Heartstrings

(5) Vile

Lucas frowned at his brother pacing back and forth in front of his desk. The four Societies was in the brink of war. Three days after the mess of the wedding, they're all drawing their guns at one another. They both turned angrily at the door when they hear a knock. Lucas specifically asked not to be disturbed. It took all his willpower not to shoot whoever was making the knocking behind the door.

Agatha enters. "I'm sorry, sir. But I found something in her room that you might want to see?" Her voice came out urgent, so the reprimand in the tip of his tongue remained voiceless.

Jacob shot him a confused look.

The old woman approached his desk and laid down a diamond ring. "It's hers."

He nodded at her loyalty and gestured to the door. "Thank you, Agatha."

The moment the door closed, he cursed through gritted teeth.

"She's the missing bride, isn't she?" Jacob lets out a hoarse laugh.

He shoved his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Fuck."

"This is trouble. Shit, I knew there was something off about her." Jacob groaned. "What the fuck are we going to do? There's no way we can make it look like we didn't kidnap her."

Lucas took the ring in his palm, crushing it in his hand. "Tell Agatha to bring her in. I need a moment with her."

His brother stalked toward the door, his strides long and hurried. "I can't believe this all went to shit so fast."

He released the ring from his grip and look down to it. It stared back at him as if taunting him. He had too much in his head to make planned actions for, but he couldn't shake off that one thought that she lied to his face.

She comes in and marched slowly toward his desk, the look on her face weary. Her skin was pale and creamy in a mauve mini-dress. Every patch of exposed skin a semblance of reclusive childhood. Matteo Deniro has treated his daughter like a treasure no man has allowed to touch or see. Hell, he made her lived like a ghost in the eyes of other Societies. The engagement party was the first time they were allowed a glimpse of her. Except it didn't happen.

He could justify her confined childhood so easily at the sight of her, deliciously bathing from the sunset coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. Her dark hair was curlier and almost a golden brown under the sun, some tendrils curling to her forehead as if waiting for someone to tuck them into place for her. She looked like an angel, hiding her halo somewhere.

Fuck, he knew there wasn't any halo after how she flawlessly lied. Even then she was goddess who happened to dwindle him into believing every word that she says.

His muscles tensed.

It bruises his ego that he believed her.

Lucas sighed, then his raging fury was contained. "You initiated war by lying to me," he says coldly.

Her eyes widened. For the first time, they actually displayed fear and anxiety.

They should be. Because he's so pissed. "I'm going to ask you again and don't you dare fucking lie to me again."

She flinched a little.

"Who are you?" He questioned harshly.

She visibly swallows. "I'm Sophia Deniro."

Her name rang in his office like a ticking time-bomb. Hearing it in her own voice strangled him. He needed it.

He watched her fiddled with her fingers nervously. She tried to the tame the curling locks of her hair and restrain them behind her ears. Failingly. His fingers itched to touch them.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs quietly.

His lips twitched. "I appreciate that. But we both know an apology won't cut it."

"I needed to run."

"You ran to the wrong place."

There was a slight crinkle between her brows. "Your men took me."

"I meant you ran to your groom's suite." He stood from his chair, taking off his holster with a thud on the desk. His switchblades shone under the sun, his guns sleek and black.

She shivered at the sight.

"I'm going to ask the same questions, Sophia." He strolls around his desk until he made it to her. "Why were you at Swanson's suite?"

"He asked me to be there."

"Is that the truth, Sophia?"

Her head did a little shake. "Sophie," she corrected.

His brows arched. "Okay, Sophie. Why would he ask you to be in his suite?"

"He said he couldn't wait any longer until the wedding night." Her voice quivered. She hadn't noticed it, but disgust and fear dripped in her voice. "I told him he would insult my father. There were guards everywhere and they will report to him if they see him stand an inch closer to me. He dismissed the guards."

"Who killed him? Were you an accomplice?"

"Why would I be an accomplice?" She scowled.

His teeth grinded. "Because a man will kill another if you ask him to."

"Are you saying that I had a lover to do it?" Her frown deepened.

Lucas tilted his head. "Don't put words in my mouth, Sophie." The name Gabby had popped in his head and he was halfway through thinking about the premature thought. If this Gabby was the lover who plunged knives to her future horrible husband to-be, the idea is passably possible.

"You implied it," she hissed, fire growing in her blue eyes. She pushed at him, but he didn't so much as budge. She pushed harder, only this time she caught her hands and tugged her to his chest.

He reveled in the inches he towered over her. And she was damn soft against him it's driving him to utter distraction. He retreated several steps back before he forgets himself. Before he forgets she was the forbidden fruit.

Sophie glowered at him.

When he trailed his eyes down, she was already holding two of his knives. He stared, more fascinated than troubled at the way her hand curved around the knife. There wasn't any inexperience to it. Then with a flick of her wrist, the knife shoots toward him.

He dodged it. It sliced through the hardwood of his office door.

How did she know her fucking way around knives?

Her face iced as she aims another knife at him. It was the look of someone who's held knives before. Several times before. But he'd been sparring knives ever since he could remember that he's already had his hand on her wrist in a blink, giving it the exact amount of pressure – but not enough to actually hurt her – to make her loosen her grip.

He swung her arm and twisted her around so she was pressed up against his desk. She was good, but he was better.

Lucas almost smirked at the realization that Swanson's death wasn't any of the Societies' doing after all. And, damn it, he finds it hot.