Chapter 37 LILY
LILY
We're all still in Luan's living room, trying to gather the pieces that the emotional explosion left scattered across the polished floor like shrapnel from a bomb.
Artan sits on the sofa, his large frame hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees. Staring at nothing. In shock that's written across every line of his body.
I'm kneeling in front of him on the hardwood, tending to his hands with careful movements.
The cuts are deep, skin split open across his knuckles where they connected with glass again and again.
Blood still seeps from the wounds, dark red against his olive skin.
I clean them carefully with a damp cloth, dabbing at the damage, trying to be gentle even though I know it must hurt.
Behind me, Luan paces. Back and forth across the length of the room. His footsteps heavy, deliberate, each one a punctuation mark of barely contained fury. The energy radiating from him is violent, dangerous, like he's holding himself back from putting his own fist through a wall.
I understand them better now. The truth has stripped away the mystery, the careful distance I'd been maintaining.
I can't say I approve of what they did. Killing someone, even someone evil, even someone who deserved it by any measure of justice, is still killing.
Still murder. Still a line most people never cross.
But I didn't have their upbringing. Didn't grow up with violence as a constant companion. Didn't suffer what they suffered, didn't watch people I love be destroyed by someone who should have protected them.
And still, even with my comfortable middle-class background and my general belief in law and order, I feel a murderous rage toward this man I'm grateful I never knew. Toward Luan's father who trafficked children and murdered his own daughter and beat his son bloody for years.
If he were alive, I'd want him dead too.
Erion breaks the silence. His voice cuts through the quiet like a knife, sharp and sudden.
"It wasn't in cold blood."
We all stop. Freeze mid-motion. Look at him standing by the window with his arms crossed, his pale blue eyes intense.
Trying to understand what he's saying.
He speaks again, clearer this time, his words deliberate. "It wasn't in cold blood. Luan, didn't murder his father in cold blood."
Erion pauses. Looks directly at Luan with an expression I can't quite read.
"When he killed him, he was holding the wife of a rival family hostage. Had a gun pressed to her temple. She was innocent. Killing him was the only way to save her life."
I let this information settle into my understanding like sediment drifting to the bottom of disturbed water. Process it slowly. Nod without speaking.
I'm too exhausted for words. Too wrung out emotionally to process anything more than the bare facts being presented.
But it changes things. Not enough to erase what happened or make it morally simple. But it reframes the act. Makes it less about vengeance and more about necessity. Less about rage and more about impossible choices made in impossible moments.
The difference between murder and something closer to justice.
Artan lifts his head slowly, like it weighs too much for his neck to support. Looks at Luan with eyes that are bloodshot and raw, red-rimmed from tears he hasn't fully shed.
"I didn't know," he says. His voice is hoarse, scraped raw by emotion. "Luan, you have to believe me. I didn't know about any of it. About Mira. About what he did to her. About the baby."
His throat works visibly, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows emotion threatening to overflow again.
"I thought she left me. Left us both. I even remember the last time I saw her.
She told me to look after you. To make sure you were safe.
After she was gone, I thought it was confirmation of what your father said.
That she'd really decided to start over somewhere else.
Without me. That I wasn't enough to make her stay. "
The pain in his voice is visceral, a wound that's been festering for years finally exposed to air.
Luan closes the distance between them. Grabs Artan forcefully by the shoulders with both hands. Drags him to his feet with strength that brooks no resistance.
They stand like that, face to face, both men staring at each other with an intensity that feels almost violent. A mix of grief and anger and brotherhood and something like forgiveness passing between them in the charged silence.
"Brother," Luan says finally. His voice is rough, thick with emotion he usually keeps locked down.
"Vella. You thought she'd abandoned you.
And still you kept the last promise you made to her.
Instead of searching for a better life for yourself, you stayed in this world, in this violence, because of a promise to someone you thought had chosen to leave. "
Luan's grip tightens on Artan's shoulders, fingers digging in.
"It wasn't your fault. You didn't fail her. That piece of shit murdered her. And now he's paying for it in hell."
Both men embrace suddenly, fiercely. Arms wrapping tight. A moment of connection and release. Of shared grief finally acknowledged.
Then they separate just as quickly, stepping back, both looking slightly uncomfortable with the display of emotion.
I don't know what to do with myself in this moment. Everything is still so raw, so close to the surface. These emotional revelations have stripped us all bare, left us exposed and vulnerable in ways that feel almost unbearable.
We're all shaken. Unsteady on ground that suddenly feels less solid than it did an hour ago.
I move on instinct to the bar in the corner of the living room.
With one hand I pick up four shot glasses from the shelf, the crystal cool and smooth against my fingers.
With the other I grab a bottle of whiskey.
I bring them to the center of the room where the men are standing, still close together, still processing.
Set the glasses on the coffee table with soft clinks. Pour four shots with a steady hand despite the chaos inside me.
The men understand what I'm doing immediately. Gather around me without being asked. Form a loose circle.
I hand one glass to Erion. Look him directly in the eyes, holding his gaze. Try to calm the storm I can see there, the chaos barely contained beneath his usual sardonic mask.
I give another to Luan. Reach up and brush a lock of dark hair from his forehead with gentle fingers. A soothing gesture. An anchor.
I give the third to Artan. Reach for his uninjured hand with my free one. Interlace our fingers, feeling his warmth, his solidness, his continued presence in the world.
Finally, I take my own glass, the whiskey gleaming amber in the light.
