Elena tried to act normal, but it was almost impossible.
The man outside lifted the phone slowly to his ear.
Elena's stomach tightened.
She didn't know why, but the small movement felt far more dangerous than if he had pulled out a weapon. The way he turned slightly away from the street, speaking quietly into the phone, made it obvious he wasn't just making a casual call.
He was reporting something.
Or someone.
Elena.
Or Lucian.
Her fingers tightened around the warm cup of coffee the waiter had placed in front of her as she tried to look anywhere but the window.
"Stop staring," Marco murmured without looking up from his espresso, his voice light but carrying a sharp edge.
"I'm not staring," Elena whispered.
"You are," Marco said smoothly. "And if he wasn't suspicious before, he definitely is now."
Elena forced her gaze back down at the table, trying to act casual.
Across from her, Lucian sat perfectly still, the picture of composure. His dark eyes, however, betrayed nothing, and that only made the situation more unsettling.
"You don't seem concerned," she said quietly, her voice barely above the soft background hum of conversation and clinking cups.
Lucian lifted the coffee cup to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip. "I am always concerned."
"That's not what it looks like," Elena muttered.
He placed the cup down gently, the movement calm but calculated. "Concern does not require panic."
Marco chuckled softly. "She's not used to your level of calm, Lucian."
Elena leaned forward slightly. "So what exactly are we doing?"
Lucian's eyes flicked toward the window for a fraction of a second before returning to her. "Waiting."
"For what?" she asked, frowning.
"To see if he makes a mistake."
Elena's brows furrowed. "What kind of mistake?"
Lucian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he muttered something quietly in Italian, almost as if it were a casual aside:
"Non è solo."
Elena blinked, her heart skipping. "What did you just say?"
Marco, who had been glancing at his phone, translated casually, "He said the man isn't alone."
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
Marco tilted his head toward the street. "See for yourself."
Elena forced herself to glance casually outside. At first, nothing seemed unusual. Then she noticed another man near the corner of the block, pretending to scroll on his phone. A third strolled slowly past the café, eyeing them subtly.
"There are three of them," she whispered, tension tightening her chest.
"Four," Lucian corrected smoothly, his voice low, dangerous.
Elena's head snapped toward him.
"Four?"
Lucian's dark eyes flicked toward the reflection in the café window. "There is one behind us as well."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Elena suddenly became hyper-aware of the other café patrons, the laughter, the clatter of plates, the normality of life outside this tiny bubble of danger. None of them had any idea that a deadly game was unfolding just a few feet away.
Marco stretched lazily. "Well," he said, voice casual, "that answers one question."
Elena looked at him. "What question?"
"They're definitely watching us," he said with a grin. "And reporting our movements."
Lucian stood slowly, the movement fluid and controlled.
"Finish your coffee."
Elena blinked. "That's… your plan?"
"Yes," he said without turning to look at her.
Marco rose as well, tossing a few bills onto the table. "Trust me," he said lightly, "Lucian always has a plan."
Elena took a deep, steadying breath and forced herself to drink the rest of the coffee, though the taste had already gone bitter in her mouth.
Lucian walked toward the door, his steps deliberate, his calm aura like a blade cutting through the ordinary evening crowd. Marco followed. Elena hesitated for a heartbeat, then rose and moved after them.
The moment they stepped outside, the city air hit her. Milan at dusk was alive and fragrant—coffee, perfumes, street food—but the threat that had been sitting across the street was tangible, pressing in.
The man on the opposite sidewalk straightened slightly when he saw them. Elena froze, every muscle in her body tensed up.
Lucian didn't even glance at him. He simply began walking down the sidewalk as if they were just ordinary people out for an evening stroll. His presence drew attention regardless—passersby glancing at him and instinctively moving aside. His calm, dangerous authority radiated, making people naturally move out of his way.
Marco leaned closer to Elena. "Act natural."
"I am acting natural," she whispered.
"You look like you're about to rob a bank," he muttered, and she couldn't help but glance nervously at the man across the street again.
They passed the first man; his eyes followed them. Then the second, then the third. Elena's stomach twisted with tension.
Lucian finally stopped near a sleek black car parked along the curb. He turned his head toward Marco. "Adesso."
Marco nodded sharply.
Then, everything happened at once.
Marco lunged forward, grabbing the wrist of the man who had been trailing them, slamming him hard against the side of the car. The man barely had time to react before he was pinned, struggling against Marco's iron grip.
Elena gasped, stepping back instinctively. Lucian's eyes, cold as steel, scanned the street across from them. The man leaning casually against the wall froze instantly under that gaze.
"Walk away," Lucian said, his voice low, unyielding.
The man hesitated. The seconds stretched taut like a wire.
"Now," Lucian commanded, and the man bolted, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as he had appeared.
Marco tightened his hold on the man against the car. "Your friends just abandoned you," he said lightly, though every word dripped with menace.
Lucian stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the man like a warning. "Who sent you?"
The man said nothing.
Lucian sighed softly, almost regretfully. "Marco."
Marco's lips curved in a small, cruel smile. "With pleasure." He twisted the man's arm, sharp enough to make him wince.
"I asked you a question," Lucian said, quiet but deadly.
Still nothing.
Lucian's expression didn't waver, but his voice was a razor, cutting through the evening air. "Tell Caruso that watching me from a distance is a very poor strategy.
The man's eyes widened. Lucian stepped back.
"Let him go," he commanded.
Marco released him. The man didn't hesitate to run, disappearing into the night.
Elena's chest heaved. "You just let him go."
Lucian adjusted his sleeve calmly. "Yes."
"But—" she began, her voice incredulous.
"Now he will deliver a message," Lucian said, tone flat, almost detached.
Elena exhaled slowly, the tension coiling tight in her stomach. "You did that on purpose."
Lucian's gaze locked on hers. "Everything I do is on purpose."
Marco opened the car door, stepping back to gesture her in. "Well," he said, "that was fun."
Elena shook her head, disbelief mixed with awe. "Your definition of fun is deeply disturbing."
Lucian's dark eyes flicked toward the street before meeting hers again. "Get in."
She hesitated, then asked quietly, "Is it always like this?"
"No," Lucian said softly, his voice calm but heavy.
"Then what is it usually like?"
His voice lowered, while his eyes locked on her, his expression was dark: "Much worse."
Elena slid into the car, gripping the edge of the seat, as the brutal truth about him settled over her like cold morning dew: The danger surrounding Lucian was real.
And it wasn't even the beginning.
It was only just starting.