CHAPTER FIVE

 Lucien POV

The massive monitor on my office wall cast a cold, obsidian-blue glow across the room. I leaned back in my leather chair, a single finger lazily tapping the armrest as the footage looped for the seventh time.

There she was again.

The little stripper who had been writhing under me a week ago, screaming my name, only to turn around and steal my watch the second my eyes were closed.

But on screen, she didn’t look like a thief. She moved through that dark clearing like liquid fire. Slim, graceful, entirely lethal. The way she sidestepped a blind punch, drove her elbow straight into a throat, swept a leg, and flipped a grown man twice her size… it was poetry. Brutal, bloody poetry.

I paused the video right as her boot came down, crushing one of the men's wrists. A slow, dark smile curved my lips.

“Who would have thought?” I murmured, the sound of my own voice scraping against the quiet room. “The same girl who was dripping and begging on my cock a week ago…”

Near the edge of the desk, Adrian stood with his arms crossed. He was watching me, his posture tense but steady. He was the only man brave enough to speak his mind around me without waiting for permission.

“What’s the play, Boss?” Adrian asked quietly. 

“What do we do with her?”

I didn’t answer. My eyes stayed glued to the frozen screen. The camera caught the exact moment she took a hard hit to the jaw. Her lip split. A thin trail of crimson ran down her chin.

Suddenly, the cold detachment I usually felt while watching violence evaporated. Something hot, ugly, and possessive twisted violently in my chest. I clenched my fist so hard the knuckles popped, turning a stark, bloodless white.

I wanted to drag those two dead men out of their graves just to kill them again myself. Slower this time. For the simple crime of putting their hands on her.

I had dismissed her after that night. Just another beautiful, greedy slut who spread her legs for a heavy stack of cash and got a little too brave. I hadn't even bothered sending men after her; the watch meant nothing to me. I had dozens more, all worth five times what she stole. But now?

Now she had slaughtered two of my men.

Now, she was all I could think about.

I rewound the tape, tracking the dangerous, disciplined sway of her hips. My trousers tightened painfully, a sharp ache settling deep in my groin. I reached down, casually adjusting myself, the phantom memory of her body hitting me like a physical blow—the way her tight, greedy walls had clenched around me, her nails digging crescent moons into my chest as she came.

“Find the stupid bitch she saved,” I ordered, my voice dropping into a low, deceptive calm. “Bring her to me. I’ll finish her off myself for causing this mess.”

Adrian nodded once. “Consider it done.” He turned toward the double doors, but paused, his hand hovering over the brass handle. “And the dancer?”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the mahogany desk, staring deeply into the frozen frame of her bloodied, defiant face. That wild, untamed fire in her eyes… it clawed at something pitch-black and ravenous inside my soul.

“Her?” The dangerous smile returned, stretching wide and predatory across my face. “I will deal with her myself.”

“There’s something different about her, Boss,” Adrian added, his brow furrowing. “The way she fights….that’s not street fighting.”

“I know,” I whispered, replaying the exact second she drove a knife clean through my man’s sternum. 

My blood simmered. I remembered how she’d moaned my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

“Find out everything,” I commanded. “Name, address, family, every single weakness she covers up. I want a complete file on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

Adrian gave me a long, calculating look. “You gonna kill her?”

A low, amused laugh rumbled in my throat, though it never reached my eyes.

“Kill her?” I tilted my head, savoring the sheer thrill of the word. “No. Not yet. First, I’m going to remind her exactly who she fucked with. I’m going to break her… slowly, piece by piece. And when 

she’s begging at my feet, weeping for mercy, then I’ll decide if she gets to live.”

I paused the video right on her face again.

You should’ve minded your fucking business, Selvaggia.

But it was too late for regrets. I’d seen what she was truly capable of, and I wasn't a man who let go of rare weapons. She belonged to me now.

The file was waiting for me before the sun even cleared the horizon.

I sat back in my chair, flipping through the crisp pages. Adrian’s intelligence network was flawless.

Name: Scarlet Vale, 23.

Education:High school graduate; did not attend university.

Mother:Deceased (complications during childbirth).

Father: Arthur Vale, 45. Unemployed alcoholic, drowning in deep debt.

