Chapter 15

Stranded in Vienna

The cold of Vienna hit Alexei first. It wasn’t the winter chill of Belgium, nor the dampness of Brussels’ streets. No — Vienna’s air had a regal boldness, like the city itself demanded straight backs and proud steps. The airport busy with travelers dragging their lives behind them in suitcases.

Yet Alexei felt stranded, even in the crowd.

He stood by the baggage carousel with his single bag at his feet, Lucien just behind him, scanning the room like a wolf watching for rivals. Lucien wore the same authority here as he did in Brussels — pressed suit, gloved hands, eyes that dared anyone to step into his orbit. The man seemed untouchable, as if Vienna itself had been waiting for him.

But Alexei’s chest was hitting. The thought hammered in his ribs: How will I tell Uncle that I am not alone? That I’ve brought Lucien with me?

The uncle’s warnings still sounds like scripture: “The third party, Alexei, beware. They will enter between us and tear you away. Power and love do not mix.”

Alexei tightened his grip on the handle of his bag.

“Call him,” Lucien ordered, sitting his briefcase. “Tell him we’ve arrived.”

The words sliced through Alexei’s hesitation. He had planned to call, yes, but not in Lucien’s presence. The idea of his uncle’s voice colliding with Lucien’s stare made his stomach knot.

“I will,” Alexei muttered, forcing casualness. “Just… later.”

Lucien looked at him. For a moment, Alexei thought he might press the issue, but the capo only smirked, as though amused by the boy’s attempt at secrecy.

“Later, then,” Lucien said. “But make no mistake, Alexei. Your uncle will know of me. Whether you choose soft words or hard truths is your decision. But lies?” He shake his head. “Lies will cost you both.”

Alexei’s throat tightened.

They stepped outside into the chill evening. The city lights were darkening the city sky. Vienna looked like a place out of stories — spires cutting the skyline, trams humming through wide boulevards, statues of emperors and composers frozen in dignity.

Alexei should have been awed. Instead, he felt hunted.

They took a taxi. Lucien gave the driver an address in flawless German, and the car rolled through streets lined with cafés and theaters. Inside, Alexei sat stiff, staring out the window, rehearsing words in his head.

Uncle, I’ve arrived. Yes, I am safe. Yes, I came with someone… no... he followed me.

But how to frame Lucien? As an employer? As a savior who plucked him from the gutters of Brussels? Or as something more dangerous?

He could almost hear his uncle’s fury at the idea of mafia blood near his nephew. The man who had warned him about power, about seduction, about entanglements.

And yet, part of Alexei longed to present Lucien differently — as a protector, as the man who had lifted him from starvation into strength. Would that entice his uncle? Could he soften Lucien’s edges, paint him as an ally rather than a predator?

The car turned, passing a lit square where musicians played for coins. For a moment, Alexei saw children dancing — free, laughing, untouched by blood or secrets. His chest ached.

The hotel they arrived at was opulent, the kind of place where chandeliers glittered above the floors and the staff bowed with rehearsed smiles. Lucien checked them in with the ease of a man accustomed to buying loyalty.

“Two rooms,” Lucien told the clerk, though his eyes lingered on Alexei a moment too long. “Adjoining.”

Alexei said nothing. His silence had become a shield.

When they entered their rooms, Lucien disappeared into his with the promise of a meeting tomorrow. “Rest tonight,” he said. “We begin business in the morning.”

The door clicked shut.

At last, Alexei was alone.

He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen. His uncle’s number glowed back at him, a lifeline and a curse.

He pressed it. The phone rang. His pulse thundered.

The Call

“Alexei?” The voice was rough with age, yet smart with wisdom, like fire burning in an old hearth. “You’ve arrived?”

Alexei swallowed hard. “Yes, Uncle. I’m here. Vienna.”

“Good. Good. I worried when you didn’t call sooner. How was the journey?”

Alexei hesitated. His uncle’s trust wrapped around him like a chain — and he was about to shatter it.

“It was fine. Smooth. I… I’m not alone, uncle.”

There's a pause. Then: “What do you mean?”

Alexei closed his eyes. The words felt like knives on his tongue. “My boss… he came with me.”

Silence again.

The one, this time; it roared louder than any scream.

“Alexei,” his uncle called, each syllable stings, “tell me you jest.”

“No. He’s here, with me.”

“Lucien Devereux?” The name cracked like thunder.

“Yes.”

The breath on the other end grew ragged. “You bring the wolf to my door? Did I not warn you? Did I not speak of poison? Of third parties who will bind you with chains you cannot break?”

Alexei’s heart pounded. “Uncle, listen—he’s not only that. He saved me, when I was nothing. He—he trusts me, believes in me. I wouldn’t be alive without him.”

“Saved you?” the old man spat. “And for what? A debt? A leash around your throat? He believes in no one but himself. Alexei, hear me—men like him save only what they mean to own.”

Alexei pressed his forehead into his hand, gripping the phone tighter. “But what if I need him? What if Vienna is bigger than me? Stronger than me?”

“You have me,” his uncle said, trembling with both anger and sorrow. “That has always been enough.”

Tears pricked Alexei’s eyes, but he blinked them back. He could not crumble, not now.

“Uncle,” he whispered once again, “please. Just meet him. See for yourself.”

Another long silence. Then, his uncle’s voice returned, weary but careful. “If you wish me to meet him, I will. But know this — I will see him as he is. Not as you paint him. If he means you harm, no ring, no charm, no power of his will shield him from me.”

Alexei’s breath hitched. That was as much consent as he could hope for.

“I understand,” Alexei said. His voice was broken.

“Good. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, come to me. And Alexei… be careful. Love mixed with power turns dangerous.”

The call ended.

Alexei sat in the dark, phone slipping from his fingers to the bedspread. His uncle’s words burned through him, colliding with Lucien’s presence like two storms destined to clash.

In his chest, war raged. Gratitude and loyalty to Lucien battled with love and trust for his uncle. Between them, Alexei was the battlefield.

He leaned back, staring at the lights, whispering to the silence: “How do I make you both see?”

Vienna’s city lights streamed through the curtains. The city outside pulsed with music, laughter, and intrigue. But for Alexei, it was only a stage upon which his greatest conflict had just begun.

Vienna was no longer a destination. It was a crucible.

Alexei had called his uncle. He had confessed, though not fully, and begged for acceptance where none could be freely given. Now, with Lucien in one room and his uncle waiting somewhere in the city, the boy stood between two fires.

And in the distance, the Cham — the ring that had already started to twist destinies — pulsed like a hidden heartbeat.

Vienna would decide who Alexei belonged to.