POV: Lucien Virelli (Third Person)
"They didn't knock."
Lucien didn't answer right away.
He stood in the penthouse hallway, phone pressed to his ear, eyes fixed on the security feed glowing across the far wall. Four men at the door. Clean coats. Relaxed shoulders. Smiles that didn't reach the eyes.
"Describe them," Lucien said.
Seraphina's voice came soft but steady. "They smell like metal and winter. One of them keeps touching his ring."
Lucien's gaze narrowed. The man in front did exactly that—thumb worrying a silver band etched with a sigil Lucien didn't recognize.
"Good girl," Lucien said. "Go to my room. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me."
A pause. "You're coming back, right?"
Lucien watched the men exchange glances, one of them lifting his hand toward the buzzer.
"I always come back," he said.
The line went dead.
Lucien slid the phone into his pocket and turned to Dante. "Seal the floor. No one up, no one down."
Dante's mouth tightened. "Those aren't street guys."
"Neither am I."
Lucien straightened his jacket and walked toward the door.
He opened it himself.
"Mr. Virelli," the man with the ring said pleasantly. "Apologies for the intrusion. We hoped to speak privately."
Lucien leaned one shoulder against the frame. "You're standing in my house uninvited. Let's not pretend we're polite men."
The smile thinned. "We represent parties with concerns."
"So do I," Lucien replied. "Mine tend to end conversations quickly."
The man chuckled. "We're not here to threaten you. Merely to ask about the child."
The word hit like a blade.
Lucien's eyes cooled. "You should leave."
"We can't," the man said gently. "Not yet."
Lucien stepped forward.
The hallway lights flickered.
All four men stiffened.
Lucien stopped.
He felt it then—an almost imperceptible pressure shift, like the air bracing itself. He kept his face neutral.
"You've had your answer," Lucien said. "This ends now."
The man with the ring took a step back. "We'll return, Mr. Virelli. Curiosity has momentum."
"So does gravity," Lucien replied. "It always wins."
The men retreated, smiles gone. The elevator doors swallowed them whole.
Dante exhaled. "That wasn't the Council."
"No," Lucien said. "That was something older pretending to be patient."
He turned and moved down the hall.
Seraphina waited inside his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the massive bed, feet not touching the floor. She looked up when he entered.
"They're gone," she said.
Lucien closed the door behind him. "For now."
She studied his face. "They'll come back different."
Lucien crouched in front of her. "Listen to me. You don't talk to anyone about what you see. Or feel. Or know. Not ever."
"Not even you?"
Lucien hesitated. "Especially me."
She frowned. "That's a lie."
Lucien straightened. "Pack a bag. We're moving you tonight."
Her eyes widened. "You said I was safe here."
"Safe changes," Lucien said. "Adaptation keeps you alive."
She nodded slowly, absorbing it. "You're angry."
"I'm careful," he corrected.
She slid off the bed and hugged him around the waist without asking.
Lucien froze.
Then—slowly—he rested a hand on her back.
"They want you because you're different," she murmured. "They want you because you keep the bad things away from you."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "They don't get to want you."
An hour later, Lucien stood at the balcony of the Velvet Serpent Club, the city pulsing below him. Music throbbed. Lights bled color. Power gathered in places like this.
Dante joined him. "You sure this is smart?"
Lucien lifted his glass. "Smart doesn't keep predators guessing. Noise does."
Women moved below, laughing, hunting, pretending not to see the knives beneath smiles. Lucien watched them with practiced detachment.
"She's secured?" he asked.
"Underground suite. Triple lock. Only you have access."
Lucien nodded and turned back to the crowd.
That's when he felt it.
Eyes on him. Not admiration. Calculation.
He scanned the floor—and found her.
Elena Moretti stood near the bar, dark hair loose, posture relaxed, eyes sharp as scalpels. She wasn't dressed for a club. She was dressed to be underestimated.
She met his gaze without flinching.
Lucien's lips curved slightly.
"Well," Dante murmured. "That looks like trouble."
Lucien drained his whiskey. "No. That looks like curiosity with teeth."
Elena lifted her glass in a mock salute.
Lucien pushed off the railing and headed downstairs.
When he stopped in front of her, she spoke first.
"You're hard to kill, Mr. Virelli."
Lucien studied her face, the steadiness of her pulse visible at her throat.
"You shouldn't say that to men who make exceptions," he said.
Her smile sharpened. "Then you shouldn't survive things that make doctors nervous."
Lucien leaned in just enough for the music to swallow their words.
"Careful, Doctor," he said softly. "Curiosity is expensive in my city."
Elena's eyes flicked briefly toward the ceiling—toward the floors above.
"So is silence," she replied.
"You brought a doctor into my house," Dante said quietly, "and you didn't even frisk her."
Lucien didn't look away from the club floor below.
The Velvet Serpent breathed like a living thing—music, bodies, sweat, greed. A hundred small sins per minute. Normally, the noise calmed him. Tonight, it scraped.
