LOGINI wake from my slumber with a headache and stomach rumbling. I must have fallen asleep through my tears.
I haven’t eaten since I got here, and all the crying has depleted the little energy I had. Damien's not worth my tears; in fact, the entire family is not.
It’s been two days, and nobody has reached out.
The rejection is obvious, and though it hurts, I have to act like it doesn’t. Finding solace under this roof isn’t an option either.
I’m just a pawn in someone’s game.
I step out into the hallway, finding it empty and silent. The air feels still, and there’s an unsettling echo every time I take a step. Kane must have left.
Unsure how to find the kitchen, I decide to walk in the direction of the Mafia’s office. The huge oak door stands closed, making it impossible to tell whether anyone is inside.
I bypass the office and walk to the end of the hallway. Light streaks from a room. I carefully nudge the door handle and peek inside, relieved to discover the kitchen.
The place looks like it doesn’t get used often. Everything is cleaned spick and span.
There’s nothing to eat in here. It’s just bottled water and fruits. Who lives like this? I shut the fridge.
“Me,” Standing at the door with an annoyed expression, is the last person I want to see right now.
Wait, did I say that out loud? And when did he get here?
“How long have you been here?” I question.
He stares long and hard, scrutinizing me. Anger flickers across his face. I stare right back at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. He takes slow steps towards me.
“Do you go around touching things without permission?” Completely ignoring my question, he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge.
“I’m thirsty,” I lie.
My stomach rumbles loudly. Great, I might as well ask for food.
He quirks his eyebrow.
“I’m famished, and there’s nothing to eat.”
“Suit yourself.” He turns to leave.
“Fruits? They can’t satiate the hunger I am feeling right now.”
“When you are offered food next time, you eat it,” he turns to leave again.
“Where’s Kane? I didn’t see him outside my door. Is he tired of me already? I understand.” I fake a smile. Kane will definitely give me other options aside from fruits.
“He’s busy. Your room was unguarded?” his jaw clenches.
“Is there supposed to be anyone else aside from Kane?” He looks at me like I just grew an extra head and leaves.
Rude.
I have no choice but to eat fruits. Luckily, there’s milk, so I prepare a fruit bowl and sit to eat.
I don’t remember the last time I had a fruit bowl. Don’t get me wrong, fruits are healthy, but there are sumptuous and nourishing meals. Fruits are snacks. My opinion, though.
Right now, I need to figure out how to get out of here, what to do with my life next, and stay far away from my family.
I wash my bowl, place it on the counter, and head back to my room. Voices from the Don’s office make me stop in my tracks.
“Lucien.” I recognize Kane’s voice. I move closer to the door, trying to listen, but the room falls silent.
The door suddenly opens, and I stumble forward, cheeks burning with embarrassment. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; curiosity simply gets the best of me.
“Sorry…I am so sorry,” I rush the words out when my eyes fall on Kane sitting on the couch.
Then the Don, who stands in the middle of the office.
Then a guy on his knees propped down beside the Don.
Wait…is that blood?
Blood oozes from the guy’s nose and mouth. He doesn’t look so hurt, and he doesn’t look good either.
“Zoe…where are your manners?” The Don raises his left eyebrow and runs his hand through his hair.
My gaze drops.
“Answer me!”
“I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean to. I’m not supposed to be here. I’ll leave.” My lips quiver.
I rush to the door, but his words stop me in my tracks. “And where do you think you’re going to?”
“My, my…room.”
“Sit. Pray your curiosity was worth it.”
“Luci—” Kane tries to speak.
He is Lucien.
“Sit. I won’t repeat myself.”
He turns and hits the guy on his mouth.
Grunts echo in the room. I drag my legs to the couch and sit, my breath shallow.
He keeps punching his mouth, and Kane sits there, unfazed.
Lucien’s fingers are adorned with thorn rings, so every hit at the same spot takes a piece of flesh with it…it catches, pulls, and tears.
I taste bile, but I swallow it down.
“How dare you?!” He holds the guy by his hair and yanks him into the wall.
My stomach squirms.
The guy tries to crawl to the door, but Lucien walks to his desk. He pulls out a gun from his drawer, and my stomach drops.
He pulls the trigger and shoots the guy in his thigh.
A scream pierces the night.
Lucien walks up to the guy and pulls him by the hair to the center of the room. Blood pools behind them. There is so much red everywhere.
He sits on the couch opposite me, while the guy kneels trembling before him.
He stares at me. Minutes pass by.
He grabs the guy's jaw and questions him.
“Who do you report to?”
“Y—you,” the guy struggles to answer while blood pools out of his mouth.
“Open your bloody mouth and speak!” Lucien smacks him.
I can’t breathe. This is too much.
This doesn’t happen in meetings. Father never…we never had to see this part. I heard stories, but I never…
A shrill scream brings me back to the present moment. Lucien jabs a knife into the guy’s palm.
He pulls it out and attempts to cut a finger while looking at me.
Feels like a silent warning. I feel nauseous. He relaxes into the chair, completely unfazed.
The man turns around and starts crawling toward me. "Please...h…help me," he says, reaching his hand out as he approaches.
A gun goes off when he gets close to me.
