POV: Lucien Virelli (Third Person)
"You don't bring children into war, Lucien."
Lucien didn't turn from the window.
Morning cut the city into hard lines—steel towers, wet streets, steam rising like breath from a wounded animal. Below, traffic snarled. Sirens stitched the distance. The city was waking up angry, just as he'd predicted.
"War follows me," Lucien said evenly. "I didn't bring her anywhere."
Behind him, Dante Russo shifted his weight. Dante had been with Lucien since the early days—back when survival required teeth and speed instead of strategy. He rarely questioned orders. When he did, it meant the ground was shifting.
"You took her from a kill site," Dante said. "That's not nothing."
Lucien turned at last.
Seraphina sat at the long dining table, legs swinging slightly, a mug of tea cradled between both hands. She wore an oversized black shirt someone had found at dawn. It swallowed her whole. She watched the steam curl up from the cup like it was telling secrets.
"She didn't belong there," Lucien said.
"Neither did you," Dante replied.
Lucien's gaze sharpened. "And yet I survived."
Seraphina looked up. "You always do."
The words landed too easily.
Lucien crossed the room and took the seat beside her, resting his forearms on the table. "Did you sleep?"
She nodded. "The city makes loud dreams."
Dante exhaled through his nose. "Jesus."
Lucien ignored him. "Any bad ones?"
She thought about it. "Only the ones that try to take you."
A muscle jumped in Lucien's jaw.
"That's enough," Dante said. "Boss, this isn't—"
Lucien raised a hand. Dante stopped.
"What's moving?" Lucien asked.
"Everything," Dante said. "Bellini's people are gone to ground. The Council's calling emergency sessions. Clubs are closing out of fear, not loyalty. And there's a rumor spreading fast."
Lucien's eyes stayed on Seraphina. "Which rumor?"
Dante hesitated. "That you walked out of two explosions last night. That fire bent around you. That death missed again."
Seraphina sipped her tea. The lights overhead flickered.
Lucien placed his hand flat on the table. The lights steadied.
Dante noticed. Pretended he didn't.
"Fear travels faster than truth," Lucien said. "Let it."
"They're asking why," Dante pressed. "And people who ask why eventually start testing answers."
Lucien leaned back. "Then we remind them what happens when curiosity forgets manners."
Seraphina slid her mug toward Lucien. "You should drink too. You're tired."
Lucien paused. He hadn't realized she'd noticed.
"I don't get tired," he said.
She frowned. "That's not true. You're just loud about not needing help."
Dante barked a surprised laugh and immediately regretted it. Lucien shot him a look. Dante shut up.
Lucien studied the girl. "You shouldn't talk like that to dangerous men."
She tilted her head. "Are you dangerous to me?"
The question was innocent. The answer was not.
Lucien stood. "Dante, clear my schedule. No meetings. No visitors."
"The Council won't like that."
"They'll survive the disappointment," Lucien said. "I usually do."
Dante hesitated, then nodded and left.
The penthouse settled into a rare quiet. Lucien poured himself coffee, black, and leaned against the counter.
"You don't belong in this world, Sera," he said. "It will try to change you. Or break you."
She looked down at her hands. "My mama said the world breaks first. People just decide what pieces to keep."
Lucien felt that familiar tightening behind his ribs again. He didn't like it. Feelings were liabilities.
"We'll keep you hidden," he said. "School. Doctors. Normal things."
She shook her head. "They'll find me."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "Who?"
"The men who smell like cold."
Silence stretched.
Lucien set his cup down carefully. "Describe them."
"They smile too much," she said. "And they don't look at faces. Just doors."
Lucien's phone buzzed on the counter.
He didn't look away from her as he answered. "Speak."
"Boss," the voice said. "We've got a problem. One of Bellini's men turned up alive. And he's asking for you by name."
Lucien's lips curved slightly. "Where?"
"Saint Agnes Hospital. ICU. Heavy guard."
Seraphina slid off her chair and walked toward Lucien. She placed her small hand on his wrist.
Lucien stiffened—but didn't pull away.
"He's going to lie," she said quietly. "And someone will listen."
Lucien closed his fingers gently around her hand. "Then we'll correct the story."
On the phone, the voice lowered. "Boss… he says he knows why you don't die."
The city seemed to hold its breath.
Lucien looked down at Seraphina, then back out at the skyline.
"Good," he said softly. "I've been meaning to ask him who told him."
"You sure you want to do this yourself?"
Lucien didn't look up from the cufflinks he was fastening.
The private elevator hummed softly as it descended, a sound so smooth it could lull a weaker man into forgetting where it led. Lucien preferred the reminder. Hospitals were places where people surrendered control. He never did.
