Chapter 3

LUCIEN POV.

The meeting room was silent.

Not because they respected me.

Because they feared what I might do if they spoke too soon.

The long oak table stretched before me, lit by a single low-hanging chandelier. Smoke curled lazily in the air. Guns were holstered. Jackets removed. But the tension?

Thick as blood.

Dante Vescari sat at my right sharp suit, sharp mind, sharper tongue. His fingers tapped slowly on the table like a clock counting down to war.

He was my right hand. My cleaner. My closest threat.

To my left, Nico Moretti, my cousin young, cocky, golden-blooded chaos wrapped in charm. He was the kind of man who smiled while lighting a match, just to watch a city burn.

And across from me, draped in that silent Russian chill, Aleksei Volkov.

Our Russian ally.

Tall. Cold. Unreadable. Covered in faint scars no one ever asked about.

I lit my cigarette slowly. Let the silence stretch. Let them sweat.

Dante broke first.

“Three shipments hit. No witnesses left behind,” he said, voice like sandpaper. “You think it’s the Sorrentinos?”

“It’s them,” Nico muttered, leaning back with a bored expression.

“It always is. They're just not smart enough to hide it.”

Dante turned his head, slowly. “They’ve gotten smarter. They hit our trucks with precision. Military style. Someone’s feeding them intel.”

My eyes flicked to the tablet on the table. Live camera feed. East wing hallway.

Her.

Poppy.

Wearing a pale blue blouse and that tight black skirt. Cleaning a mirror, slowly, her reflection trembling slightly with every swipe. She looked like a ghost. Or something made of porcelain.

Aleksei followed my gaze.

“Still watching the girl,” he murmured, accent curling around his English. “You always had a weakness for soft things.”

Dante didn’t even look. “You should’ve let her go the second she stepped near the west wing.”

“She’s still a risk,” Nico added, a bit too casually. “Or maybe not. Maybe she’s the answer. The Sorrentinos wouldn’t expect you to have a toy.”

“She’s not a toy,” I said flatly. The room stilled.

Dante’s stare sharpened. “Then what is she?”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t fucking know.

All I knew was that every time I watched her, something in my chest twisted. Something old. Something I’d buried years ago with her.

She wasn’t the same. And yet... those green eyes. Soft. Curious. Wild.

I took a slow drag from the cigarette and blew out the smoke.

“She stays.”

Aleksei raised an eyebrow. “Even if she’s a threat?”

“She’s under control.”

Dante scoffed softly. “Nothing about that girl is under control. Not the way she walks. Not the way she looks at doors she shouldn’t. She’s too nosy. Too stupid.”

I stood.

The chair scraped against the floor like a warning. Dante stood too not backing down. But he didn’t speak again.

Good.

I walked to the far end of the room and stared out the tall window, hands in my pockets.

“She looks like someone I buried,” I said quietly.

No one replied. Not even Nico. The silence said enough.

I turned my head slightly. “If she becomes a problem… I’ll deal with it myself.”

“Will you?” Aleksei asked, his voice smooth as ice. “Or will you keep watching her until she becomes something else?”

Something else.

Obsession.

Weakness.

Or maybe… redemption.

I didn’t know.

But I would.

And if the Sorrentinos came for me, they’d learn one thing very fast.

I don’t lose what I want to keep.

POPPY'S POV.

I had just finished wiping down the library table when the feather duster slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a soft thump. I bent down quickly to grab it.

And that’s when I heard the footsteps.

Confident. Slow. Not like the housekeepers or the guards those men moved like they were trained to disappear.

This one… moved like he wanted to be noticed.

I stood up fast, brushing the back of my skirt, heart racing for no good reason.

The footsteps stopped just behind me.

“Don’t tell me I finally caught the mysterious new maid.”

I turned around and froze.

He was beautiful in the most dangerous way.

Dark curls. Olive skin. Tall with a lean, muscular frame. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, tattoos peeking out, veins thick on his forearms. There was something boyish about his smile, but his eyes?

Those eyes didn’t belong to a boy.

They belonged to someone who had seen too much… and liked it.

He looked me up and down, slowly, without shame.

“Damn,” he murmured. “Lucien really hired you to clean?”

I blinked. “I… yes?”

He smirked and stepped closer, close enough that I could smell him warm spice and dark cologne.

“You’re braver than you look. Most new girls don’t last long in this house.”

“Why not?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His grin widened.

“You’re cute when you ask questions. But you should stop.”

“I wasn’t. . .”

He leaned in, voice low against my ear. “Around here, curiosity gets you fucked or buried. Sometimes both.”

My stomach twisted.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I whispered.

He pulled back just slightly, flashing a grin like he owned the world.

“Nico,” he said. “Nico Moretti. The cousin your boss pretends isn’t real.”

And just like that he winked, turned, and walked away.

Just as casually as he came.

I stood there, heart pounding, cheeks flushed, mouth dry. Something about him left a heat in my chest that didn’t feel safe.

And worse?

I was starting to wonder just how many men like him lived in this house.