Chapter 3

THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW

"What do you even want with her?! She's got nothing to give—why throw money away on—" Sera's mother's words choked off as the stranger turned his gaze upon her. The look in his eyes was sharp as a honed blade, slicing through her bluster, silencing her with its intensity.

"Be quiet." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, cold as wet concrete, a warning that brooked no argument. He tossed a briefcase to the dirt at their feet, the thud a jarring punctuation to the tense silence.

It popped open, revealing its contents. Cash spilled over the edges—thick stacks of bills bound together, their crispness palpable even from a distance, catching the sun and reflecting its light in a dazzling display that made their pupils dilate. Confusion faded first, replaced by avarice, then worry, then anything that resembled genuine care for Sera. Money was all they'd ever truly hungered for, and this man was offering more than they'd ever dared to dream of in exchange for their daughter.

The stranger glanced at the governor, who stared at his own shoes, avoiding eye contact. His jaw worked, muscles clenching and unclenching, hands trembling at his sides, betraying his inner turmoil. He knew the name—whispered in hushed tones in boardrooms and back alleys, tied to power and influence and things best left unspoken. Vitale. Dangerous. Way out of his depth. Better to step aside and let the girl go, to avoid becoming collateral damage in a game he couldn't hope to win.

Inside the car, Sera sat in a darkness so profound it felt like a heavy blanket pressed over her face, suffocating her senses. She mapped the world with what she had left: the low hum of the engine vibrating under her palms, the smooth, clean smell of leather, the faint scent of something woodsy emanating from the front seat, a masculine fragrance that hinted at power and danger. Yesterday, she could have picked out the vibrant purple of bougainvillea clinging to walls or the burnt orange glow of a street lamp casting long shadows. Now there was only this—endless, heavy night, a constant reminder of her loss.

The door swung open, startling her. Someone slid in beside her, and she flinched, pressing back against the doorframe, her body tense with apprehension, arms wrapped tight around her knees in a protective embrace. She couldn't see his face, couldn't read his intentions, couldn't anticipate his actions—if he meant to hurt her, she'd have nowhere to run, no way to defend herself.

"You're safe now. I won't hurt you."

His voice was low, smooth as polished stone, cool as river water—and it sent shivers tracing a path up her spine, a visceral response to his presence. She held her breath, too scared to make a sound, paralyzed by fear.

"From what I hear, you're blind. Not mute, though."

"I'm not mute." The words burst out before she could stop them, a reflexive act of defiance against the assumptions he was making. She wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth, regretting her impulsiveness—why had she answered so fast, revealing her vulnerability?

A soft laugh rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated through the small space, a sound that made warmth prickle at her neck and shoulders, a confusing sensation in the midst of her fear.

"Good. No fun in a toy that can't speak up."

Her jaw tightened, her anger flaring despite her fear. She turned toward him, even though all she saw was black, her inner vision burning with indignation.

She couldn't believe it, couldn't reconcile the savior with the casual cruelty of his words. The urge to throw herself from the moving car, to risk injury rather than submit to his control, was so strong she had to grip the door handle until her knuckles ached, her resolve wavering.

"W-What—do you want my body too?!" She trembled, her voice shaking, fingers fumbling to make the sign of the cross, a desperate plea for protection as the car pulled onto the highway, speeding toward an unknown destination. "It's wrong to force someone—that's rape! I won't—I won't sleep with anyone! Blind doesn't mean helpless—I can fight you! What's so funny?!"

He laughed again, the sound devoid of humor, even as tears stung her eyes, hot and thick, blurring her vision with an agony she could no longer see.

"Hmm… really? But what if you're my wife?"

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, stealing her breath, leaving her reeling. Anger flared up, hot enough to burn through fear, fueled by the injustice of her situation.

"Non-consent is rape, no matter who you are—husband, stranger, anyone! Wait—wife? What are you talking about?!" Terror seized her all over again, a cold wave washing over her, threatening to drown her. Had she traded one nightmare for something even worse, exchanging the clutches of her family for the control of a stranger?

