Tension

Lucian’s POV

Aurora storms past me, the scent of blood and sweat lingering in the air between us. She peels off her ruined clothes as she moves, each motion sharp, unrelenting.

I should stop her. Say something. Anything.

But I don’t.

I can only watch as she disappears into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make the frame tremble. My fists clench at my sides, the echo of that door slamming reverberating through my skull.

She’s still a puzzle I can’t quite solve. A mosaic of contradictions. One moment a blushing angel, the next a bloodstained demon.

And God help me—I want her.

I drag a hand through my hair, pacing backward until I reach the edge of the bed and sink down, undoing the top buttons of my shirt with stiff fingers. Control has always been my strength, my ability to read people, predict their every move before they even consider making it.

But her?

Aurora defies all logic. A wildfire I can’t contain. A storm I have no choice but to weather.

The sight of her, drenched in vengeance, scarlet hands clenched into fists—it should unsettle me. It should.

Yet, I feel no rage. No resentment. Just this maddening, insatiable need to understand her. To claim her.

Because if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that she belongs to me.

Minutes pass in tense silence before the bathroom door swings open. Steam curls around her frame, her creamy skin scrubbed clean of the carnage. She emerges in one of my t-shirts, the hem brushing against her thighs as she strides toward the closet without so much as a glance in my direction.

My jaw tightens.

This constant battle of wills between us—this push and pull—it’s infuriating. Exhausting. And yet, it makes the tender moments between us so much sweeter.

Most men in my world seek docile wives. Women who sit quietly, who look the other way while their husbands call the shots. Who let them indulge in whatever depraved desires take their fancy.

But Aurora?

She refuses to be overlooked.

And it drives me insane.

She rounds the bed, climbing beneath the covers with quiet efficiency, her back rigid as she pulls the sheets up to her chin. The way she pointedly ignores me should piss me off. Should make me force a conversation, demand an explanation for her defiance.

But instead, I find myself caught in the quiet weight of her presence.

I should reach for her. Soothe away that tension. Instead, I force my voice to remain steady.

“This argument is finished,” I murmur into the stillness. “You’ve made your point.”

Her shoulders remain stiff, but I don’t miss the faint tremor in her fingers as she grips the fabric of the sheets. A hesitation. A crack in her armor.

I want to tell her it will get easier. That the first kill always lingers, but it won’t haunt her forever.

But I don’t.

Because I know she wouldn’t want my comfort. Wouldn’t accept it.

So, I settle for the truth instead.

“You need to learn to pause.” My voice is softer this time, but firm. “In this life—our life—we have to be sure our heads are clear before we do things that might haunt us.”

The silence stretches between us.

Eventually, she exhales, slow and steady. Then she shifts, her voice barely above a whisper.

“And you need to learn that I don’t regret a single thing.”

Something deep in my chest constricts.

She’s not wrong. I saw it in her eyes tonight—the certainty, the raw fury. She doesn’t regret it.

And God help me, but I crave the formidable woman she’s becoming with every fiber of my being.

---

Aurora’s POV

The meeting is already in progress when I push open the heavy doors, stepping into the dimly lit conference room. Conversations falter, eyes shifting toward me.

I don’t slow my stride.

Lucian’s thunderous expression is the first thing I register. The muscle in his jaw flexes as I move further inside, dragging a chair beside his and settling into it like a queen holding court. Regal. Untouchable.

The scent of blood still lingers on my skin, mingling with the faintest trace of the perfume I applied after my shower. I don’t miss the way some of the men stiffen at my presence. The way Andrea’s brow furrows slightly, suspicion and reluctant admiration flickering in his dark eyes.

I offer a slow, knowing smile.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

Lucian’s jaw tightens further.

“Aurora,” he bites out through clenched teeth. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

“Yes, I can see that.” I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs at the knee. “But considering we’re discussing a war I plan to win, I think I have every right to be here.”

A flicker of something crosses his face—part frustration, part something deeper.

Possession.

But he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he waves a hand toward Nico, who clears his throat and resumes his report. Maps and diagrams scatter across the polished wood table, detailing the Agosti family's supply lines, their importation methods, the very foundation of their entire operation.

“We plan to burn their empire to the ground,” Lucian states, his voice sharp, decisive. “To rid this city of their scourge.”

Andrea nods once, folding his hands atop the table. “And we intend to help you do it. Tell us what you’ve planned.”

Lucian’s focus flickers back to me, searching, measuring.

Something inside me clenches hot and tight.

I don’t look away.

Because if he thinks for even a second that I’ll be anything less than his equal in this war—

He’s about to learn just how wrong he is.

Andrea clears his throat, threading his fingers together on the table in front of him. He’s trying to mask his irritation, but I see the way his jaw tenses. He glances at me, incredulity flashing in his dark eyes, clearly expecting me to intervene.

