The rich blend of cedarwood and the crisp sharpness of pine filled the lobby like a territorial claim staked in cologne.
It was unmistakable. Almost suffocating in its boldness. Cyrus Tangieri was waiting for me on the ground floor of the Sogno Publishing building, his signature scent announcing his presence long before I rounded the stairwell and caught sight of him through the glass. Another one of his "makeup" appearances, no doubt. Another performance of a man who refused to accept that the curtain had already fallen.
I wrinkled my nose. The heir to the most powerful crime family on the Eastern Seaboard, and he stood there broadcasting himself like a billboard in the middle of a civilian workspace. Did the man have no sense of discretion?
I glanced around, surprised by the absence of the usual spectacle that trailed Cyrus wherever he went. No breathless admirers pressing against the doors, no society-page photographers lurking on the sidewalk. Only a handful of my colleagues lingered near the copy room, nervously peeking around the doorframe with the wide-eyed reverence of people who understood exactly what kind of man was standing in their lobby. I wondered if he had stationed soldiers at the building's perimeter, quietly turning away anyone who might cause a scene. The thought settled in my mind as I descended the remaining flights of stairs, each step measured, deliberate, until I stopped just short of him.
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Cyrus frowned, a barely perceptible tightening at the corners of his mouth. Then he turned and walked to the passenger side of his black sedan, opening the door with the practiced ease of a chauffeur.
If it weren't for the impeccably tailored charcoal suit and the jet-black hair interrupted by that single streak of gold, the hereditary Tangieri mark that every firstborn carried like a brand, he could have passed for one.
"Patrizio invited us to dinner tonight," he began, his voice cool and unhurried. "He's celebrating a successful expedition. Something about a rare cache of liquid silver he tracked down overseas."
I placed a hand on my hip, cutting him off. "And?"
A deeper crease formed between his eyebrows. "Get in."
I crossed my arms tighter, not missing a beat. "I never said I wanted to go with you, did I?"
"Adriana." His voice dropped, low and edged, the way a man spoke when he was accustomed to being obeyed.
I didn't care. I turned on my heel and started walking toward my apartment, leaving him standing by the open car door with his hand still resting on the frame.
There was a time when I would have rushed to him, told him to get back inside the car, worried that someone might recognize him. Cyrus, with his tall, athletic frame and those devastating features, was the living embodiment of everything the Braveclaws Territory idolized: power, lineage, danger wrapped in beauty. Back then, I would have done anything to shield him from prying eyes, to keep him safe from the attention that followed him like a second shadow.
But now? Now I no longer cared. Let the world have its fill of him. I wasn't his woman anymore, and I had no obligation to protect what wasn't mine.
Beep!
"Adriana!"
I glanced over my shoulder. Cyrus had pulled the sedan alongside the curb and was creeping forward, matching my pace step for step, the engine purring low like a predator stalking its prey.
I turned my head back and kept walking, refusing to be swayed. "Stop following me, Cyrus. We're done."
Beep!
"Cyrus!" I spun around, frustration flaring through my chest.
The car lurched to a stop with a sharp screech of brakes that made me flinch, my hands flying instinctively to cover my ears. The sound cut through me, setting every nerve on edge. When I finally lowered my hands, I saw that Cyrus was still in the driver's seat, leaning across the center console to push the passenger door open from the inside.
Just as I was about to snap at him, a voice rang out from somewhere down the block.
"Hey! Isn't that the Tangieri car?!"
My heart plummeted. The recognition in that voice, the rising pitch of excitement and awe. Oh no. I was absolutely not prepared to be surrounded by Cyrus Tangieri's admirers right now. The last thing I needed was my face plastered across the society pages next to his, feeding gossip columns with speculation about a reconciliation that didn't exist.
"Drive!" I threw myself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut and hitting the lock. My eyes widened as I watched a cluster of figures materialize from storefronts and side streets, converging on the sedan with alarming speed.
Where did they even come from?
"You really want to come with me now?" Cyrus asked. Amusement threaded through his voice like silk through a needle.
I bared my teeth at him, every survival instinct in my body screaming to get away from the gathering crowd. "Just drive!"
A low chuckle escaped him, barely audible. He shifted the car into gear, and we eased through the growing knot of onlookers, accelerating smoothly until the figures shrank in the rearview mirror and disappeared.
It was then that the scent hit me.
Vanilla. Thick, expensive, and almost cloying in its sweetness, it saturated the leather interior like perfume sprayed directly onto the seats.
My eyes swept the dashboard, searching for a bottle, an air freshener, anything that might explain it. But as I inhaled again, the realization settled over me like a cold hand on the back of my neck. This wasn't manufactured. This was Lilith Dicellore's signature perfume, lingering in the cabin the way a woman's presence lingers in a room she's claimed.
I couldn't help but wonder what exactly she had done in this car for her scent to be so strong, so pervasive. How long she had sat here. How close.
Suppressing a scoff, I shot a sideways glare at Cyrus. "Well, well. I never knew you were so fond of vanilla."
"Hm." Cyrus gave a noncommittal grunt, his fingers making a subtle adjustment on the steering wheel.
What was that supposed to mean? The ambiguity gnawed at me, the unanswered question hanging in the enclosed space alongside Lilith's lingering perfume.
After that, silence settled between us like a wall. Cyrus drove me first to his preferred tailor on the old quarter's main avenue, a discreet establishment with no signage and a doorman who recognized the Tangieri sedan on sight. I changed into a navy-blue dress that had been selected with an unsettling precision for my measurements, and then we headed to La Rotta d'Oro, a high-end restaurant tucked behind an unassuming facade on the waterfront, for Patrizio's private celebration.
