Three

The word hung in the air like smoke from a gunshot, cold, sharp, and final.

“Stop.”

I knew that voice. I’d only heard it once before, at a distant family gathering years ago, but it had stuck with me. Deep. Unforgiving. Like winter wind cutting through bone. Lucian Blackwood.

Reginald’s grip on my arm loosened instantly. His face went pale, the sleazy confidence draining away as he turned toward the entrance. Two dozen armed men had materialized out of nowhere, shadows in black suits, earpieces glinting, hands resting on holstered guns. They filled the doorways, lined the walls, silent and lethal. Bodyguards. Lucian’s own.

Everyone knew the rumors. Lucian Blackwood, the disowned son. The one the family pretended didn’t exist. The mafia king who’d built his own empire in the shadows while his father and brother played at being civilized monsters. They called him the devil for a reason. And right now, that devil had just walked into the dining room like he owned every soul inside it.

Reginald released me completely, stepping back so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Mr. Blackwood,” he stammered, voice shaking. “I....I didn’t realize you were… We were just....”

“Out.” Lucian didn’t even raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

Harold was already moving, grabbing his brother’s shoulder. The two men practically fled the room, heads down, muttering apologies that no one cared about. The heavy front door slammed shut behind them moments later. The laughter from minutes ago had evaporated into thick, choking silence.

Margaret rose slowly from her chair, her face a mask of fury barely contained. “Lucian. What the hell are you doing here? This is a private family matter. You have no right....”

He ignored her.

Lucian strolled into the dining room as if he owned it, which, in a way, he probably did now that Adrian was gone. Tall, broad shouldered, dressed in a tailored black shirt that strained against his frame. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and those eyes, piercing gray, almost silver under the chandelier light, swept over the scene with chilling indifference. A faint scar ran along his jaw, adding to the dangerous edge everyone whispered about. He was beautiful in the way storms are beautiful: terrifying and impossible to look away from.

He pulled out the chair at the head of the table, the one Margaret usually claimed and sat down like he had all the time in the world. His bodyguards remained stationed around us, a silent wall of threat.

Margaret’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I asked you a question, boy. This doesn’t concern you.”

Lucian still didn’t answer her. Instead, he looked straight at me.

I was still trembling, tears drying on my cheeks, my arm throbbing where Reginald had grabbed it. My legs felt like they might give out any second. Before I could sink to the floor, Lucian stood again, moving toward me with surprising gentleness. His hand closed around my elbow, not rough like the old man’s, but firm enough to steady me. He guided me back to my overturned chair, righted it with his foot, and eased me down into it.

“Sit,” he said quietly. Not an order. Not quite.

I sank into the seat, heart pounding so hard I was sure everyone could hear it. Up close, he smelled like rain and something darker, cigars and gun oil. His presence filled the entire room, sucking all the oxygen out of it.

Sophia scowled from across the table, arms crossed tightly. Lila, on the other hand, lit up like a schoolgirl. She leaned forward, pushing her chest out, flashing that practiced smile she used on every powerful man.

“Lucian,” she purred, standing up and drifting closer to him. “It’s been too long. You look… incredible. I was hoping you’d show up at the funeral, but...”

Lucian turned his head and gave her a single, hard stare. The kind that could freeze blood. Lila faltered, smile dying on her lips, and quickly sat back down, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Margaret wasn’t deterred. She planted her hands on the table, leaning forward. “Why are you here, Lucian? Come to gloat over your brother’s grave? You were never part of this family. Your whore of a mother made sure of that when she spread her legs for my husband.”

The venom in her voice made me flinch. I’d heard the rumors, Lucian was the product of his father’s long affair. The family secret they buried under money and threats. Margaret had hated him since the day he was born.

Lucian leaned back in the chair, completely unbothered. His fingers drummed once on the table before he spoke, voice low and controlled.

“Why are you marrying her off?” He nodded toward me without looking away from his mother. “My brother’s barely cold in the ground. Just a day. And you’re already whoring her out to that fossil Voss for some shipping contracts?”

Margaret’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “It’s none of your business. The girl is a debt, Lucian. Her parents sold her to us for ten million. She belongs to this family. She served Adrian. Now she’ll serve whoever we tell her to. That’s how it works.”

Sophia nodded vigorously, shooting me another hateful glare. “She’s worthless. Always has been. Let her be useful for once.”

I kept my eyes on my lap, shoulders hunched. The humiliation burned worse than any slap. They were talking about me like I wasn’t even there. Like I was furniture being repossessed.

Lila tried again, scooting her chair closer to Lucian. “Maybe we could discuss this somewhere more private, Lucian. Catch up. I always thought you and I.....”

The hard stare returned. Lila shut her mouth mid sentence.

Lucian finally looked at his mother again, expression unreadable. The silence stretched, heavy and dangerous. One of his bodyguards shifted slightly near the door, reminding everyone exactly who held the power in the room now.

I risked a glance at him. Lucian Blackwood. The man I’d only met once, years ago, when he’d shown up uninvited to some anniversary party and left half the guests terrified. He was everything they said, the devil in a tailored suit. But right now, he was the only thing standing between me and a nightmare upstairs with Reginald Voss.

After what felt like forever, Lucian spoke again.

“I’ll buy the girl from you.”

The words dropped like stones into still water.

Margaret blinked, caught off guard for the first time all night. “What?”

Lucian’s gaze flicked to me briefly, then back to her. His voice remained ice cold, businesslike.

“The same amount her parents owed. Ten million. I’ll pay it. She’s mine after that.”