting distance between us even as she enters the room. "Do you want anything?"
Yes. But I'm not about to tell her what I really want.
"I was hoping for coffee," I say instead. Keep my tone easy. Casual. "And maybe something sweet."
She starts making the coffee immediately. Her hands move with the kind of confidence that comes from repetition, from doing the same task a thousand times until it becomes muscle memory.
"All I have is cantucci," she says without looking at me.
"Perfect."
I watch her move. The way her hands work the coffee machine with deliberate care. The way she reaches for the container on the shelf, standing on her toes, the motion pulling her shirt tight across her back. The curve of her waist. The soft curves everywhere else.
She's not trying to be attractive. That's what gets me. There's no performance in her movements, no awareness that someone's watching. She's just doing what she does.
And somehow that makes it worse.
Then I see it. The wound on her forehead. Still bandaged. The skin around it bruised, yellowing at the edges.
"What happened to your head?"
She touches it reflexively, her fingers gentle against the bandage. "I was clumsy. Tripped over a box."
Bullshit.
I've heard enough lies in my life to recognize one when it's sitting right in front of me.
But I don't push. Not yet.
She sets the coffee in front of me. The cantucci arranged on a small plate beside it, the almond biscuits perfectly positioned. Our fingers brush when she hands me the cup.
The contact is brief. Her skin warm against mine for half a second before she pulls away.
But I felt it.
And by the way her breath caught, she felt it too.
"You have a gift, you know," I say, watching her reaction.
The blush deepens. "It's just coffee."
"It's more than that." I take a sip. Let the moment stretch. "You make people feel taken care of. Not everyone can do that."
"It's my job."
"Is it?"
She doesn't answer. Just looks at me with those clear blue eyes.
I lean forward slightly. Her breath catches. Just barely. But I catch it.
The air between us is charged. Thick with everything unsaid. I can see her pulse in her throat, fast and unsteady. Can see the way her hands grip the edge of the counter like she needs something solid to hold onto.
The door opens.
Artan walks in.
His expression shifts the second he sees us. The neutral mask he usually wears hardens into something sharper. More territorial.
"We need to go," he says to me. His voice cold.
The moment breaks like glass.
I pick up my coffee. Flash Lily a smile designed to unsettle. "Faleminderit, dashuri. Thank you, sweetheart."
Then I follow Artan out.
The office is set up like a war room.
Luan sits at his desk, posture perfect despite everything.
The laptop is positioned directly in front of him, angled so the camera catches him from the most flattering position.
The curtains are pulled almost shut, filtering the light into something dim and deliberate.
Enough to see him clearly, not enough to expose the slight unfocus in his eyes.
"Sit there," Luan says. Points to another chair close to the desk.
I sit. He adjusts slightly, turning his head toward where my face would appear on the screen if this were the actual call. His movements are controlled. Practiced. He's been preparing for this.
"Good," Artan says. He moves behind Luan, positioning himself so his hand rests on Luan's shoulder.
To anyone watching, it looks like support. The second-in-command standing behind his leader.
But I know better. It's a signal system. Artan can guide Luan's gaze with pressure, redirect his attention with subtle movements.
"Ready?" Artan asks.
Luan nods once. Sharp and final.
The call connects.
Five faces appear on the screen. Older men. Hard faces weathered by decades of violence and calculation. Eyes that have seen everything and survived it. Men who've built empires on blood and loyalty and fear.
Luan's uncle Driton sits center. His expression is unreadable, carved from stone.
"Luan," Driton says with a measured voice. "Thank you for finally making time."
"Uncle," Luan says. His voice is calm. Respectful without being deferential. "I appreciate the Council taking time to speak with me."
"We have concerns," Driton says. "As I'm sure you understand."
"I do."
Silence. Heavy. Waiting.
"You killed your father."
The words hang in the air. Not a question.
"I did," Luan says. No hesitation. No apology. No justification.
"That was... extreme."
"My father was a danger," Luan says. His voice stays level, but there's steel underneath now. "To the Krasniqi clan. To all of our clans. He made alliances that threatened us economically, politically, and morally."
Murmurs from the other men on the screen. Quiet. Concerned.
Luan waits. Lets the information settle. Then delivers the killing blow.
"And he broke Besa."
The screen goes completely silent.
Every man on that call goes still.
Driton's expression doesn't change. But something shifts in his eyes. Understanding. The acknowledgment of a secret shared.
"You know this," Luan says. Directly to his uncle.
Driton nods slowly. Once. "I do."
"Then you know it was justified."
Another long pause.
There's a secret there. Something between Luan and his uncle that the rest of us aren't privy to. Something about Luan's father and broken vows and consequences that couldn't be avoided.
I file it away. Information to examine later.
"Yes," Driton says finally. The word carries weight. Finality. "It was justified."
Relief floods through me. But I keep my face neutral. Keep my posture relaxed.
This is the moment everything hinges on.
"Do I have the Council's support?" Luan asks.
The five men look at each other. Murmured conversation that doesn't carry through the speakers. A private discussion happening.
