365 nights of shadow

Chapter 6: Shadows of the Past

ELARA

The "clothes" Sebastian mentioned weren't clothes; they were an armor of luxury. I was draped in a cream-colored silk suit that fit me like a second skin, paired with gold heels that made me feel like I was walking on stilts above a pit of snakes. Around my neck sat a diamond choker-tight, cold, and a constant reminder of the leash he'd tied around my life.

We were in a blacked-out Maybach, the Sicilian heat shimmering off the pavement outside. Sebastian sat next to me, his presence taking up all the oxygen in the car. He was on his phone, barking orders in Italian about "shipping routes" and "liquidation." He looked like a king going to war.

"You look like you're going to a funeral," he said, not even looking up from his screen.

"I am," I replied, staring out at the blurred olive trees. "My own."

"Stop being dramatic, Elara. It's boring." He finally looked at me, his eyes sharp. "We're meeting a business associate at a private club. You will sit, you will look beautiful, and you will keep your fucking mouth shut. If anyone asks, you're my fiancée."

"Fiancée?" I let out a harsh laugh. "You're delusional, Sebastian. You really think you can just play house after what you did?"

He leaned in, his hand gripping my thigh through the silk trousers. "I'm not playing, piccola. I don't play. I win. Now, if you want to make this difficult, I can always call Cassius and have him bring Raven here to join us in the 'fun.' Would you like that?"

The threat hit home. I swallowed my pride, the bitter taste of it coating my tongue. "I'll play your game. For now."

"Good girl." He patted my cheek, a gesture that made me want to bite his hand off.

We arrived at L'Eclisse, a members-only club tucked behind an ancient stone facade in the heart of Palermo. The moment we stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. Men in suits stood up. Waiters bowed. It was a cult of personality, and Sebastian was the deity they feared.

But as we were led to a private booth in the back, I saw him.

Near the bar, partially obscured by the shadow of a marble pillar, was a man in a rumpled linen suit. He looked older, tired, and terrified.

Lucien.

My heart stopped. My "safe" ex-boyfriend. The man Sebastian said he'd bought off. But he wasn't alone. Standing next to him, whispering in his ear, was a man I didn't recognize-someone with a Russian accent and a jagged scar across his throat.

"Lucien?" I breathed, my feet rooting to the spot.

SEBASTIAN

I felt her freeze before I heard her whisper the name. Lucien.

My jaw tightened until it ached. I followed her gaze and saw the rat. He was supposed to be halfway to Brazil by now. The fact that he was here, in my city, at my club, meant one of two things: either he was stupider than I thought, or someone was using him as bait.

And seeing the man standing next to him-Viktor, a mid-level enforcer for the Volkov syndicate-I knew it was the latter.

"Keep walking," I hissed into Elara's ear, my hand sliding around her waist, my grip borderline painful.

"He's here! Sebastian, you said you sent him away!" She tried to pull back, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and horror.

"I said move!" I growled.

I signaled to Cassius, who was trailing five paces behind. He saw Lucien too. His hand went to his jacket, his eyes scanning the room for the rest of the Russian crew. This was a setup. A public provocation.

"Sebastian, please, let me talk to him," Elara pleaded, her voice trembling.

"You want to talk to the man who took five million dollars to walk away from you?" I stopped, spinning her around so she was pinned between me and the wall. The club was watching us, but I didn't give a fuck. "He's not here to save you, Elara. He's here because he's a pawn. And if you move toward him, I'll have Cassius put a bullet in his head before he can even say your name."

"You wouldn't," she whispered.

"Try me," I challenged. "I'm having a very bad day, and the only thing keeping me from burning this place to the ground is the fact that you're wearing my diamonds."

I forced her into the booth, sitting her down with a thud. I sat next to her, my arm draped over the back of the leather seat, projecting a calm I didn't feel.

Across the room, Lucien made eye contact with me. He looked pathetic. He looked like a man who had realized too late that he'd sold his soul to the wrong devil. But it was the look he gave Elara that made my blood boil-a look of recognition, but also of guilt.

Then, my phone buzzed again. The same unknown number.

He's not the only one from London who's looking for her. Ask her about the night at the warehouse, Sebastian. Ask her what happened to the 'other' girl.

I looked at Elara. She was staring at Lucien, tears welling in her eyes. She looked like a victim. But according to this message, she was something else entirely.

"Elara," I said, my voice low and dangerous.

"What?" she snapped, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"What happened in London? Before the rain. Before I found you."

She paled. Not the pale of fear, but the ghostly white of a woman who had just seen a ghost. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," I whispered, leaning in so close our noses touched. "You have a secret, piccola. And I think your 'safe' little life was just a mask for something much darker. Tell me the truth, or I'll let the Russians have your boyfriend. And I'll watch while they do it."

"Sebastian, please..."

"The truth, Elara. Now."

Before she could speak, a glass shattered at the bar. Viktor had shoved Lucien toward our table. The room went silent as the Russian stepped into the light, a smug smirk on his face.

"Sebastian," Viktor called out, his voice echoing. "You have something that belongs to us. And I don't mean the girl. I mean the information she's carrying in that pretty little head of hers."

I felt Elara shake violently next to me. She wasn't just a girl I'd obsessed over. She was the key to something that could destroy my empire.