Chapter Three – The Billionaire’s Shadow

Lucien’s Pov

“Gentlemen, your margin projections are very wrong.”

Lucien Valez leaned back in his chair, and looked around him. The table in the boardroom was twenty feet of imported oak, and it was filled with a dozen executives in suits which cost less than his cufflinks. His cufflinks of course were Tom Ford, tailored so sharp that if he wished, he could have used it to draw blood.

He hated sloppiness.

“W-wrong?” one of the VPs, a stoically built man, stammered, adjusting his glasses.

“Yes,” Lucien replied, playing with the ring on his index finger. “Because you are assuming that I’ll accept mediocrity and below par. I won’t.”

“We followed your instructions for last quarter’s—”

“Cut that bullshit.” Lucien raised his hand, interrupting him. “If you’re going to waste my time with excuses, I suggest you find a new employer. Valez International doesn’t operate with mistakes. We set standards.”

His grey eyes flitted over the men seated around him, and he smiled inwardly. He was enjoying their discomfort and fear. As it should be. He thought to himself.

“Yes, Mr. Valez. We will make the necessary corrections.”

He exhaled slowly, adjusting his cufflinks. His reflection gleamed back faintly from the wall of glass behind him. 

He was sporting neatly trimmed stubble, and gray eyes that had made women and enemies alike lose their breath. His dark hair was swept back, not a strand out of place. He looked every inch the billionaire CEO. Which was the point.

His chest and sleeve tattoos were hidden in his suit and he wondered what these men would think if they saw him as he truly was. The Mafia Don of the east.

“Meeting adjourned.” He announced, encouraging them to leave. He had other affairs to attend to.

The executives scrambled to gather their papers, their relief palpable. But as they filed out, another figure filled the doorway.

Don Miguel Ramirez. They did not see eye to eye but Lucien moved products for him and helped him clean his money like he did for every other cartel he worked with.

“Everyone out,” Lucien ordered, frowning and slightly raising his voice as his executives fled faster than they had ever entered.

When the last one slipped through the door, Miguel strode inside, the heavy thud of his boots echoing on the tiled floor. In his fifties, barrel-chested and scarred, Miguel was as notorious as the empire he ruled. The tattoos creeping up his neck were as much a warning as the glint in his black eyes.

“Valez.” He spat the name like a curse. It was.

Lucien remained seated, he was a wolf in no rush to bare its teeth. “Miguel.”

“Where is she?” The cartel boss slammed his fist onto the oak table, rattling glasses of water. “My daughter. Where is Elena?”

Lucien tilted his head. “I don’t babysit cartel heiresses.”

“Don’t play with me, Liucien.” Miguel bent over the table so that when he spoke, Lucien could smell the cigar in his breath. “I know she’s been fooling around with you in L.A, and now she’s nowhere to be found and my twenty million worth of products is nowhere to be found.”

“You say the worth of products like it’s just groceries. What will the cops say if they find out you’re selling arms?” Lucien smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s not the point. You know we had a deal. Your job is to launder money for the cartel regardless of what we move around.” He jabbed a thick finger at Lucien’s chest. “Where is she?”

Lucien slapped the older man’s hand away. “I move numbers. Not people.”

“You profit because of me,” Miguel snarled. “And you will fix this. Bring her back. Bring my product back. Or I take your life instead.”

Lucien frowned, and stood then, his height forcing Don Miguel to step back a little. "Be careful with your ultimatums, Ramirez. I don’t respond well to threats. I’m sure you’ve heard the word on the streets.”

Miguel’s lips curled into a sneer. “This isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.”

The cartel boss turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Lucien remained standing, his hands curled into fists by his side.

He hated slipups and in all his years of working for the Mafia Cartel, he’d never been known to slip up. He was at risk of losing his main stream of income, laundering money for the cartel.

Elena Ramirez, that sly. He took her under his wing in LA after she’d gotten mixed up with a drug cartel, and now this is how she repays him? She had stolen from him, and from her father as well, but then if Miguel was desperate enough to barge into his office himself, then the situation was worse than he’d thought.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Carter’s number. Carter was his right hand man. 

“Sir.”

“I need you to look into Don Miguel’s goods. I hear twenty million worth of products have been stolen.”

Carter’s deep voice filled the speakers. “Yes. I was just about to report to you. I’ve been looking into it and it turns out that she’s in this NewYork. We traced her to a friend, Cassia Monroe in lower Manhattan.”

“How does this help?What about the products?” Lucien was beginning to lose his patience.

“As for the products, there’s no lead on that. Her finances are clean and her house too. We have no idea where it might be, but she was last seen visiting Cassia Monroe. Maybe that’s worth checking out, Sir.”

“Civillian?” He asked, fiddling with his ring again.

“No. She’s a violinist. There’s no record or ties to anything illegal.”

Lucien’s lips curved in a humorless smile. “Which makes her perfect leverage.”

****

Two hours later, Lucien Valez found himself at the Ritz ballroom.

He adjusted his suit and shoved a hand into his pocket, while he swirled a glass of bourbon he hadn’t even drunk with the other hand. His eyes never left the stage before him.

The woman playing the violin was beautiful but simple. She had no designer on, just a fitted black dress that highlighted her perfect slender curves, as she cradled the violin, her eyes closed like she was in prayer. 

Cassia Monroe. She was a sight to behold and despite himself, Lucien had to admit that. Her wavy brown hair fell down her back, and for a second, Lucien wondered what it would feel like to bury his hands in her hair.

Lucien’s lips twitched at the thought. He had never seen another woman like her, and it held him spellbound. Interesting. He murmured.

Carter leaned close. “She doesn’t look like she knows anything.”

“She knows Elena,” Lucien said softly. “That’s enough.” Although Lucien wondered how she knew someone as wild and erratic and Elena.

When the last note faded, applause thundered. Cassia dipped her head shyly, collecting her sheet music. She didn’t glance at the audience, not even once.

Lucien finished his bourbon and set the glass aside. “Follow her.”

The underground parking garage was cold, lit by fluorescent bulbs. Cassia’s heels clicked across the concrete, and she clutched her violin case, keys jingling nervously in her hand.

Lucien watched from somewhere behind her, his presence cloaked by Carter and two others who flanked him.

“She knows nothing,” Carter whispered.

Lucien’s eyes tracked the curve of her jaw as she glanced over her shoulder, sensing the eyes on her. His chest tightened because she looked delicate, that all he wanted to do was have her next to him.

“Take her,” Lucien ordered, pushing those wild thoughts out of his mind.

One of Lucien’s men caught her arm, another pressing a silk handkerchief to her mouth. She struggled, her keys dangling in her hands, her screams were muffled by the handkerchief pressed over her mouth.

Lucien stepped forward, his eyes taking in her luscious lashes as her body went limp.

“Careful,” he murmured to his men. “She’s valuable.”

Cassia Monroe slumped against his men’s arms, unconscious. Her violin case clattered to the floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty garage.

Lucien bent, picked it up himself, and ran a finger over the worn leather case. A small smile curved his lips as he straightened.

“Now, let’s see if she leads us to Elena.”