Finally, Driton speaks. "Under one condition."
My stomach drops.
There's always a condition.
Luan waits. Silent. Patient.
"You must prove you are not reckless," Driton says. "That under your leadership, things will be stable. Controlled. You must have a stable family life. A marriage."
Fuck.
One of the other men leans forward. Older. Gray-haired. "My daughter is available. It would be an honor."
Luan's shoulders lock. His jaw tightens. Just for a second.
I can see the panic. Brief. Controlled. A flicker of something close to fear crossing his face before he locks it down.
Then his expression smooths, becoming something calm.
"I would be honored to marry your daughter," Luan says. His voice is steady. No hesitation. "Was it not for the fact that I am already engaged."
What?
Driton's eyes narrow. Suspicion immediate and sharp. "Engaged?"
"Yes."
Silence. Driton studies Luan through the screen. Searching for the lie. For the crack in the facade.
But Luan doesn't flinch. Doesn't waver.
"I see," Driton says finally. "Then I suppose congratulations are in order."
"Thank you."
"The Council will support you," Driton says. Each word deliberate. Heavy with implication. "On probation. We'll be watching closely."
It's a threat. Veiled but unmistakable.
"Understood," Luan says.
"I look forward to the engagement party," Driton adds. Then the screen goes black.
We all exhale.
The tension in the room releases like a snapped wire.
"It worked," I say.
"Why did you say you're engaged?" Artan asks immediately. His voice is tense. His hand lifts from Luan's shoulder like it's been burned.
"Because the alternative was dragging another person into this," Luan says. Calm. Reasonable. Like he didn't just lie to the most powerful men in our world. "Someone we don't know. Someone we can't trust. We can't afford that."
"What are we going to do?" Artan asks. But there's something in his voice. Something that says he already knows the answer.
I look at Luan's face. See the satisfaction there. The certainty. The plan that's already formed.
And I understand.
"Lily," I say. The word comes out flat. "You're talking about Lily."
Jealousy hits me. Hard. Immediate. A physical sensation that spreads through my chest like fire.
She's going to be his. At least in appearance. At least for however long this charade lasts.
And there's nothing I can do about it.
Artan bristles. "No. Absolutely not. She's already too deep. She knows too much. If this gets dangerous, if they figure out she's not really—"
"It won't get dangerous," Luan interrupts. "We control the narrative. She already knows about my condition. We'll tell her some more truth. Not all of it. Not about who we actually are. But enough. And I can't exactly go out in public yet, so it won't require much."
"I'm against this," Artan says.
I'm torn. Split right down the middle.
This alliance is everything I've worked for. Recognition. Legitimacy. Power. A seat at the table with men who matter.
But Lily.
Dragging her deeper into this world feels wrong. Feels like watching something clean get covered in mud.
"We should explain it to her," I say finally. "Let her choose."
Luan nods. "Agreed. And we make sure she's protected. No matter what."
"You better make sure," Artan says. The words come out like a threat. Like a promise of violence if anything goes wrong.
I move to the door. Open it. Call out, "Lily? Can you come here?"
She appears in the doorway. Cautious. Her eyes move between the three of us, reading the tension in the room.
I gesture to the chair where I was sitting. "Sit."
She does. Her hands fold in her lap immediately. Nervous. Waiting.
"We have a proposition," Luan says.
She waits silently.
"My father recently died," Luan says. "Suddenly."
"I'm so sorry," Lily says immediately. Her voice soft with sympathy.
Luan continues. "My family is very powerful. They have conditions for me to inherit what's rightfully mine. I need to be married. Start a family."
Lily's expression shifts to confusion. "I don't understand."
"I need my family's support to keep the business I run with Artan."
I clear my throat. Pointed. Deliberate.
Luan glances in my direction. "And now Erion."
"Okay..." Lily says slowly. Still not understanding where this is going.
"My family doesn't know about my condition," Luan says.
"I'd like to keep it that way for the next few weeks while I recover.
I need someone to pretend to be my fiancée.
Just for appearances. Probably just a video call with my uncle.
I need you to tell them we're engaged. That we're together. Nothing more complicated than that."
She's quiet. Processing. I can see her mind working, turning over the request, examining it from every angle.
"I don't want to lie," she says finally.
"It's not really lying," Luan says. His voice is persuasive.
"It's old-fashioned family requirements.
You'd be helping me keep what's rightfully mine.
And it would probably be better if you moved in.
Just for appearances. Since you're here most of the time anyway, that won't be a problem.
And you're looking for a place to live. This solves that. One less thing for you to worry about."
She hesitates. I can see the war happening behind her eyes. The desire to help fighting against her instinct that something about this is wrong.
"It's your choice," Artan says. Firm and protective. "You'll still have your job regardless of what you decide. No pressure. No consequences either way."
Lily considers. Her hands twist in her lap, fingers tangling together.
"If you think I can help," she says slowly, carefully, "and I'm not harming anyone... I agree. I'll do it."
Relief and jealousy hit me simultaneously.
She's in.
Completely in now.
Bound to Luan in a way that makes her untouchable.