Chapter 43 Chapter 43
Lucien
I was in the kitchen because Valentina's stomach decided to growl amidst the show we were watching. She had insisted it wasn't her. I agreed but I knew the reason that was why I was in the kitchen.
It was almost funny. She was too busy holding her emotions together to think about food. And I hadn't eaten much either.
My sleeves were rolled up, water boiling as I put in the pasta.
My phone buzzed against the counter. Father.
I glanced towards the living room where Valentina was lying down eyes glued to the TV but it was no longer a comedy show. I wonder if she was even watching or just forcing herself to so she wouldn't think. I went over and closed the door so the noise from the living room won't echoed in.
"Yes father," I said as soon as I pick up the call.
"I've been told there's chatter. Someone may have helped relocate them."
"I've been tracking possible routes," I lied smoothly. "There's a chance they were moved north before the authorities secured the port."
A pause. "You have leads?" he asked.
"Possibilities," I replied. "Give me time."
In reality, there were no leads to chase. Because I had already handled it. But I couldn't let him think it was clean.
I needed him chasing ghosts. I needed him believing I was helping him hunt.
"I want whoever is behind it Lucien. Don't waste my time. I have little patience when it comes to my business,"
Business that involves innocent lives. I clenched my jaw before responding. "You'll have them," I answered.
"By the way where are you?"
"At the bar,"
That is the reliable place to make him believe.
Silence followed for a few seconds before he spoke. "Alright. We'll talk more when I get back home. I'm leaving office now,"
That means Valentina will need to be home before he does so he won't suspect anything.
I nodded as if he could see me and the line went dead.
I dropped the phone by the side and leaned against the counter for a second.
The door opened followed by footsteps padding into the kitchen.
Valentina peered into the pot dramatically. "What are you cooking that's taking so long?"
I smiled. "Pasta. Nothing fancy."
"Obviously." She narrowed her eyes at me.
"It'll be ready in no time."
"Good," she said, moving toward the cabinet. "I came to get another bottle of wine."
I turned slowly. "You want to get drunk?"
She grabbed the bottle anyway and shrugged.
"You wouldn't want to go home drunk and get questioned by your husband."
Her head snapped toward me.
"Stop calling him that."
There it was. That fire. She pulled the cork free with more force. "Sorry to say, but your father is pissing me off right now."
Well.....she had no idea how many times he had pissed me off.
How many nights I swallowed anger until it burned my throat. How many times I stood still while he dismantled people. I'd learned young that rage without strategy gets you scars. So I swallowed it. Always.
"I understand," I said simply.
She poured herself wine into the glass she brought in.
"I don't even care if he notices anything," she muttered.
"Anything?" I repeated lifting an amused brows.
She shrugged, a reckless smile forming. "Between us. I don't care."
Two strides and I was in front of her.
Before she could react, I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the kitchen counter. She let out a soft gasp, hands gripping my shoulders.
"Not afraid, huh?" I murmured, stepping between her legs. Her breath hitched.
"Looks like the alcohol is already messing with your head."
She swallowed but didn't look away.
"You're not afraid of your husband finding out you're having an affair with his son?" I asked looking down at her lips. Damn! Tempting.
Her fingers tightened in my shirt.
"Maybe I'm tired of being afraid."
My hands rested on the counter on either side of her hips, trapping her there without actually touching.
"You have no idea what that kind of discovery would trigger,"
"Maybe I don't care anymore."
"You would," I countered. "Because he wouldn't punish me first."
Her expression flickered.
That sobered her more than the wine. I reached up slowly, brushing my thumb along her jaw and taking the glass from her hand and setting it down by the side.
"You think I'm reckless?" I asked.
"I think you're dangerous."
I smirked. "To who?"
She leaned forward instead of answering, her breath warm against my mouth.
"You're the one who said not everything is a trap," she whispered.
"And you're the one testing that theory."
Her legs tightened around my waist.
That did it. My restraint thinned.
"You're playing with fire," I said.
She tilted her head. "Then don't let me burn."
I kissed her. The tension of the last few days poured into it. Anger. Fear. Relief. Want.
Fuck! I have missed the taste of her lips.
Her hands slid into my hair. Mine gripped her waist.