"She wasn't here for me," Lucien replied.
Dante's brow furrowed. "Everyone's here for you."
Lucien lifted his glass, watching Elena move through the crowd below with effortless confidence. Men noticed her. Women noticed her more. She didn't slow. Didn't flirt. Didn't perform.
She observed.
"That's why she's dangerous," Lucien said.
Dante followed his gaze. "You think she's hunting you?"
"No." Lucien took a slow drink. "She's hunting truth."
Dante exhaled. "That never ends well."
Lucien's phone buzzed.
Once.
Then again.
He didn't answer.
Below, Elena paused at the bar. She didn't look up—but Lucien felt it when she knew he was watching. The faintest smile curved her mouth.
A challenge.
Lucien turned away.
"Clear the west wing," he said. "Quietly."
Dante stiffened. "Now?"
"Now."
Lucien moved.
The elevator ride felt too slow. His pulse ticked louder with every floor. He hadn't felt this sensation in years—anticipation laced with irritation. Not fear. Never fear.
He reached the underground corridor and keyed in his access code.
The steel door slid open.
Seraphina sat cross-legged on the floor, coloring in a book far too childish for the look in her eyes.
She looked up.
"You stayed loud," she said.
Lucien crouched immediately. "I'm sorry, angel."
She tilted her head. "You're thinking about knives again."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Knives keep bad men honest."
"No," she said gently. "They just make them quieter."
Lucien's smile faded.
He brushed her hair back, careful, reverent. "Can you feel them now?"
She nodded. "They're pacing. Like dogs outside a door."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Do they know where you are?"
"Not yet. But they're learning how you feel when you're worried."
That landed hard.
Lucien stood. "Stay here. Don't open the door."
"You're going to see the sharp woman again," Seraphina said.
Lucien paused. "Doctor Moretti."
"She smells like storms," Seraphina added. "And secrets."
Lucien glanced back. "Is that bad?"
Seraphina shrugged. "Storms change things."
Back upstairs, the club had shifted.
The music slowed. The lights dimmed. Tension slid under the laughter like a blade beneath silk.
Lucien felt it before he saw it—his men repositioning, bodies angling, hands near jackets.
Elena stood near the edge of the dance floor, speaking to a man Lucien didn't recognize.
That alone was a problem.
Lucien crossed the floor.
As he approached, the stranger stiffened—prey recognizing a predator too late.
"You're blocking my view," Lucien said pleasantly.
The man turned, eyes widening. "I—was just—"
Elena cut in smoothly. "He was leaving."
The man nodded rapidly and disappeared.
Lucien turned to her. "You have terrible taste in conversation partners."
"He was asking about you," Elena replied. "Which means he was already dead."
Lucien's lips twitched. "You should stay out of my ecosystems."
Elena stepped closer. "You should stop bleeding in public."
Lucien leaned in, voice low. "I don't bleed."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "That's not what your body says."
For a half-second, the club vanished.
Lucien straightened. "You should go home."
Elena smiled. "That's the second time you've told me what to do tonight."
"I won't ask a third."
"Then don't." She lifted her chin. "Tell me why your pulse spiked when you mentioned a child earlier."
That did it.
Lucien's hand closed around her wrist—firm, not painful—and he pulled her into a private hallway.
The door shut behind them.
Silence dropped like a curtain.
"You don't get to say that word," Lucien said softly. "Not in my presence."
Elena didn't pull away. "Then you don't get to pretend she isn't the reason you're still breathing."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know trauma when it stares at me with perfect posture," she said. "And I know love when it scares powerful men."
Lucien released her wrist.
"You should be afraid right now," he said.
"I am," Elena replied. "Just not of you."
The lights flickered.
Both of them felt it.
Elena's breath caught. "That again."
Lucien's phone rang.
He answered instantly.
"Say it."
Dante's voice came tight. "She screamed. Then everything went quiet."
Lucien was already moving. "Lock down the building. Kill the lights."
He hung up and turned to Elena.
"If you walk away now," he said, "you live a long, boring life."
Elena didn't hesitate. "And if I don't?"
Lucien met her gaze.
"Then you see what men like me do when miracles bleed."
She nodded once. "Then stop wasting time."
They ran.
The elevator felt like a coffin.
Lucien's mind raced—not with fear, but with calculation. Routes. Threats. Names. Enemies who'd been patient long enough to become arrogant.
The doors opened.
Silence.
Too much silence.
Lucien sprinted down the corridor and slammed into the suite.
Seraphina lay still.
Lucien dropped to his knees, heart hammering.
Then her eyes fluttered open.
"Papa," she whispered, "they touched the walls."
Lucien exhaled shakily and took her hand.
Elena stepped in behind him, already assessing, already planning.
"She needs help," Elena said.
Lucien looked up at her, something raw breaking through the armor.
"Then help her," he said. "And I will burn the world for you if you ask."
Elena swallowed, meeting his gaze.
"Don't promise things you can't undo," she said quietly.
Lucien's voice was iron.
"I never do."