His consigliere, Giovanni, doesn’t bother with restraint. He scoffs. “You may have a famous nonno, Aurora Luciano, but you don’t know the first thing about bringing down a rival dynasty.”

A flicker of irritation wars with something darker in my chest—pride. The woman never ceases to surprise me. She lifts her chin, the weight of her presence forcing the gathered men to acknowledge her.

“Thank you for your concern about my ability to tolerate testosterone, Don Morelli,” she says smoothly. “But you’re all here to fight in my name, so I intend to have a say in how it’s done.”

The room falls silent. Tension hums in the air, an unspoken challenge crackling between them.

Andrea exhales sharply, his gaze flicking between me and my wife, as if expecting me to put her in her place. I should. That’s what they all expect.

But I don’t.

I scrub a hand over my beard, concealing a smirk. They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

Giovanni’s lips flatten into a hard line. “Plotting for war is a gruesome business, Signora,” he says, his voice laced with thinly veiled dismissal. “Why not leave it to the men?”

Aurora meets his stare without a flicker of hesitation. “It’s Aurora Boncini,” she corrects in a low, threatening tone. Her claim on my name sends a slow lick of heat down my spine. “And if you think you can dismiss me like some simpering housewife, think again.”

Violence flashes in her eyes as she leans forward, mirroring his posture. The men exchange glances—some wary, others amused.

I don’t miss the way Giovanni rakes his gaze over her, the lingering assessment in his eyes. A muscle ticks in my jaw.

Aurora turns slightly, motioning to Nico. “Carry on,” she says, her voice even. “We’re all listening.”

Nico hesitates only a second before continuing, laying out the initial strategy. The Agostis have three main distribution warehouses—high-value targets that, if taken down, would cripple their operations.

Aurora listens, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the tabletop. I can see the gears turning in her mind, her sharp gaze flicking over the maps spread before us.

When she speaks, her voice is steady, deliberate. “We shouldn’t just disrupt their supply chain,” she says, tapping a manicured nail on a particular point of the map. “We should go after their street-level dealers. Their runners. Cut off the flow of cash and product from the bottom up. Bleed them dry before they even realize they’re dying.”

Silence stretches.

I lean back, steepling my fingers beneath my chin. I turn her words over, weighing them from every angle. She’s right. The Agostis will expect a direct assault on their strongholds, but they won’t be prepared for a war of attrition.

“That just might work,” Nico admits, rubbing his jaw. “If we coordinate multiple attacks across the city, we can scatter and overwhelm them before they react.”

Andrea nods slowly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The lady makes a good point.”

Aurora meets my gaze, her chin lifting in defiance. She’s waiting for me to dismiss her idea, expecting me to put her back in her place.

I don’t.

“Very well, principessa,” I say, my voice cutting through the murmured discussions. “Who am I to argue with such flawless logic?”

Her lips twitch. Triumph sparkles in her wide eyes.

“You’re my powerful husband, caro mio,” she croons, leaning in to brush a kiss against my cheek. “You’re the don who’s going to make sure the streets run red with the blood of their men and not ours.”

The words shouldn’t affect me. But they do.

I tighten my grip on the table, resisting the urge to pull her onto my lap and show her exactly what happens when she plays this game with me.

The next hour is a whirlwind of calculated debates and meticulous planning. I notice more than a few lingering glances thrown Aurora’s way—some appraising, some wary.

By the time I dismiss the council, we have the bones of a solid plan in place. As the men file out, Andrea clasps my hand, amusement glinting in his gaze.

“You’ve married quite the woman, Lucian,” he says, shaking his head. “She’ll be running circles around us all before long.”

I glance at my wife. She reclines in her seat, hands laced together in her lap, the picture of calm satisfaction.

My stunning, ruthless, maddening wife.

Giovanni reaches for her hand, his fingers grazing her knuckles as he murmurs, “Forgive me, Signora. I should not have dismissed you so harshly.”

I barely hear her murmured response. My attention is snared by the way his touch lingers just a second too long.

Possessiveness flares hot and sharp in my veins. My fists clench at my sides as I take a slow, deliberate step forward.

Giovanni releases her hand like he’s been burned.

Andrea snorts at the silent standoff, gripping his consigliere’s bicep before bidding their farewells.

When the door finally shuts behind them, I turn to my wife.

She watches me with an inscrutable expression, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Well played,” I mutter.

Aurora smirks. “You should know by now I’m not just a pretty face.”

“No, piccina,” I murmur, shaking my head with a low chuckle. “You’re a regular Machiavelli in heels.”

Her laugh is a quiet, confident sound that sends pure heat licking through my veins.

She dominated the room today.

Now I want to take her back to ours and remind her exactly who she kneels for.