We're standing in a circle now. The four of us. Connected by proximity and touch and shared knowledge of terrible things.
I clear my throat, the sound small in the heavy silence. My voice comes out quiet when I say:
"To Mira."
Not joyful. Not celebratory. Just a remembrance of someone who was loved. Someone who deserved so much better than what she got. Someone whose absence has shaped all of us even though I never knew her.
We all raise our glasses. Empty our shots in synchronized silence, the whiskey burning down our throats. Hold the moment for a beat, letting it breathe, letting it mean something.
Artan, still holding my hand, tries to speak. His voice comes out rusty with emotion, the words catching in his throat. He clears it roughly. Tries again.
Turning to face me fully, his dark eyes searching mine, he asks with vulnerability that makes my chest ache, "And you? Do you choose us? After everything you know now?"
I don't hesitate. Don't need to think or weigh or calculate.
Looking at all three of them in turn, meeting each pair of eyes, I say with absolute certainty, "Always."
The word is a promise. A commitment. A declaration.
I kiss Artan first, because he needs to know. Softly at first, then deeper. Slowly, savoring the taste of whiskey on his lips and something uniquely him underneath. When we break apart, our foreheads rest together, sharing breath, sharing space, sharing this moment of choosing each other.
I separate slightly but keep holding his hand, maintaining that connection. With my free hand, I reach for Erion. Pull him gently to me, drawing him into our circle of intimacy.
"I choose you," I say to him before pressing my lips to his.
The kiss is different with Erion. Passionate where Artan was gentle.
Erion buries his hands in my hair, fists closing around the blonde strands, pulling me flush against the hard planes of his body.
His kiss is demanding, claiming, a statement as much as a question.
I'm still connected to Artan by our clasped hands, anchored between them.
When Erion and I finally break apart, both breathing harder, I turn to Luan who's been watching with intense green eyes.
"I choose you," I tell him, my voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overflow. "All of you. Always. I love you."
Something breaks inside Luan. I can see it happen in real time. All his careful control, all his restraint, all the walls he keeps between himself and the world, they shatter like the window Artan destroyed.
He pulls me into a kiss that's intense and desperate and raw. Like he's been drowning and I'm air. Like he's been lost and I'm home.
The kiss becomes frantic quickly, escalating in heat and urgency. He grabs my hips with both hands, lifts me effortlessly off my feet. Has me straddling him while he's still standing, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.
I feel another set of lips on the side of my neck, warm and insistent. More lips on my shoulder, kissing, tasting. We're all connected now in this moment. All touching. All present and choosing this, choosing us, choosing the impossible complicated beautiful thing we're building together.
"Let's show our girl what it feels like to belong to us," Erion says against my skin.
There's a moment of pause. Brief but significant. The men exchange looks over my head, a silent conversation happening in glances and minute nods.
Then Luan starts moving toward his bedroom, still holding me against him, my body pressed to his. The others follow.
We all enter Luan's room together, crossing the threshold into his private space.
Luan lets me slide down his body slowly, deliberately, making me feel every inch of contact as my feet touch the floor.
He grabs my face with both hands, palms warm against my cheeks.
Kisses me again but different this time.
Reverently. Like I'm something sacred. Something precious.
Something that matters more than anything else in his carefully controlled world.
The mood is shifting subtly. From emotional release and desperate need to something more sensual, more deliberate. Still intense but less frantic.
While Luan is kissing me, stealing my breath and my thoughts, I feel multiple hands on my body.
Some on my legs, fingers ghosting up my calves.
Others at my feet, carefully removing my shoes one at a time.
Others slowly pulling my dress up, inch by careful inch, like unwrapping a gift they want to savor.
I break the kiss with Luan reluctantly, need air. Hands turn me slightly.
Immediately Erion is there, his mouth capturing mine before I can fully catch my breath.
"So beautiful. So perfect. Our girl."
His words make me shiver with want.
Erion turns me gently but firmly toward Luan and Artan, positioning me facing them. Holds me back against his chest, one arm banded across my stomach. Kisses my neck from behind, teeth scraping lightly over sensitive skin in a way that makes me gasp.
Artan steps closer, his injured hands surprisingly gentle despite the damage.
Starts playing with my breasts through the fabric of my bra.
Then removes it with practiced ease, tossing it aside.
His mouth follows where his hands led, kissing, licking, biting my nipples until they're hard peaks and I'm making sounds I can't control.
I moan, the sound escaping unbidden. Can't help it. Can't contain what they're making me feel.
Luan drops to his knees in front of me, his hands sliding up my thighs with deliberate slowness. Drags my panties down my legs with reverent attention, like this is a ritual, a ceremony. Kisses my inner thighs, his breath hot against my skin.
"Open for me, bukuri," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Let me taste you."
I do as he asks, parting my legs slightly, giving him access.
His mouth on me is skilled, relentless, knowing exactly where to lick and suck and tease. His tongue works magic while Artan continues his assault on my breasts and Erion holds me steady, murmuring encouragement and filth in my ear in alternating English and Albanian.
With all three men worshiping my body, touching me, claiming me, showing me what belonging to them means, I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me with devastating intensity. Overwhelming. Consuming. Leaving me boneless and gasping.
Erion catches me when my knees buckle. Picks me up easily despite my height. Takes me to the bed and lays me down on the soft sheets. Starts undressing with efficient movements, revealing his lean muscled body.
"We're only getting started, zemra," he says, his smile wicked and promising and full of dark intent.