POV: Lucien Virelli (Third Person)
"You're late, Ash King."
Lucien Virelli didn't slow.
The words followed him across the threshold of the Belladonna Club, floated on bass and perfume and money. He passed the velvet rope as if it had been waiting for him all night. Neon cut the darkness into bruised colors. Bodies pressed together, slick with sweat and ambition. Women in silk and sequins watched him with eyes that measured danger the way other people measured desire.
"Time arrives when I do," Lucien said, voice calm, conversational. "You're just standing in it."
Silvio—the man who'd dared speak—laughed too quickly. His suit was new. His hands were not. "Boss is upstairs. He doesn't like waiting."
Lucien stopped. Turned just enough to let Silvio see his face clearly.
"Then he should've learned patience before betrayal."
Silvio's smile cracked. He stepped aside.
Lucien moved through the club, the music bending around him. He felt the eyes. Fear hid behind flirtation. Respect wore the mask of lust. He owned this room without touching it. He always had.
He wanted something tonight. Not money. Not territory. Those were maintenance. He wanted correction. He wanted a name erased from the city's long memory.
The stairwell narrowed. The music dulled. The air cooled. Two guards flanked the private balcony door, hands hovering near their jackets.
"Weapons stay outside," one said.
Lucien lifted his jacket just enough to show intent without proof. "I don't disarm in rooms built on lies."
A beat. Then the door opened.
Inside, amber light spilled over leather and glass. Marco Bellini sat alone, whiskey in hand, confidence draped over him like a tailored coat. He smiled as if this were a dinner invitation.
"Lucien." Marco spread his hands. "You look well. Explosions suit you."
Lucien took the seat opposite him. Didn't touch the drink poured for him.
"Say her name," Lucien said.
Marco blinked. "I don't follow—"
"My driver's daughter."
The smile thinned. The club thumped below them, oblivious.
"Collateral happens," Marco said carefully. "Cities eat everyone eventually."
Lucien nodded once. "True. But tonight, the city eats you."
Marco's jaw tightened. "You can't kill me here. Too public. Too many witnesses."
Lucien reached forward and placed Marco's phone between them. The screen glowed red. A timer counting down.
"You ordered a bomb under my car last winter," Lucien said mildly. "A sniper in spring. A building tonight. Consistency is admirable. Loyalty would've been smarter."
Marco's voice sharpened. "You're bluffing."
"I don't bluff. I arrive late."
The timer hit zero.
The world broke.
Sound vanished first. Then heat tore through the balcony, snapping bone and glass. Lucien moved before thought—over the railing, body twisting, landing hard amid screams and collapsing lights.
Fire roared like something alive.
People ran. Women screamed. Someone crawled past him, blood slicking the floor. A beam crashed where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.
Lucien rose, breath steady. Pain brushed him and slid away, uninterested.
Outside, rain fell like forgiveness. Sirens wailed too soon.
A woman staggered toward him, eyes wild. "You—how are you—"
Lucien stepped past her.
His car waited at the curb.
The bomb beneath it did not.
Light swallowed him whole.
"Boss—Boss, can you hear me?"
Lucien opened his eyes to rain and smoke. His ears rang. His chest burned. This one lingered longer than usual.
He sat up.
The man speaking into his phone froze, stared, then ran.
Lucien stood amid twisted metal and fire. His suit was ruined. Skin blistered. Blood warm at his temple.
"Annoying," Lucien muttered.
His phone vibrated.
"Report," he said.
"Bellini's dead. No sign of you. Media's already spinning miracles."
Lucien walked away from the wreck. "Find his family. Tonight."
A pause. "All of them?"
Lucien didn't slow. "Correction requires completeness."
The Bellini house sat quiet in the old district. Too quiet. Lucien felt it before the first shot rang out inside.
Security folded fast. Glass shattered. Gunfire echoed. A woman screamed upstairs.
Lucien took the stairs two at a time.
The bedroom smelled of copper. Bellini's wife lay still. One of Lucien's men stood rigid, gun smoking.
"Clear," the man said, shaken.
Lucien turned—
A sound stopped him.
Not a scream.
A whimper.
He followed it to the closet and opened the door.
A little girl crouched inside, clutching a stuffed rabbit soaked dark. Her eyes were too calm. Too old.
Lucien knelt.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
Fire crackled somewhere below. Someone shouted.
Lucien reached out.
The flames died.
Not slowly. Not naturally. They simply vanished.
The house fell silent.
Lucien froze. The air felt wrong. Heavy. Like the city had leaned in to watch.
He lifted the girl gently. She rested against him as if she'd been waiting.
"Boss?" a voice called. "We need to move."
Lucien turned toward the hall.
"Cancel the burn," he said.
"What?"
"We're leaving."
The man hesitated. "The child—"
Lucien's gaze cut sharp. "Is mine."
Outside, rain washed smoke into memory. The girl finally spoke, voice small and steady.
"Don't let them take me."
Lucien tightened his hold, something unfamiliar pressing against his ribs.
"No one takes what I keep," he said.
She looked up at him. "Promise?"
Lucien met her eyes, the city holding its breath.