The pot on the stove began to bubble over. Neither of us moved. For a moment, the world was reduced to heat and breath and the line we kept stepping over.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew, If my father ever found out...This wouldn't be a warning. It would be war.
The pot hissed again. That sharp, violent spill of water against flame was what pulled me back.
I broke the kiss first. Not because I wanted to. Because I had to.
I stepped back just enough to reach out and turned off the stove. Valentina was still on the counter, lips slightly swollen, chest rising too fast.
"Lucien..." she started, but her voice wasn't steady anymore.
"That," I said calmly, though my pulse was nowhere near calm, "is exactly how people make mistakes."
She slid off the counter slowly. Her fingers brushed mine for a second before she pulled away.
"You're the one who kissed me," she threw me a glare.
"And you're the one who leaned in." I winked in return.
"I don't regret it."
Neither do I. I don’t regret a second spend with her.
I dragged a hand through my hair and exhaled slowly. "You say that now."
She crossed her arms over her chest, wine forgotten. "You think I don't know what I'm risking?"
"I think you're emotional," I corrected. "And when you're emotional, you don't calculate outcomes."
"And you do?" she challenged.
Always. That was the difference between us.
"I have to," I said simply. "Because if this explodes, you don't get burned first. I do."
She frowned slightly. "Why do you keep saying that?"
I stepped closer again, but this time there was no heat in it. Just truth.
"Because my father doesn't lose gracefully."
Her expression shifted. That flicker of understanding.
"He'll think you manipulated me," she said slowly.
"He won't think," I replied. "He'll act."
The weight of that settled between us. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she did something unexpected.
She reached up and touched my face. "You're not like him," she said.
I almost laughed.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Her certainty unsettled me more than her boldness ever had. I leaned into her touch before I could stop myself. “I don’t want you taking any fall for this. Whatever happens… it lands on me. I’ll protect you. With everything in me.”
Her eyes glistened with tears. Although they didn’t fall yet. They just gathered there, making her gaze softer, more vulnerable than I had ever seen it.
It unsettled me.
I cupped her face instantly. “Valentina,” I murmured, my thumb brushing under her eye. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, but her lips trembled slightly.
“I just…” She swallowed. “I just wish my life was normal.”
The words hit harder than any accusation ever could.
“I wish I wasn’t married to Ambrose,” she continued, almost ashamed to say it out loud. “I wish I didn’t have to think about consequences every second. I wish…” Her eyes lifted to mine. “I wish I had met you first.”
My jaw clenched.
“Known you first,” she said. “Fell in love—”
She stopped herself. Like the rest of the sentence scared her. But it was too late. I had already heard it.
Fell in love.
Fuck. It slammed into me, deep and undeniable. There was no confusion in me. No doubt.
I loved this woman. Not because she was forbidden. Not because she was complicated.
But because she stood in front of me, brave and soft at the same time, carrying so much weight and still choosing to feel.
I rested my forehead against hers.
“You think meeting me first would’ve made it easier?” I asked softly.
She let out a broken little laugh. “It would’ve made it ours.”
I pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her fully this time.
Her hands slid around my waist, gripping my shirt like she needed something solid.
“This is my house,” I murmured against her hair. “No one walks in. No one listens. You’re safe here.”
She exhaled shakily.
“I don’t want to be strong all the time,” she admitted quietly against my chest.
“You don’t have to be.”
“With you,” she added.
I tightened my hold. “You don’t have to be anything with me,” I said. “Not brave. Not composed. Just… you.”
Her fingers pressed into my back.
Silence settled around us. The kind that makes the world shrink down to two heartbeats and shared breath.
After a moment, I lifted her chin gently so she’d look at me again.
“If there was a different version of our lives,” I said slowly, “where you met me first… I would’ve ruined you for anyone else.”
Her lips curved through the tears.
“You already have.”
I brushed my thumb over her cheek, wiping the last of the moisture away.
“Don’t cry over what didn’t happen,” I murmured. “We’re here now.”
She searched my face like she was memorizing it.
“And if I fall?” she whispered.
“You won’t fall alone,” I answered.
And I meant it. Every word.
I pressed a slow, kiss to her forehead. I would be damned if I allowed anything to happen to her.