The Devil's favorite
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his hair slicked back, his grin too casual for a man surrounded by death.
“So the devil finally comes out of his castle,” Marco said when Lucian stepped into the light. “I was wondering how long you’d hide behind your walls.”
Lucian didn’t reply. His pistol was steady, eyes fixed on Marco’s chest.
“Aria Russo,” Marco continued. “Pretty thing. Reminds me of someone you used to know.”
Lucian fired once. The bullet grazed Marco’s shoulder, spinning him back against the table.
“Mention her again,” Lucian said coldly, “and the next one goes through your heart.”
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