Lucien

Chapter Seven

Lucien

My shoes echoed on the polished marble floor of the grand ballroom. A dozen faces turned to greet me, but I ignored them, my gaze fixed on the massive chandelier overhead. It felt wrong to be here, smiling, shaking hands, while my mind was lost in a whirlwind of regret and desperation.  

She was out there, Lila, my strawberry girl. The thought of her drove me to madness. Five years, and still no sign of her. Five years of sleepless nights, replaying every mistake. Five years of watching Lily’s hollow smile and empty words, knowing she wasn’t the one I wanted.  

I stepped toward the bar, my throat dry despite the expensive wine in my hand. The conversations around me blurred, meaningless murmurs that only reminded me of everything I’d lost. My fingers tightened around the glass as a familiar voice cut through the haze.  

“Lucien.”  

My head snapped to the right. Dante Russo. The smug bastard leaned against the bar, his lips curled into a grin that made my blood boil. He was dressed impeccably, of course, but there was a gleam in his eyes that told me he was here for more than just idle chatter.  

“Russo,” I greeted flatly, my tone cold enough to freeze the air between us.  

“I hear you’re heading to Tuscany.” He raised his glass in mock salute, his words casual, but his tone laced with something darker. “Looking for someone, perhaps?”  

My jaw clenched. Dante’s network of informants was infamous, but how did he know? And why did he care?  

“That’s none of your business,” I said sharply, my voice low.  

“Ah, but everything about you is my business, Hunter,” he said with a smirk. “Especially when it involves Lila.”  

The glass in my hand cracked under the pressure of my grip. He knew. And worse, he wanted to use it against me.  

“What do you know?” I demanded, stepping closer, the weight of my anger making the room feel smaller.  

Dante chuckled, unfazed. “Nothing you don’t already know. Or maybe more than you’d like me to.”  

The urge to grab him by the collar and demand answers surged through me, but before I could act, the lights flickered, drawing the attention of the crowd. A moment later, the chandelier above dimmed, casting the room in a golden glow.  

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host’s voice boomed through the speakers, “please welcome tonight’s special guest.”  

The room erupted in applause, but I barely noticed. My mind was spinning. If Dante knew about Tuscany, he could jeopardize everything. My search, my plans—it would all be for nothing if he got to Lila first.  

“I’ll see you soon, Hunter,” Dante said, his tone almost playful as he slipped into the crowd, disappearing like smoke.  

I didn’t wait for the announcement to finish. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I seized it, praying for good news.  

A message from my investigator flashed across the screen: **She’s here. Tuscany. I’ll send the exact location soon.**  

Relief and dread tangled in my chest. She was close—finally, within reach. But the shadow of Dante’s smirk lingered, a warning I couldn’t ignore.  

I downed the rest of my drink, set the glass on the bar, and turned to leave. The party was over for me.  

As I stepped into the cool night air, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was a picture.  

Lila.  

Her chestnut-brown waves framed her face, and her hazel eyes sparkled with the determination I remembered so vividly. She was holding a little boy’s hand.  

My breath hitched.  

“Is this…?” My voice cracked as I stared at the photo, my heart pounding in my chest.  

The investigator’s reply came seconds later: **Yes. Your son.**  

The world tilted beneath me. My knees threatened to buckle, but I steadied myself against the sleek black car waiting at the curb. My son. My child.  

For a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, the flood of emotions surged forward—relief, anger, hope, and fear all at once.  

I climbed into the car, my hands trembling as I typed out a single message to my investigator: **Don’t lose sight of them. I’m on my way.**  

As the engine roared to life, one thought consumed me: I would find her. And this time, I wouldn’t let her slip away.  

But in the shadows of the city, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was watching, waiting to make their move.  

A second photo appeared on my phone. This time, it wasn’t Lila. It was Lily. She was in Tuscany too, standing outside the same café.  

What was she doing there? And how had she found out?