His head falls on my lap.
A bullet through his head.
Cold blood oozes from his head onto me.
Tears stream down my cheeks.
Blood pools at my feet.
I’m immobilized.
My brain freezes, and darkness welcomes me, and for the first time...I don’t fight it.
Zolandria's POVWhy did he really follow me to the exhibition? This question stays on my mind throughout the whole night. I get up at six, make coffee, and stand at my room window and watch New York. It’s been more than a couple of months now, and I can’t believe I feel at ease here when I was literally kidnapped and brought here. Those first few months were a nightmare, but now…it feels a bit homier than my actual home ever was. I drink my coffee, get dressed, and go to work. He's already in when I arrive, his lamp on, door ajar. I make his coffee, bring it in, and he looks up when I set it down, gives me a brief look and mutters thank you before returning his gaze to his screen. Normal.None of us ready to talk about last night even though my question still sits unanswered between us. I go back to my desk, open my task list, and get back to work. At around 10:47 am the emergency line rings after I’ve only heard it ring twice since I’ve been here, and it was for drills on bot
Lucien's POVShe stands in my office doorway at nine fifteen with her notebook and says: "There's a Klimt exhibition at the Neue Galerie tonight. I'd like to go. I'll take Marcus."She waits, and I look at her.She looks back steady and unwavering. My thoughts travel to the Whitmore dinner and how the conversation between her and Whitmore ran long that day. "I'll come," I say.Something moves across her face. Brief. "You don't have to—""I know," I say.She holds my gaze for a moment. "Seven o'clock," she says and goes back to her desk.I spend the day trying not to think of why I offered to go. It's security. Elevated protocol. She shouldn't be going anywhere without—She offered to take Marcus, and I told her I'd come.***The Neue Galerie has an understated entrance, quality light inside, and the hush of a building that has been holding valuable things for long enough that it's developed its own atmosphere around them.She walks in beside me and something happens to her face. Her f
Zolandria's POVOn Wednesday morning, at nine fifteen, while passing my desk without stopping, Lucien says: "Kane is being moved to the rehabilitation wing tomorrow. He's asking for you."He keeps walking."When?" I ask.He stops but doesn't turn. "This afternoon. Two o'clock. Marcus will take you."He goes into his office and shuts the door behind him, and I go back to my task list, but I don't get anything done for the next forty minutes.Marcus arrives a few minutes early, drives us to the hospital, and we don’t talk the entire ride. Marcus and I have a comfortable silence that has developed over months. He parks outside the hospital and gets out, and I get out, and he walks two steps behind me the way he always walks. My thoughts travel to the days he’s been nice to me—the umbrella in the rain and the courtyard, his laugh, and I feel the warmth of someone who has been quietly present across all of this without ever making it about himself."Thank you," I say when we reach the ent
Zolandria's POV He's been back for four days, and he’s still a bit cold towards me. From day one to now, it’s been closed doors and delivery orders and tasks through the system, to leaving his door ajar on the second day, still delivers tasks through the system but comes over to my desk to ask about important details, then on day three, he actually looked at me while passing by my desk and now, he's in his office with the door fully open for the first time since he came back. I make his coffee and bring it in without being asked. He looks up when I set it on the desk. "Thank you," he says. Two words, but at least that’s progress. "Of course," I say. I go back to my desk and sit down, thinking: there it is. That's the thaw beginning. The morning runs on its usual track, and I let myself exist inside the routine of task list, the calls, the emails, the familiar rhythm of a working day in a building I've come to like. At ten, the direct line rings, and Kane’s voice comes throu
Zolandria's POVIt’s Tuesday, and Lucien is finally back after it’s been more than a week.He walks off the elevator at around eight fifty-three am straight from the hospital rather than home, which means he went over to Kane first thing and then came here. He's in yesterday's suit, or one that looks like it. He looks tired, and that’s new to me because I've never seen him like this before. He walks past my desk without stopping, goes into his office, and closes the door, but not all the way.I look at the gap for a moment, then I stand and head to the breakroom to make his coffee.He's at his desk when I enter, laptop open, already head deep in work, his hands hovering over the keyboard, his eyes fixed on the screen. I set the coffee on the desk. His eyes avert from the screen to the coffee, then slowly up to my face. Something passes between us that I can’t name but felt like handing over the mantle. "Thank you," he says, and I can’t tell if it’s for the coffee or for while he wa
Zolandria's POVA week passes, and I drown in surviving tasks, in decisions, and the discipline of keeping things running that was built around a person who isn't here.I make his coffee every morning.I don't know why, because he's not here to drink it. I pour it, set it on his desk, and go back to mine, and somewhere around the fourth day, I stopped examining why I keep doing it and just do it. The coffee going cold on his desk is its own kind of vigil.The office runs. That's the thing nobody tells you about holding the fort — it doesn't feel heroic. It feels like making decisions you're not supposed to make and hoping you made them the way he would have.Edgard makes his move on day three. Not the way I might have imagined it months ago when I still thought powerful men made their moves loudly. What he does is: he contacts three of Lucien's remaining business partners, not the Stark Limited partners, the other ones, the ones whose relationships with Lucien exist in the space betw







