Chapter 5 - The Mistress’s Demise
Back in Sicily, the Mediterranean sun offered no warmth to Lucien Moretti.
Bianca stood in the doorway of the villa’s grand salon, holding a glass of Chianti, watching him pace the Persian rug. Her confident smile from a week ago had curdled into bitter frustration.
"You haven't touched me since the child was born, Lucien," she complained, her voice dripping with petulance. "You sit in this dark room staring at reports like a ghost. She’s gone. Good riddance. Now we can—"
"Shut up, Bianca," Lucien snapped without looking at her.
"Excuse me?"
Lucien stopped pacing. He turned slowly, his eyes dark, hollow, and terrifyingly cold. The man who had once tolerated her presence as a convenient distraction was entirely gone, replaced by the apex predator who had slaughtered three rival families before his thirtieth birthday.
"You told me to let someone else be responsible for one night," Lucien said, his voice dangerously low. "You laughed when my son was born."
Bianca took an involuntary step back. "Lucien, I was only—"
"Pack your bags," he interrupted, cutting through her words like a scalpel. "The private jet leaves for Rome in twenty minutes. You are out of my house, out of my life, and if I ever see your face within five hundred miles of my territory again, you won't live long enough to regret it."
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"You can't do this!" she shrieked, dropping her wine glass. It shattered against the marble, red liquid staining the white stone like blood. "I stood by you! I gave you what she wouldn't!"
"She gave me a son," Lucien whispered, walking past her toward the exit. "And I threw him away for you. That is a debt I will spend the rest of my life collecting."
