Chapter 10: The Negotiation Table

The air inside the formal conference hall was so dense with power and unspoken death threats that breathing felt like inhaling crushed glass.

The room was lit only by a massive iron chandelier hanging above a thirty-foot oak table. On one side sat Vicente Moretti and his top lieutenant, flanked by four armed guards standing like statues against the dark mahogany walls. On the other side sat Lucian in his high-backed wheelchair, looking ghostly, cold, and composed.

I was seated immediately to Lucian’s right, wearing the black velvet dress. On his left stood Damian, hovering like a dark angel of death, his hand resting casually over his leather shoulder holster.

"Let’s stop wasting time with formalities, Lucian," Vicente said, tossing a thick leather folder onto the center of the table. The heavy thump echoed off the tall walls. "The East Coast shipping routes through Port Newark have been under Rossi control for twenty years. But your father is dead, and you... well, you are confined to that chair. My family wants forty percent of those docks."

Lucian didn't reach for the folder. He didn't even look at it.

"Forty percent," Lucian repeated flatly, his dark eyes locked on Vicente’s scarred face. "You come into my home, disrespect my wife at the gates, and ask for nearly half of my primary revenue stream?"

"It’s not a request, Lucian," Vicente purred, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the polished wood. "It’s an offer of protection. Word is spreading among the five families that the Rossi Don is an invalid who relies on his attack-dog brother to survive. If you don't grant me forty percent, the Council will view you as weak. They will take everything."

I felt my heart slam against my ribs. I kept my face entirely motionless, just as Damian had told me, but my fingers tightened beneath the tablecloth.

"The Council knows better than to challenge us, Vicente," Damian gritted out from beside Lucian, his voice a low, warning growl.

"Do they?" Vicente asked, turning his amber eyes toward Damian with a wicked, mocking smirk. "Or are they just waiting for the right moment to strike? Tell me, enforcer... when your brother dies in that chair, what happens to his pretty little wife? Does she go to the highest bidder on the Council... or do you keep her as a consolation prize?"

Before Damian could move, Lucian raised one slender hand.

The single gesture was so absolute that Damian froze in his tracks, his knuckles turning white where they rested on his gun.

"Vicente," Lucian said, his voice dropping into a quiet, bone-chilling register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You mistake my silence for weakness. You think because I sit here, my empire is vulnerable."

Lucian reached out and placed his hand over mine beneath the table.

His grip was sudden, iron-clad, and burning hot. He didn't just hold my hand; he squeezed my fingers with terrifying, absolute strength, a strength no crippled man could ever possess. He looked at me for a split second, his dark eyes flashing with a wicked, silent message: Watch me.

Lucian turned his gaze back to Vicente.

"I will give you ten percent of the northern pier at Newark," Lucian stated coldly. "On one condition."

Vicente raised an eyebrow, amused. "And what condition is that?"

"You sign a non-aggression pact with the Rossi family for five years," Lucian said smoothly. "And you apologize to my wife for your conduct outside."

Vicente laughed, a loud, booming bark of contempt that rang through the quiet room. "Apologize? To a girl your father bought to pay off a debt? I don't apologize to trophies, Lucian. And ten percent is an insult."

Vicente stood up from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket. His four guards shifted, their hands moving toward their coats.

"The forty percent is non-negotiable," Vicente declared, looking down his nose at Lucian. "You have twenty-four hours to agree, Don Lucian. Otherwise, the docks burn."

Vicente turned on his heel to leave.

"Vicente," Lucian called out quietly.

Vicente paused, looking back over his shoulder with an arrogant smirk. "Yes?"

Lucian didn't say a word. He simply raised his left hand and snapped his fingers twice.

Click. Click.

From the shadowy corners of the high ceiling, four red laser dots appeared instantly, targeting the exact center of Vicente’s forehead and chest. At the same time, the double doors at the far end of the room burst open, and ten Rossi enforcers stepped inside, automatic rifles raised and aimed directly at Vicente’s men.

The smirk vanished from Vicente’s scarred face in a microsecond. His guards froze, their hands locked over their holstered weapons, terrified to make a single movement.

Lucian slowly leaned forward in his wheelchair, his pale face illuminated by the chandelier light.

"You came into my house assuming I was trapped in a box," Lucian whispered, his voice slicing through the terrifying silence. "You forgot that a Don doesn't need to stand to kill you. He only needs to give the order."

The room was dead silent, save for the heavy, frantic breathing of Vicente’s guards.

Vicente swallowed hard, the arrogance completely drained from his amber eyes. He looked at the four laser dots burning into his chest, then looked at Damian, who was watching him with a cold, bloodthirsty smile.

Slowly, agonizingly, Vicente turned his body toward me. He bowed his head slightly, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched beneath his scar.

"My apologies... Lady Valerie," Vicente forced out through gritted teeth, the words tasting like poison in his mouth.

I held my chin high, looking down at the powerful cartel leader who had tried to intimidate me just an hour ago. "Accepted, Don Vicente."

Lucian lowered his hand, and the laser dots vanished from Vicente’s suit.

"Ten percent of the northern pier," Lucian said flatly. "The contract will be delivered to your hotel by midnight. Sign it and leave my city. If you are still in New York by sunrise, my brother will hunt you down."

Vicente didn't say another word. He turned and walked briskly out of the conference hall, his four guards practically sprinting behind him to escape the death trap.

The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind them.

The moment the rivals were gone, the Rossi enforcers lowered their weapons and stepped out, leaving only Lucian, Damian, and me in the vast room.

I let out a long, shuddering breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my shoulders slumping. "That... that was horrific."

"That was business," Damian said smoothly, stepping up behind my chair. He reached down, his large, warm hands resting over my bare shoulders, his thumbs lightly massaging the tight muscles of my neck. "You did well, little bride. You held your ground."

I looked down at Lucian, expecting him to return to his quiet, fragile persona.

Instead, Lucian smoothly stood up from his wheelchair.

He didn't struggle. He didn't wobble. He stood at his full, imposing six-foot-two height, casually buttoning his suit jacket as he stepped around the massive oak table toward me.

The sight of him walking so effortlessly never failed to send a shockwave through my chest.

"Vicente is a fool," Lucian said, stopping right beside Damian. The two identical brothers stood side-by-side, towering over my chair, framing me completely in their combined, suffocating presence. "He thinks the threat is over. He will try to attack the northern pier tonight to prove a point."

"Then I take the enforcers and wipe his men out at the docks," Damian growled, his dark eyes flashing with lethal intent.

"No," Lucian corrected smoothly, his gaze dropping to meet mine. "We both go."

I blinked, looking back and forth between the twins. "Both of you? But if the Council sees Lucian at the docks walking..."

"The Council won't see Lucian," Lucian purred, a dark, wicked smile playing on his lips. "They will see Damian. And while Damian is at the docks drawing their fire... I will be taking care of Vicente personally."

Lucian reached down, his long fingers cupping my chin, lifting my face toward his. He bent down, his lips brushing against mine in a quick, possessive kiss that tasted of rich scotch and authority.

"And you, my sweet wife," Lucian whispered against my lips, "will stay right here in the master suite, where it's safe."

"And if someone comes for her while you're both gone?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly as the full weight of the mafia war settled over me.

Damian leaned down from the other side, his lips grazing my ear, his hand sliding down the front of my black velvet dress to rest over my heart.

"No one gets through these gates, Valerie," Damian whispered darkly. "And if they do... they'll realize too late that the Don's bride is the most dangerous trap in this entire house.”