Employment: Exotic dancer at Club Midnight Sins; part-time waitress at a local diner; independent cleaner for commercial offices; occasional bartender.

Standard, pathetic, tragic shit. The exact kind of girl the world chews up, breaks, and spits into the 

gutter every single day.

But as I turned to the final page, my fingers locked onto the edge of the paper. My chest tightened. I read the paragraph once. Twice. Three times, ensuring my mind wasn't playing tricks on me in the morning light.

A slow, vicious smirk spread across my face.

Well, fuck me.

This changed the entire board. I was still letting the weight of the information sink in when there was a knock and the heavy office door clicked open.

“Boss,” Adrian said, stepping inside. “Your father is here.”

I closed the file with a soft snap, sliding it just out of direct view. “Let him in.

Enzo Romano stepped into the room with the unearned arrogance of a man who still believed he ran the world. He didn't, of course. It belonged to me now, but I still tolerated his presence. He walked straight to the bar, poured himself two fingers of whiskey, and turned to face me bluntly.

“The Bianchi wedding is set for next month,” Enzo announced, knocking back half the liquor. “Elena will make a perfect Donna. Her father’s shipping ports will give us the absolute monopoly we need on the coast. Power. Alliances. You know the rules of the brotherhood, Lucien.”

I watched him from behind my desk, entirely unbothered. Elena was, on paper, the flawless choice. Her father was deeply embedded in our brotherhood, and the merger would solidify our reign. I had spent months completely on board with the arrangement. I felt nothing for Elena—had only met her a handful of times at formal galas—but business was business.

Yet, looking at the closed file on my desk, a beautiful, wicked alternative began to bloom in my mind. A much, much better plan.

My eyes narrowed, a dark amusement settling into my features. It seemed I had found a permanent use for my little thief after all.

“I’m not marrying Elena,” I said smoothly.

My father’s glass paused halfway to his lips. His eyes sharpened, flashing with the dangerous temper that used to terrify me as a boy. “The fuck do you mean you’re not marrying her? The arrangements are already finalized.”

“I’ve found someone better.”

Enzo slammed his heavy glass down onto the sidebar, the amber liquid splashing over the rim. He marched toward my desk, leaning over it to look down at me, the kind of dominant stare that made grown capos fold in half. I didn't even blink.

“Who the hell is this girl?” he demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh growl.

“You’ll meet her soon enough,” I replied, my voice steady, dripping with absolute certainty. “She’ll be useful. Far more useful than a Bianchi princess could ever dream of being.”

“Useful?” Enzo scoffed, throwing his hands up. “You’re throwing away a bulletproof coastal 

alliance for some random bitch? I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Lucien. Because if this blows up in your face, the brotherhood pays the price…”

“It won’t blow up,” I cut him off, the sheer finality in my tone made him freeze. “I’ll handle her. She is going to become exactly what this family needs. Trust me on this, Father.”

He studied me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of weakness or reckless lust. Finding none, he let out a rough, defeated breath.

“You’ve always had a twisted way of getting what you want,” Enzo grumbled, straightening his suit jacket. “Just ensure she doesn't become a vulnerability. A Don cannot afford a weakness.”

“She won’t be a weakness,” I murmured, the smirk returning to my lips as I looked down at the mahogany wood. 

Muttering a few final curses under his breath, my father finally left the office, his reluctant trust in my leadership keeping him from pushing further.

The exact second the door clicked shut, I pulled the file back in front of me and opened it. I stared directly at her photograph.

Her dark, wild hair fell in chaotic waves around a jawline sculpted with razor-edge precision, framing features that were a lethal contradiction. High, aristocratic cheekbones paired with a full, wicked mouth that looked like it was made for sinning or tearing a man to pieces.. 

Those same features had been flushed and frantic beneath me while she came, her dark eyes looking up at me with raw lust.

She honestly believed she could steal from me, murder my men, and just disappear back into her miserable, quiet life like nothing had happened.

I traced a finger over the final line of her file, my chest tightening with a dark, intoxicating wave of satisfaction. She had no fucking idea what she had stumbled into. 

I was going to hunt her down. I was going to drag her kicking, screaming, and fighting into my world, and I was going to strip away every single se

cret she was hiding until she was completely bare before me. Body and soul.

You’re mine now, selvaggia.

Whether you like it or not.