Chapter 19

The departure from Vienna began with the arrangements suitcases and the strong coffee filling the hotel suite. Curtains were drawn back to reveal the roofs. Travelers bustled outside, taxis idled by the curb, and the city carried on as though nothing extraordinary had transpired the night before.

But for the three men in that room, nothing would ever be ordinary again.

Lucien Devereux was uncharacteristically buoyant. He moved with an energy that startled even Henri, who came to deliver tickets and final arrangements. Normally, the Capo began his days with a scowl and a cigarette, but today he sounds under his breath, poured a whiskey instead of coffee, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter.

“Vienna has served us well,” Lucien said at last, his eyes fixed on Alexei, who sat at the table, the ring still on his finger. “But Brussels awaits. And in Brussels, boy, the game begins.”

Alexei forced a nod. He couldn’t meet Lucien’s desperate eyes for long. The ring still pulsed with a warmth in his skin, like a living creature. All through the night he had turned in his bed, haunted by dreams he could not describe: strangers reaching out with hungry eyes, whispers in tongues he didn’t understand, doors opening without keys.

And worse: whenever Lucien entered his thoughts, the pulse of the Cham grew faster.

Alexei uncle’s warnings echoed like bells in his mind: The Cham breaks men, not chains. It begins with love—love so deep, no secret survives it.

Alexei clenched his fist. Was that what he was feeling now? Or was it Lucien’s feelings that were shifting? Because each time Lucien’s eyes settled on him, it was heavier than before, warmer and crueler all at once, as though the man saw him not just as his protégé but as something more—something essential, irreplaceable.

Arjun Singh watched all this in silence. His old soldier’s eyes missed nothing: the way Lucien hovered closer to Alexei than before, the way his words softened when directed at the boy. The Capo believed he had gained a tool of empire. But Arjun knew the truth: the empire had already begun its conquest, and its first prisoner was Lucien himself.

Their car rolled through Vienna’s boulevards, past imperial façades and manicured gardens. Lucien moved back in his seat, cigarette burning between his fingers, already speaking aloud of his plans.

“First the Mayor,” Lucien said with a smirk. “François Lambert fancies himself untouchable, hiding behind his charities, his speeches, his mask of morality. One look, Alexei, one glance, and his heart will be yours. After that, he will beg to serve. He will feed us secrets like grapes at a feast.”

He exhaled smoke, at one go, satisfaction radiating from every pore. “Then the Inspector. Pieter Dijk. He thinks he is iron, incorruptible. But iron bends in fire, and you—” his eyes swept over Alexei, lingering, “—you are fire, boy.”

Alexei shifted. Lucien’s words, once commanding, now carried undertones he couldn’t quite bear to hear. They weren’t just about power anymore. They were about him.

Arjun interjected. “And after them? Suppose the Governor himself bends? Will you not fear the danger of so many men bound to one boy? Too many chains in one direction, and the balance may break.”

Lucien laughed, not mocking but genuinely amused. “That is where you are wrong, old man. Balance is for beggars and philosophers. I do not fear too much power. I fear too little. If they all bend, then Belgium itself bends. And when Belgium bends, the world follows.”

Alexei’s stomach turned. His uncle said nothing further, but his silence carried weight like a stone.

At Vienna International Airport, the routine of travel swallowed them briefly. Checkpoints, passports, queues, the footsteps on the floors. Lucien moved with the confidence of a man who owned the very air, his forged documents immaculate, his posture casual.

But Alexei’s heart hammered faster with each step closer to Brussels. He had not yet called his uncle privately. He had not yet confessed the truth: that Lucien had bound himself to this journey, that there was no way to separate them now.

When at last they sat waiting at the gate, Alexei excused himself to a corner. His hands trembled as he dialed.

“Uncle,” he whispered when Arjun answered. “We’re boarding back to Brussel soon. I— I should have told you before. It’s not just admired, Lucien… he’s falling too. He knows too. He wants the Cham used on many politicians.”

On the other end, Arjun’s voice was calm, though Alexei could hear the weight in it. “I know, child. I saw it in his eyes before you did. Do not be afraid. Remember what I told you—the ring does not give freedom to its wearer. It gives chains to those who look upon it. And Lucien has already looked.”

Alexei’s throat tightened. “You mean…?”

“He is already caught,” Arjun said. “Already bound to you. Watch him, and you will see. He thinks he is master. He does not realize he is already a slave.”

Alexei’s chest tightened, both in fear and in something more dangerous: pity. Could it be true? That the most powerful man he knew, the cold and ruthless Capo of Brussels, was already undone by the ring—by him?

He ended the call before Lucien could notice, putting the phone back to his pocket.

The flight was long, but tension made it feel longer. Lucien occupied the aisle seat, Alexei by the window, as if he could still serve as a wall.

The Cham throbbed on Alexei’s finger, warm against the cold sounds of the cabin. At one point, Lucien leaned closer than necessary, brushing his hand in Alexei’s as he adjusted his jacket. Their eyes met.

And there it was.

For just a second, Alexei saw the truth his uncle had spoken: a hunger, yes, but not merely for power. It was deeper. Lucien’s eyes lingered too long, softened too much. His lips parted as though to speak, then closed again. He leaned back, covering the moment with a sip of a whiskey.

Alexei looked away, heart pounding.

Brussels was gray with drizzle when their plane touched down. The city stretched like a damp cloak in the clouds, familiar yet suddenly different to Alexei’s eyes. He felt like he was carrying a secret flame in his hand, invisible enough to crush him.

Lucien stepped into the arrivals hall with the confidence of a man already victorious. Henri was waiting, discreet as ever, with two black cars idling at the curb. Papers were exchanged, luggage loaded, umbrellas unfolded against the rain.

But as they drove through the city of Brussel, Alexei noticed something strange. Every time Lucien glanced at him from his seat, in the reflection of the window—the man’s eyes turned with affection. The cold eyes he once knew were tinged with something unguarded. Almost… vulnerable.

Lucien tried to mask it with talk of strategy. “Tonight, we make our first move. “I will summon Lambert. He trusts me, he owes me. You, Alexei, will do nothing but look at him. One glance, and he will belong to us.”

But even as he spoke, his hand brushed Alexei’s shoulder, possessively, in a way that betrayed more than words ever could.

Arjun caught the gesture from afar. His lips pressed together, but he said nothing. Let Lucien believe in his empire. Soon enough, the empire would reveal its first prisoner.

That night, Alexei sat in his room at Lucien’s estate, the ring glinting in the lamplight. He turned it on his finger, feeling the pulse of its strange life.

He remembered his uncle’s voice: It begins with love so deep, no secret survives it.

And he thought of Lucien’s eyes, the way they had faltered, the way they had lingered.

If that was love—if that was what the Cham did—then what would happen to the Mayor? To the Inspector? To the Governor? Would they too be stripped bare, secrets pouring from them, power bending until they could no longer resist?

And what of himself?

For if the Cham broke men… then what would it do to him, the one who wore it?

He lay down at last, staring at the ceiling. His heart felt heavy with questions. Yet one truth pulsed in his mind as the ring itself:

Lucien thought the hunt for power had begun. But in truth, it was the hunt for Alexei’s heart that had already started.

And Lucien, without even knowing, was the first caught prey.