Power moved like a current in the room—charged, invisible, but undeniably present.
The next morning, Lucien Cain sat in the private lounge of Blackthorn Tower, the unofficial headquarters for the most dangerous men in the city. From the outside, the building was just another luxury high-rise. Inside, it was a fortress of secrets, handshakes, and blood-signed deals.
He wasn't here for appearances.
He was here to send a message.
Across from him sat Dante Velasquez, the head of a rival syndicate that had been whispering rebellion behind closed doors.
Lucien didn't believe in whispers.
"I'll give you one chance," Lucien said calmly, pouring himself a glass of scotch. "Bend, or break."
Dante laughed, but it was nervous. "You think you can own the entire East District alone? Even kings need alliances."
Lucien took a sip and stood. "I don't need alliances. I need obedience."
With a nod, his right hand man, Jax, stepped forward and dropped a folder onto the table. Inside were photos—graphic, final.
Dante's smirk faded.
Lucien leaned down, voice like frost. "You have twenty-four hours to shut down your ports and reroute them under Cain jurisdiction. Do it quietly. Or I'll bury your men next."
He turned and left.
Not with anger. Just certainty.
⸻
Later that afternoon, Sera Moretti walked into a board meeting like it was a war room. Her assistant trailed behind, rattling off numbers, but she barely listened.
Her thoughts were elsewhere.
On him.
Lucien Cain.
She hated that she was still thinking about him.
Not because she didn't want to—but because she did.
There had been men before. Boys in suits who thought power was loud and charm was control. Men who flinched when she raised her voice. Men who crumbled when she refused to be tamed.
But Lucien? He hadn't flinched. He hadn't begged. He hadn't blinked.
She saw it in his eyes—the hunger. The need for domination.
He hadn't come to dance.
He came to take.
And somehow, that made her want to burn.
⸻
When the meeting ended, she stayed behind, looking out the glass wall of her office. Her reflection stared back—flawless, controlled, untouchable.
Then her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She picked up.
"You're thinking about me," came the deep, familiar voice.
Her spine straightened. "That's quite the assumption, Mr. Cain."
Lucien chuckled softly. "Tell me I'm wrong."
She paused.
Then said, "You're a distraction. One I can afford to ignore."
"I'm not here to be ignored."
"Then what do you want?"
A moment of silence.
Then: "Dinner. Tonight. My place. 8 PM."
She blinked. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"I don't ask."
She laughed. "And I don't obey."
"Then show up and prove it."
The call ended.
Sera stared at the screen. Her heart was beating faster than it should. Not out of fear—but excitement.
Damn him.
⸻
That evening, she wore black. A sleek silk dress with a slit that reached mid-thigh and heels sharp enough to kill. Her red hair was coiled in a low, elegant bun, leaving her neck bare and vulnerable.
She didn't wear perfume. She wanted him to remember her scent.
The elevator in his penthouse opened directly into a palace of glass, steel, and shadows. No guards. No staff. Just Lucien, standing beside the floor-to-ceiling window with a glass in hand.
"You're early," he said without turning.
"I like to surprise people."
"I don't like surprises."
"Then this should be fun."
He turned slowly.
She stole his breath.
Not that he'd ever admit it.
He gestured toward the table. "I had dinner prepared."
She sat. "If you poison me, make it quick."
He smirked. "I don't want to kill you, Sera. I want to… understand you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you call it?"
Lucien studied her, eyes lingering just a second too long. "You're not like the others."
"Flattered," she said dryly.
"I mean it. You don't want to be saved. You want to be respected. Feared. Obeyed."
"Exactly." She leaned forward. "And you're used to women bending to you."
"Used to it?" he echoed. "I expect it."
Sera smiled, slow and wicked. "Then this is going to be disappointing for you."
Their eyes locked across the table.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The air thickened. The tension twisted.
Then Lucien stood, walked around the table, and stopped behind her. He leaned down, his breath brushing her neck.
"I don't want to tame you, Sera," he whispered. "I want to burn with you."
Her breath caught.
He reached down, traced a finger from her shoulder to her wrist.
She turned her head slightly. Their lips almost touched.
Almost.
Then she pulled away.
"If you want a puppet," she said, standing, "call one of your playthings. If you want war, Cain… I'm the battlefield."
She walked to the elevator without looking back.
Lucien stood frozen.
His hand clenched.
And for the first time in years, his control cracked.
Not because she disobeyed.
But because she made him want more.
And that scared the hell out of him.