He only hummed in reply, an enigmatic sound that offered no answers, and said nothing more for the rest of the ride, leaving her to stew in her fear and confusion. He didn't touch her, didn't lean close, didn't offer any explanation. Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under, a blessed oblivion, and she fell into a sleep so deep she didn't feel the car slow down, didn't register the changing landscape.

Night had settled over the city by the time they arrived: a sprawling estate tucked into Chateau de Taltal, one of the capital's most exclusive villages, a haven of wealth and privilege. The man stepped out of the car, his movements fluid and graceful, his shoulders set, his gaze as cold as the air, a commanding presence that demanded attention. Even in the dim light, his eyes stood out—emerald green, sharp as chips of glass, piercing through the darkness with their intensity.

"Sir Lucian! The madam's inside—she's been waiting."

A guard jogged over, breathless, his voice laced with a mixture of respect and apprehension.

"Tell her to hold on. I need a minute."

The guard nodded and vanished into the mansion, disappearing into the opulent interior, as Lucian leaned against the car's hood, arms crossed, eyes closed, his expression unreadable.

This wasn't why he'd come to the US, wasn't the mission he'd intended to undertake. How had he ended up playing hero, chasing after a girl he'd never met, interfering in a life that wasn't his own?

[FLASHBACK]

"Sir! The hospital's on the phone!"

Lucian's brow furrowed as his man approached, phone held out with a tight, worried look, his anxiety palpable. He didn't ignore panic—not from his people, whose loyalty and discretion he depended upon.

He peeled off blood-stained gloves, discarding them without a second glance, tossed his baseball bat to the floor, the thud muffled by the thick carpet, and stepped over a bleeding hand without a flicker of emotion. He pulled out his vape, a sleek, silver device, took a slow hit of mint, the vapor cloud momentarily obscuring his face, then answered.

"Is this Mr. Vitale?" A woman's voice, careful and strained, her words measured.

Lucian exhaled a thin cloud of smoke, the scent of mint filling the air. "Yeah. What does Ferrer want?" He spoke flatly, his tone impatient, gesturing for his men to clear the room, his authority absolute.

"Sir… your grandmother—"

He hung up, severing the connection with brutal finality. Striding to his car, a sleek black sports car, he slammed his palm against the steering wheel, the impact jarring, as the engine roared to life, a beast unleashed.

"Damn it, old woman!" He pressed his foot to the gas, the car lurching forward, worry coiling hot in his chest, a rare and unwelcome emotion. She was all the family he had left, the one person he couldn't afford to lose.

"Ma'am, please—you'll pull your stitches!"

Lucian heard the nurses' shouts before he even reached the room, their voices laced with exasperation. Of course she was causing a scene—stubbornness was as much a part of her as her fortune, an unshakeable trait.

Relief washed over him when he saw her. Alive. Bruised, with a bandage wrapped tight around her side, but her eyes were bright as ever, undimmed by the trauma she'd endured.

"What's all the noise for?" he called out as he walked in, his voice cutting through the chaos, and every head turned, drawn to his presence like moths to a flame. People always noticed him—his sharp features, the way he filled a room without trying, his inherent charisma. But no one felt the weight of him the way she did, the unspoken connection that bound them together.

She threw a pillow at his head, her aim surprisingly accurate. He caught it easily, tucking it aside with a sigh.

"What now?" He pulled a chair beside her bed, his movements graceful and controlled, nodded for the nurses to leave, dismissing them with a glance. She quieted once the door clicked shut, the sound a signal of their privacy.

He leaned back, studying her pale face, searching for any sign of weakness.

"This is about that again, isn't it?"

She didn't answer, avoiding his gaze, staring at the ceiling, her expression soft with sadness, a vulnerability he rarely saw.

"I was taken again, L," she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. "But a girl saved me."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, waiting for her to elaborate.

"She was… kind. Not just to me—she saw trouble and ran straight into it, even though she didn't know me, even though she had everything to lose. And in the end… she lost her sight because of it."