"I don't die," he said quietly. "And I don't break promises."
"Boss, the cops are rerouting traffic—five minutes, maybe less."
Lucien didn't answer right away.
Rain slid down the windshield of the black SUV as it tore through the back streets. The city blurred past—neon, sirens, smoke. In the back seat, the child sat beside him, small hands knotted into the fur of her ruined stuffed rabbit. She hadn't cried. Not once.
Lucien watched her from the corner of his eye.
"Five minutes is generous," he finally said. "Drive like they already know my name."
The driver swallowed. The engine screamed.
The girl shifted closer, her shoulder brushing Lucien's arm. He felt it—an unexpected weight, grounding. He didn't pull away.
"What's your name?" Lucien asked again, softer this time.
She studied his face as if searching for something hidden beneath it.
"…Sera."
The sound hit him harder than the bomb.
"Seraphina?" he asked.
A small nod.
Lucien leaned back, exhaled slowly. Names mattered. He'd built his empire on that truth.
"I'm Lucien," he said. "You're safe now."
Her fingers tightened in his sleeve. "They said no one is safe."
Lucien's jaw set. "They lied."
The SUV slid into the underground garage beneath one of his safe houses. Steel gates slammed shut behind them. Men moved fast, disciplined, silent.
"Boss, she shouldn't be here," one said under his breath.
Lucien stepped out, lifting Seraphina into his arms. She went willingly, arms curling around his neck like instinct.
"Neither should you," Lucien replied calmly. "Yet here we are."
Inside, the penthouse was all glass and shadow. City lights stretched endlessly beyond the windows. Lucien crossed the room and set Seraphina on the couch.
She looked impossibly small against the leather.
"Get a medic," Lucien said. "And clothes. Clean ones."
A pause. "For the girl or—"
Lucien turned.
The man flinched. "Both, boss."
Lucien crouched in front of Seraphina, lowering himself to her level. He noticed then—really noticed—the faint tremor in her hands she'd been hiding.
"Do you like tea?" he asked.
She nodded. "My mama made it when I was sick."
Something sharp twisted behind his ribs.
"Then you'll have tea," Lucien said. "And quiet. And no one shouting."
She studied him again. "You're scary."
Lucien almost smiled. "That's how bad men keep worse ones away."
The medic arrived. Blood was cleaned. Cuts were dressed. Lucien watched from the window, the city glowing like a beast with a thousand eyes.
"Boss," one of his lieutenants said quietly. "Word's already moving. Bellini's dead. The club's gone. People are asking questions."
Lucien didn't turn. "Let them."
"And the child?"
Lucien's reflection stared back at him in the glass. Scarred. Controlled. Untouchable.
"She's not leverage," he said. "She's not currency. She's not a message."
The lieutenant hesitated. "Then what is she?"
Lucien finally turned.
"She's mine."
Across the room, Seraphina met his eyes. The lights flickered—just once. A subtle shudder through the building.
The lieutenant noticed it too. "Power surge?"
Lucien crossed the room, placing a hand on Seraphina's shoulder. The lights steadied.
Lucien froze.
Slowly, deliberately, he removed his hand.
The lights flickered again.
He stared at the child. She stared back, unafraid.
"Boss…" the lieutenant whispered. "What the hell was that?"
Lucien's pulse thudded hard. For the first time in years, something like unease stirred.
"Coincidence," Lucien said. "Leave us."
When they were alone, Lucien sat across from her.
"Did you do something just now?" he asked.
Seraphina frowned. "I didn't want the lights to hurt you."
Lucien's breath stilled.
"Lights don't hurt people, Sera."
She shook her head. "They do when bad things are coming."
Lucien leaned back, mind racing. He had survived bombs, bullets, fire. But this—this was new.
"Listen to me," Lucien said carefully. "People will want you. They'll lie. They'll promise things. You don't go with anyone unless I say so."
She climbed off the couch and walked toward him. Placed her small hand on his chest, right over his heart.
Lucien stiffened.
"You won't die," she said matter-of-factly. "Not while I'm here."
The words settled into him like a verdict.
Lucien covered her hand with his own. It felt real. Solid. Warm.
"You shouldn't make promises like that," he said.
She tilted her head. "Why?"
Lucien searched for the answer and found none that didn't frighten him.
Outside, thunder rolled over the city.
Lucien rose, lifting her into his arms again.
"Get some sleep, Seraphina," he said. "Tomorrow, the city will wake up angry."
She yawned, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Will you still be here?" she murmured.
Lucien looked out over the city he had bled for, killed for, survived for.
"I always am," he said.
Her eyes closed.
As Lucien carried her down the hall, his phone buzzed again.
"Boss," came the voice on the line, tight with unease. "Someone's leaking a story. They're calling you immortal now."
Lucien stared at the child asleep in his arms.
"Let them talk," he said quietly. "They have no idea what they've just witnessed."
On the other end of the line, silence stretched.
Then, carefully, the voice asked—
"Lucien… what did you bring home tonight?"
Lucien didn't answer right away.
He adjusted his grip on Seraphina, holding her closer as the lights dimmed behind him.
"Something the city should be afraid of," he said softly.