Lucien Lachance Novels & Stories

Luke takes his seat; JJ opens the door, and our waiter enters with a bottle of champagne and a carafe of water. “Good Evening, Mr Craven.” Luke nods, “Good Evening, Sean.” “From your private stock, Sir.” The waiter, Sean, removes the cork with a flourish and pours the Champagne into the two flutes. Sean turns and sets the champagne bottle in an elegant champagne bucket pedestal and adds the water carafe to our table. I can’t help but check the label of the Champagne and almost choke Dom Perignon, a P3. We don’t even stock this at the bar. We have a couple of bottles of Dom but not P3; those bottles are more than $2000 each, which is from his private stock?!

Lucien said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion, cutting through the silence between them with absolute finality. Chloe pouted her lips, coated with rosy red lipstick, before stepping closer and trying to touch Lucien's muscular arm once again. "Luci, I just came back from America after seven years. Are you really going to chase me away the moment I return? Didn't you miss me?" Lucien shifted his tall frame slightly to the side, avoiding Chloe's slender fingers with a movement that was subtle yet firm. "It's almost evening, and I have a lot of family matters to take care of at the mansion. My driver will take you back to the Moretie residence."

He smiled-slow, polite, practiced. “Enchanté,” he said in a smooth French accent, taking her hand without asking. “I’m Lucien Laurent, Global Development Director for the European Commerce Council. Your presentation was… formidable.” Sara blinked. “Thank you.” He didn’t release her hand immediately. Alaric’s gaze cut toward the gesture like a blade. Mr. Laurent finally let go, smiling wider. “Your insight into implementation challenges was refreshingly honest. We don’t get such candor often in these conferences.”

"Pull up the protection records for Serafine's grandmother." "…Yes, Don." The young soldier paused, then started flipping through the thick paper files. Just then, a low, cold chuckle came from nearby. "Well, well... look who graces us with his presence. Don Lucien, making a personal visit to our little outpost?" Lucien spun around, his face instantly darkening. It was Damine. He had once been the family's Consigliere, with many loyal followers and Lucien's most trusted right-hand man.

The silence in the dining room was so thick it felt like it could be cut with a surgical blade. Thomas stood beside me, his hand resting possessively on my shoulder, while Lucien looked like he was ready to commit a crime in broad daylight. "My wife is the majority shareholder of Vane Holdings?" Lucien’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble. He didn’t look at the documents. He looked at me, his eyes searching for a betrayal he hadn't prepared for. "How?"

(Fiesty slut isn't she what I wouldn't pay to be the one fucking this virgin pussy) the man said cruelly. She flinched at his words and she felt him stroking her thighs as he struggled against the next mans grip. " Basta che ora appartiene a Leonardo e non deve essere toccata, a meno che tu non voglia spiegare al don che hai rovinato il suo regalo di compleanno"(Thats enough she belongs to Leonardo now and is not to be touched, this is unless you want to explain to the don that you ruined his birthday gift) the other man said.

Alpha Leonardo; “What did you say that bastard wanted again from me?” I undid my tie knot. “To have a drink at the club with you. Probably, the two of you will finally sort out your differences,” Liam stated. “I don’t want to sort out any fucking differences. The Marons almost ended my life.” “But Anthony has nothing to do with it. Why punish him over the madness of his Father and brothers?” Liam fixed himself on my couch. Taking off my shirt, “It’s not just about his Father and Brothers. I hate that brait, Anthony, as well. He has always been a thorn in my flesh.” I threw my shirt on the bed.

Halfway through the room, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a devil-may-care smile intercepted them. “Monsieur Carrington,” the man greeted with a thick French accent. Ryan extended his hand. “Luc Fournier.” Luc’s smile widened as he turned his gaze to Irene. “And this must be your wife.” He took her hand and kissed it gently. “Madame Carrington. Enchanté. I’m Luc Fournier. It’s a pleasure.” She smiled politely. “Nice to meet you too, Monsieur Fournier. Please, call me Giselle.”

Then he proceeded “ My name is Harrison Leach I’m here on behalf of McConnell Smith, and Jones, a New York-based law firm representing the George Lachaln estate.” Harrison's pale eyes met mine. “George Lachlan passed away earlier this month.” A weighty pause. Harrison studied my reaction or, more accurately, the lack thereof. “Does that name mean anything to you?” The sensation of standing on train tracks was back. “No,” I said. “Should it?” “George Lachlan was a very wealthy man, Ms. Vale.

“Don’t make me regret my generosity.” Vaughn swallowed hard. “You won’t, sir.” Lucien leaned back, folding his gloves neatly on the table. “And about the funds from Marseille…” His gaze landed on another man, who suddenly couldn’t meet it. “Tell your brother to stop pocketing crumbs from my table. I’m feeling merciful tonight. Don’t make me change my mind.” The room fell into the kind of silence that obeys. Then Lucien rose from his seat. “That’ll be all.”