We were led up a narrow staircase to a reserved room on the second floor. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the lighting low and amber, the kind of room where deals were made and secrets were buried over expensive wine. As the staff opened the door, I noticed Patrizio and Lilith already seated inside. Lilith's expression flickered with surprise for the briefest moment when she saw me, a crack in her porcelain composure that she sealed almost instantly.
"Hey, you two!" Patrizio beamed, waving enthusiastically from his seat with a glass of prosecco already in hand.
Lilith withdrew her hands from the white tablecloth and crossed them over her chest, settling back in her chair with studied ease. "Hello, Adriana. Cyrus. What took you so long? Traffic?"
I gave a simple shrug, offering her a polite smile that didn't reach my eyes before turning to Patrizio.
"It was a last-minute invite, Rick. Sorry I didn't bring a gift, but congratulations on the successful expedition."
Patrizio Finetti was an eccentric of the highest order, a man whose vibrant personality could fill a cathedral. In the world of luxury goods and high-end jewelry, the Finetti name was synonymous with genius. Their goldsmith empire, the most renowned on the Eastern Seaboard, served as one of the most sophisticated fronts in the territory's financial architecture. Last year, Patrizio had embarked on an unexpected overseas expedition with a handpicked team and a budget that raised eyebrows even among people accustomed to extravagant spending, leaving most of the Family's associates puzzled by his abrupt departure.
However, Patrizio was nothing if not relentless. He simply ignored the whispered speculation in the society pages, the gossip that the young genius had finally pushed his eccentricity too far, that the Finetti heir had traded brilliance for madness.
I had become acquainted with him through Cyrus, who often brought me along to his regular gatherings with his closest circle: Patrizio and Lilith. The three of them had been raised together, inseparable since childhood, bound by the informal alliance between their families. It was through those dinners and late-night conversations that I had come to know Lilith as well.
"Don't worry about it. Rick unearthed a treasure worth millions. Literally. He's got more than enough gifts coming his way," Cyrus remarked as he guided me toward the table, his hand hovering near the small of my back without quite touching it.
"Hey," Patrizio retorted, feigning offense and pressing a hand to his chest. "I'd appreciate any gift from a good friend, especially a beautiful woman like Adriana here. Unlike some picky heir to the throne!"
Lies. My gaze snapped back to Patrizio, narrowing slightly.
I had never once seen him use or even acknowledge any of the gifts I had given him. Not a single one. Not like that gold-framed pair of sunglasses from Lilith that he carried everywhere, tucked into his breast pocket even when he didn't wear them, like a talisman. Or that ridiculous sunflower pin Cyrus had given him as a joke, which Patrizio brought up constantly at dinners for laughs, turning it over in his fingers with genuine affection.
It was only then that the truth crystallized fully, sharp and cold as a blade laid flat against skin. Lilith was the same. She and Patrizio never used my gifts, except for the occasional appearance on the society pages. A photograph here, a mention there, enough to maintain the illusion of warmth.
A sinking realization settled in my gut like a stone dropped into dark water. Maybe my suspicions weren't so far-fetched after all. Perhaps they had never truly accepted me. They had merely tolerated my presence to save face for Cyrus, to avoid embarrassing the Tangieri heir by openly rejecting the woman he had chosen.
They had never approved of our relationship. Their coldness toward me had always been there, just beneath the surface, hidden behind polite smiles and rehearsed pleasantries.
"I'm not picky!" Cyrus's voice rose slightly in defense as he paused mid-step. "I just don't see the point in using certain things. That's why—"
And there it was. The start of Cyrus and Patrizio's usual banter, the easy back-and-forth of men who had known each other since before they understood what their last names meant. Normally, I would have found their sparring amusing, even endearing. But tonight, I had no desire to linger. My eyes scanned the room for a seat.
The two remaining chairs sat opposite one another, one beside Patrizio and one beside Lilith.
"Since we're late, let's not keep Rick and Lily waiting any longer," I said, settling into my chair with a finality that closed the conversation. I wanted this evening over with.
A heavy silence descended over the table. I didn't bother to glance at Cyrus to gauge his reaction.
"Alrighty! Let's eat!" Patrizio's exuberant voice cut through the quiet like a match struck in a dark room. He waved over the waiter with a flourish.
Soon the table was laden with dishes, and conversation began to flow around me like a current I chose not to swim in. I made occasional comments but otherwise remained quiet, content to sip my drink and work through the food on my plate.
As the evening progressed, I watched Cyrus peeling prawns with meticulous care, his long fingers working with a surgeon's precision as he stripped each shell and placed the cleaned meat on a plate beside Lilith. I couldn't help but chuckle inwardly, though the sound that echoed in my chest held no warmth. Cyrus had always despised prawns. He had told me more than once that peeling them was too much hassle, that the effort wasn't worth the reward.
Yet here he was, serving them to Lilith without a word of complaint. Without even being asked.
The sight made me frown. The effort he put into catering to her was starkly different from how he had ever treated me. With Lilith, Cyrus moved on instinct, as though caring for her was something encoded in his blood, as natural and unconscious as breathing.
It seemed I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Patrizio suddenly shot a sidelong glance at me, something quick and unreadable flickering behind his eyes, before he nudged Cyrus with a playful shove.
"Look at you, Mr. Young Don! Don't just pile all the prawns on Lilith's plate. Can't you see this plate over here needs some love too?" He gestured with his thumb toward the empty plate beside me.
Cyrus blinked. He went still, momentarily dazed, as if he had just realized what he had been doing.
He paused, looking down at the prawn in his hand with an unreadable expression, before his gaze slowly lifted to meet mine.
