Chapter 5 Later that night

The city never slept, not in Luca's world. And as night fell over the towering skyline, Isolde found herself in a car with tinted windows, wearing a black dress she hadn't chosen, going to a place she hadn't agreed to.

She sat in silence beside Silvano, Luca's cold-eyed second-in-command, who hadn't spoken since they left the estate. The man was a shadow with a pulse-never expressive, never warm, only loyal to Luca and whatever orders he gave. Isolde had tried to ask where they were going, but he simply answered, "You'll know when it's time."

She hated that answer. She hated all of this.

Her hands trembled slightly on her lap, but she clenched them into fists. No matter what Luca threw her into tonight, she had to survive it. For Nico. Always for Nico.

The car slowed as it entered a private lot below a towering building downtown-glass and steel, sharp edges and money. It was one of those exclusive high-rises where the walls whispered secrets and the windows never opened. The kind of place where men like Luca brokered deals in blood and signatures.

Silvano led her inside. Through private elevators, past armed guards who never acknowledged her presence. She felt like a ghost being dragged through someone else's nightmare.

Then the doors opened.

The room was quiet, dimly lit with amber lights that bathed everything in a seductive warmth. A long glass table sat in the center, surrounded by four men. All of them turned when she stepped inside.

Isolde stiffened.

They weren't just men-they were the kind of people you heard about in whispers. Wealth, violence, influence. One of them had a scar across his jaw, another had the blank, reptilian stare of someone who'd seen too much to fear anything anymore. The third man had a kind of elegance, like a retired politician who still pulled strings behind curtains. And the fourth...

"Miss Moreau," the fourth man said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Or should I say, Luca's personal messenger?"

She recognized him. Artem Malcovich. Eastern syndicate. Ruthless, precise. He was a storm that people tried to avoid until it swept everything away.

Isolde swallowed hard. "I'm not anyone's messenger."

The room was silent for a beat.

Then Artem laughed. A low, amused sound that somehow made the tension worse. "I like her already," he said to the others. "She has teeth."

The man with the scar leaned back, arms crossed. "Luca said he was sending someone... but I expected one of his men. Not his pet."

Isolde's blood boiled. But she bit back her words. This wasn't about her pride. Not here.

"I'm not his pet either," she said, stepping forward. "I'm here because I can speak for him. Because he trusts me to make the deal."

Artem raised a brow. "Then make it."

The folder was already on the table. Silvano had placed it there before stepping back into the shadows. Isolde opened it with slow, deliberate hands. Inside were blueprints, shipment routes, and projections. A plan for moving goods-illegal, most likely-through ports Luca was about to take over in the south.

It was meticulous. Brutal in its efficiency.

And now it was hers to present.

She explained it. Every line, every logistical advantage, every blind spot that had been accounted for. She talked numbers and tactics like she'd spent her life in boardrooms instead of surviving on scraps and shadows. And as she spoke, something strange began to shift in the room.

They listened.

Not because she had power-she didn't-but because she carried Luca's voice. And because she wasn't stumbling or afraid.

Isolde realized, with a sick twist in her stomach, that she'd been trained for this. Every meeting, every silent moment watching Luca, every day she'd spent navigating the sharp edges of his world-it had all built up to this performance.

She finished the presentation and met Artem's gaze without blinking.

Silence.

Then the scarred man stood. "It's clean. I'll back it."

The politician nodded. "Me too. Tell Luca the vote's in."

Artem stared at her a moment longer, then stood as well. "He made an interesting choice sending you," he said. "I wonder if he knows what he's created."

Isolde didn't answer.

When they were gone, Silvano approached and offered her a small nod. "He'll be pleased."

She didn't care.

The car ride back was silent. The city's lights blurred past the windows, but Isolde barely noticed them. Her heart was racing, her hands clammy. She had done it. She had walked into a den of wolves and survived.

When she returned to the estate, Nico was asleep in his crib, peaceful and warm. She leaned over him, brushing a kiss to his forehead, letting her tears fall silently onto the blanket.

"I'm still here," she whispered. "I'm still here."

But for how long?

The next morning, she found herself summoned to Luca's study.

He was standing by the window, as always, drink in hand, suit immaculate. When she entered, he turned slowly and looked at her with something between pride and scrutiny.

"You did well," he said.

She didn't respond.

He stepped closer. "You impressed men who don't impress easily. Artem said you have teeth. I think he's right."

"I didn't do it for you," she snapped.

"No," he agreed, voice quiet. "But you did it. That's all that matters."

She glared at him. "You're grooming me. You're turning me into something I never asked to be."

"I'm giving you a future," he countered. "A chance to control your own fate. You think the world would've given you that if I hadn't found you bleeding in the street?"

"I would've figured it out."

"No, Isolde," he said, stepping closer, voice low and sharp. "You would've died."

The silence between them thickened.

Then he added, "But now, they see you. Now, they fear you. You've entered the game, whether you want to or not."

She felt her chest tighten. "You're using me."

"Yes," he said simply. "Just like you're using me."

Her mouth opened to argue, but nothing came out. Because he wasn't wrong.

"Why me?" she asked again, this time quieter. "Why not one of your soldiers?"

"Because they don't have your rage," he said. "And they don't have your reason to survive."

He stepped back, letting the air between them settle.

"Your next job will be harder," he said. "But you're ready."

Isolde left without another word. She didn't trust her voice.

Later that night, she stood on the balcony, looking out into the darkness, Nico asleep inside. The wind curled around her shoulders, but she barely felt it.

She had taken her first step into Luca's world.

And now, she didn't know if she could ever walk back out.