Lucien
He clenched and unclenched his giant fists, fighting the urge to punch Schwartz and tear his woman out of his best friend’s arms.
She was wearing a smocked yellow dress designed with rosebuds and looked achingly young in it. Simple and so very desirable, he thought, his eyes devouring her, the familiar longing spreading through him. But she took one look at him, her eyes blazing, the coffee-coloured eyes now smoky with pain and he knew he had lost her.
*
“Woman,’ he said gruffly, advancing.
“We need to talk.’
She moved away, out of Schwartz’s protective embrace and stiffened her shoulders.
‘There is nothing to say,’ she said, her voice flat. She turned her back to the room but he could see that she was shaking with emotion.
Being with this woman, having her in his life, had brought happiness to his otherwise hollow life; he had become a tycoon and a crime lord, taking women mindlessly, uncaring of the damage he left behind when he dumped them. Money, women, alcohol- they had been his staple diet and he had moved through them in a mind-numbing way, a savage journey. He had never been in a relationship which he wanted to prolong. Yet this little woman, younger than him by almost twenty years, had knocked him sideways when she appeared unexpectedly at his gentlemen’s club, the Fight Club actually, that evening, years ago; nothing in his past had prepared him for her, for the driving need he had experienced, still experienced, to claim her, to keep her to himself.
He knew that she was afraid of him; that had come about after she had accidentally seen him kill a man recently. The untamed violence that hovered beneath the cold mask he wore had been revealed on one memorable evening and she had shrunk from him. His woman knew he led a life based on violence but seeing it happen before her eyes had left her stunned.
*
It had been one of the men who had infiltrated his gang; Paval’s man.
The man had admitted to being on Paval’s payroll, and had been singing like a canary but letting him off alive would have been foolish and Lucien was no saint.
Lucien had had the man brought to his study; a bad decision. However, he had not expected his wife to come to look for him.
Furious that the fellow had managed to worm his way into Lucien’s bastion, the enraged Mafia Don had used his bare hands to twist the man’s neck. His men stood around, silent, watching as the Boss, having pummeled the man to within an inch of his life, coolly stepped forward and grabbed the man who was kneeling, his face bruised and bleeding. Lucien had used his powerful, giant hands to snap the man’s neck and his Woman had seen it.
She had stood there in the doorway, a shell-shocked look on her face, in her large robe.
*
Proserpina had come in search of him because it was almost two in the morning and their black sheep son Claude had not come home for a few days. No one had noticed her open the door. It was only when she gasped that he had whirled around.
*
He had extracted the confession, using his fists to batter the man. His men stood in a loose semi-circle, intent on what the man was saying; Lucien had no further use of the fellow and the man was begging to be spared, looking into the flint-like eye of the Mafia Boss who stood over him, his bare chest damp with sweat, knuckles bloody and torn.
Schwartz was standing by, observing the interrogation clinically; he was not a man who went in for hand-to-hand combat; he was a first-rate shooter.
Part of the information the man had spilt was regarding the existence of a son he had never known, existed.
Cole Brandt.
His son.
*
Just as Lucien stepped forward, unheeding of the man who was desperately grovelling at his feet, Proserpina had come in and seen him reach out, jerk the man to his knees and with his large hands, break the man’s neck with a sickening snap.
Proserpina’s shocked gasp had broken the moment.
His men spun around, their hands moving to their weapons as they stared at her, in her soft night robe, her eyes wide with horror and her hand over her mouth as she stood in the doorway.
Shirtless, he glared at her.
When she looked at him, her large brown eyes wide in revulsion, in dread, he knew that she would never look at him in the same way again.
“Get the f*ck out of my room, you stupid c*nt!” he had roared and she had spun and fled. Schwartz had looked at him, frowning.
*
That had been when he had distanced himself from her, deliberately.
She regarded him as a killer; what would be her reaction when she found out about his son? he had thought.
The self-disgust kept making him hate himself and he had avoided her. Had gone out of his way to keep her at a distance but the longing to have her with him, her soft touch her gentle presence and her yielding, plump body; it hurt him in a way that was almost physical.
*
Now Lucien became aware of his audience. Melissa Lord- what was she doing here, he thought his temper rising. Her small face was pink with anger as she glared at him, Aiyana, lounging against the door, watching him blankly. And of course, there was Schwartz, his face a mask of reproach.
Lucien growled,
‘Proserpina.’
Without looking at him, she spoke over her shoulder,
” I have nothing to say to you Lucien Delano; I wish to be alone.’
He stiffened. She had never rejected him so coldly.
Nobody dismissed him, the Mafia Don, so coldly and lived to tell the tale.
He was breathing heavily, trying the control his anger now.
‘Leave me with my Woman,’ he growled, his voice low with rage and Proserpina moved closer to Schwartz, her eyes going to his face, beseechingly.
“Mo chridhe,’ he said softly, holding her upper arms, gently, and Lucien gnashed his teeth. he knew it meant’ My heart,’ in Scottish.
“Listen to the man. He loves you. He is hurting too. He did not know how to tell you about this and he is hurting.’ Schwartz’s earnest face made Proserpina bite her lip in anguish.
Why couldn’t I have just loved this man, she asked herself for the umpteenth time. He would not have put me through an emotional grinder. I would have been loved and cherished. Shooting a furious, hate-filled look at the only man she had loved with all her heart, her husband Lucien Delano, she nodded her head slowly.
It was not the time to behave like a child; she did not have the luxury of weeping, or throwing a tantrum.
She had to behave like the mature mother of seven that she was.
‘Please, ‘her gaze shifted to Melissa who was looking indignant on her behalf and cool Aiyana who was watching the proceedings like someone watching a not-too-particularly interesting episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians.
Squaring her shoulders proudly, she spoke, her soft tones emphasising the firmness of her decision. She wrapped her arms around her waist and said,
‘I think I will listen to him.’
*
Lucien’s face was carefully blank but he noticed how she refrained from using his name. And the way she had paid heed to Schwartz’s words made him curl his fists. He was boiling with jealous rage as he thought, she listened easily enough to him, the sweet-talking bast*rd.
The three people in the room left, Melissa reluctantly so, and only after she had gone up to Proserpina and squeezed her friend’s hand, glaring at Lucien as she did so.
“We are waiting right outside.’ she declared loudly and Lucien would have laughed at her protectiveness at any other time. Now he sent her a threatening look that had her shift her eyes uneasily. But she left after giving Proserpina another quick hug. Schwartz lingered.
‘We are outside,’ he promised tenderly and Lucien bristled. Sending Lucien a loaded look, he strode out, as handsome as ever.
Lucien turned to watch as the door shut smoothly. Reassured, he looked at his wife who stood, stiff and unmoving, her scathing gaze resting on his face.
‘Your army of saviours is positioned outside.’ he said drily, ‘Don’t worry.’