Lucian's jaw tightened, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He heard the catch in her voice, saw tears tracking down her cheeks, a rare display of emotion that touched him deeply.

"Stop crying. You're not a kid." He stood, his movements decisive, pulling her into a gentle embrace, his touch surprisingly tender, rubbing her back until she calmed, offering her comfort.

She sobbed harder, clinging to him, her small frame shaking. "W-What'll happen to her? The nurses said her own mother was here yesterday—treated her like she was trash…"

He clicked his tongue, his impatience growing. "This isn't a story, Nonna. Maybe it's not as bad as you think—"

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a plea he couldn't ignore, and he knew she'd seen through his gruffness, understood the affection he tried to hide. She was the only one who ever could.

After a few minutes, she settled, her breathing evening out. He was peeling an apple with a small silver knife, his movements precise and economical, when she spoke again, her voice firm.

"Find her, L." Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument, her will absolute.

He huffed a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Back to your old self?"

She shot him a glare, silencing him with a look. "I haven't cried like that in decades. But I mean it—find her for me."

"Why should I? I've got work, deals to close, empires to build." He kept his voice cold, but she only stared him down, her resolve unwavering.

"Fine. Then you can stay out of the US for good—"

"What's the point?" he cut in, knowing he'd already lost.

She smiled, slow and knowing, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I want to pay her back. If I have all this—money, power, influence—and can't even thank the person who saved my life… what good is any of it?"

"You're wasting your time. You should go back to Italy for the show, reclaim your throne."

She cackled, wincing as she pressed a hand to her side, her laughter a sharp, brittle sound that belied her pain. "Idiot—look at me. I'm not going anywhere, not in this state."

He couldn't argue with that, her stubbornness as unyielding as ever. She was infuriating, a force of nature he couldn't control.

"Did you handle the ones who took you, ensure they won't try again?"

"Of course I did, cara. Did you think I'd leave them to chance?" She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and knowing. "I own a hundred brands, built this with my own hands, clawed my way to the top—reporters are already lining up for a statement, eager to hear my story."

Lucian said nothing, his expression unreadable, but her next words made him pause, knife stilling over the apple, his attention fully captured.

"Find her… and marry her, L. Make it my last wish."

So he had, setting events in motion with ruthless efficiency. At first, he'd only planned to find the girl to quiet his grandmother, to appease her generous spirit—marriage was never part of the deal, a step too far, a commitment he wasn't willing to make. But seeing Sera standing there, her shoulders tight with fear, her vulnerability palpable, even her closed eyes couldn't hide how clear her spirit was, how fiercely she clung to her principles. Something shifted in him then—sharp, sudden, and impossible to ignore, a flicker of something akin to respect, perhaps even admiration. He'd give his grandmother exactly what she wanted, fulfilling her dying wish, even if it meant disrupting his carefully constructed life.

Lucian had always been drawn to beautiful women, his tastes refined, his standards impossibly high—his reputation as a playboy was well-earned, a carefully cultivated facade. But this girl… a blind woman from the provinces, who'd risked everything for a stranger, defying her own fear in the face of injustice. Who would have guessed she'd make his chest feel tight, like he'd swallowed something warm and sharp, an unfamiliar sensation that both intrigued and unsettled him?

A man known across the globe, feared and respected in equal measure, pulled in by someone he'd just met, a force he couldn't quite comprehend?

A slow smile touched his lips, a genuine expression of amusement, as he looked through the car window at Sera, still sleeping, her features softened in repose, her mouth slightly parted, inviting and innocent.

"Hmm. What's with that look, what thoughts are lurking behind those eyes?"

He turned to see his associate walking over, his expression curious. "Get me a lawyer, someone discreet and efficient. And a marriage contract—ready to sign, no loopholes, no room for error."

His eyes drifted back to her lips, pink and soft in the glow of the estate lights, a promise of something he couldn't quite define.

"I'm getting married. Damn it, what have I gotten myself into?"