"I don't delegate loose ends," he said. "Especially the ones that speak."
Dante stood opposite him, jaw tight. "Saint Agnes is crawling. Cops. Private security. And someone tipped the Council we're moving."
Lucien slid the second cufflink into place and straightened his sleeves. "Good. Let them watch."
"They'll think it's a test."
Lucien met Dante's eyes. "It is."
The elevator doors opened into sterile light. White walls. The smell of disinfectant and fear. Nurses froze when they saw Lucien approach, recognition sparking despite the suit and the calm.
A man like him didn't need introductions.
"ICU, third floor," Dante murmured. "Room 317."
Lucien walked.
The hallway felt narrower the closer they got, as if the building itself was leaning in. Two uniformed cops stood outside the room. They stiffened when Lucien approached.
"Visiting hours are—"
Lucien stopped an arm's length away. "You're about to take a walk."
The first cop scoffed. "Sir, you can't—"
The lights flickered.
Just once.
Both men glanced up, distracted. Dante stepped forward, flashed credentials that meant nothing and everything. A bribe changed hands without being seen.
"Five minutes," one cop muttered. "That's it."
Lucien nodded and entered the room.
The man in the bed was barely recognizable. Tubes. Bruises. One eye swollen shut. His name was Carlo DeLuca—Bellini's courier, rumored dead twice already.
Carlo's good eye widened when he saw Lucien.
"You," Carlo croaked. "They said—"
Lucien pulled a chair close and sat. Calm. Almost gentle.
"They say a lot of things when they're afraid," Lucien said. "Try breathing. You'll last longer."
Carlo's chest hitched. "You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly," Lucien cut in. "You survived when you weren't meant to. That makes you either lucky or useful. Let's find out which."
Carlo licked his cracked lips. "They know, Lucien. The Council. They're whispering already."
Lucien leaned forward slightly. "Whispering what?"
Carlo laughed weakly. "That you're not a man. That you're—"
Lucien's gaze hardened. "Careful. Legends tend to die badly."
Carlo swallowed. "They say you're protected. Tied to something. Or someone."
Lucien's pulse slowed. He kept his face neutral.
"Who told you this?"
Carlo's good eye darted toward the door. "I want protection. I want out."
Lucien stood.
The heart monitor spiked.
"That wasn't an answer," Lucien said.
Carlo's breathing grew frantic. "There's a woman—Council doctor. Elena Moretti. She's been asking questions. Old records. Death reports."
Lucien stilled.
"Say that name again."
"Elena Moretti. She says patterns don't lie. She says nothing survives what you do without help."
Lucien straightened his jacket. "She's wrong."
Carlo grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. "She says the help bleeds."
For a fraction of a second, the room felt colder.
Lucien removed Carlo's hand. "You've said enough."
"Wait—" Carlo gasped. "I can tell you how to stop them—"
Lucien leaned close, voice barely above a whisper. "You can stop now."
The monitor flatlined.
Lucien stood there a moment longer, watching the stillness settle. Then he turned and walked out.
Dante fell in beside him immediately. "That was fast."
"He was done talking," Lucien said.
"The doctor—Moretti—she's real," Dante said. "Runs research consults for the Council. Quiet. Smart. Dangerous."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Set eyes on her. Not hands."
Dante nodded. "And the girl?"
Lucien stopped walking.
"What about her?"
"Men are starting to notice things," Dante said carefully. "Lights flickering. Systems glitching when she's close. That wasn't coincidence, Lucien."
Lucien resumed walking. "Coincidence doesn't interest me. Consequences do."
They exited into the garage. Engines idled. Security moved like choreography.
Lucien slid into the back seat. As the car pulled away, his phone buzzed.
"She's awake, boss," came the voice from the penthouse. "Asking for you."
Lucien closed his eyes briefly. "Put her on."
A small pause. Then—
"You left without saying goodbye," Seraphina said.
Lucien's chest tightened, sharp and unwelcome. "I had to fix something."
"Did it break?"
"It won't again," he said.
Silence. Then, softly, "You're lying."
Lucien almost smiled. "I'm very good at it."
"Not with me," she replied.
The city blurred past outside the window. Lucien watched it like a general studying terrain.
"Sera," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Some people might come asking questions. You don't answer them. You don't open doors. You don't trust promises."
"I only trust you," she said simply.
Lucien's throat tightened.
"That's enough," he said. "For now."
"Lucien?"
"Yes."
"The men who smell like cold… they're closer today."
Lucien's gaze sharpened, the city outside suddenly feeling too exposed.
"How close?" he asked.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Close enough to knock."
Lucien leaned forward, grip tightening on the phone.
"Then don't answer," he said, steel threading his calm. "Tell me who's at the door."