Page 109 of Goldflame

“No.” His fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “This isn’t a negotiation, Aurelia. Some lines we don’t cross. Some sacrifices we don’t make. I’ve allowed too many compromises in my life, and I’ve watched too many people I care about be broken on the altar of necessity. Not you. Not this.”

The fierce protectiveness in his voice wraps around me. I see now what he tried to shield me from for all those years and what he’s still shielding me from.

“Aww,” Lorenzo coos from his position by the desk. “You two are adorable when you’re planning murder and arguing about fake degradation photos.”

Adrian shoots him a withering look that would make lesser men crumble, but Lorenzo only grins, clearly comfortable with Adrian’s deadly glare.

“Come on,” Adrian says, taking my hand. “Let’s go back to bed. We need more sleep after last night.”

I allow him to lead me from the office, my heart a strange, overflowing mix of gratitude and sorrow. His fingers wrap around mine, solid and real and present in a way he never allowed himself to be before.

But as we walk, the question lingers, a shadow in my thoughts: who is the woman asking for Adrian?

For now, though, I let myself be guided back to the warmth of sheets that smell like him, that smell like us. For now, I choose to trust.

For once in my life, I choose to believe in something good.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

JULIAN

Paperwork for the past month are spread out on my office desk like a sea of failure. I try to blink away my exhaustion, but everything remains blurry. Mother sits across from me, a pen dancing between her fingers as she makes notes on a legal pad. Her cursive is elegant while mine is chicken scratch.

“The DeMarco distribution network fell ten percent after Vincent died, and now it’s dropped five more since his idiot cousin Francis overdosed,” she says. Yet her voice has none of the tension that’s crushing my own. “But Gregory Whitman’s casinos are up. Those three new locations are performing well.”

I rub at my temples, trying to focus on the numbers and text that determine the lives and deaths of people I’ll never meet. The Consortium is a machine that keeps running even when its operators change. The gears never stop grinding—they just consume different souls.

Even if someone wanted to bring it down, it’d be impossible.

“Who’s the new DeMarco in charge?”

Mother sighs, setting her pen down with a soft click against the mahogany. “Still to be determined. Some of them are too ambitious and impatient. We may need to look for another family entirely to take over those networks, one who understands the value of stability.”

“Yeah, well, maybe in a few months I’ll run everything into the ground and this nightmare will end.”

She doesn’t flinch, just studies me with those eyes that match mine. Eyes I inherited but never fully understood until recently.

“You’re doing better than you think,” she says after a moment, her voice softening. “Lucian struggled too, you know. In the beginning.”

The comparison to my father stings like alcohol in an open wound. I don’t want to be like him—I’ve spent my entire life fighting against becoming him. But lately, the resemblance feels inevitable, like gravity pulling me toward a fate I can’t escape.

I lean back in the leather chair that still feels too big for my body. “I doubt that. Lucian seemed born for this shit.”

“No one is born for this life, dear. Your father was thrust into it just as you were. The difference is that he never let anyone see him stumble.”

She stands, moving to the small bar cart in the corner to pour two fingers of whiskey into a crystal tumbler. Her movements are graceful despite the lingering stiffness from how I treated her the other day.

She’s cautious now and I hate that I caused that.

“Here,” she says, placing the glass in front of me. “You’ve earned this.”

I take a sip, the burn chasing away some of the fog in my head. “The difference is that he never included you in any of this. He never valued your opinion.” I tell her this because I’m grasping at straws, searching for ways I’m not likehim.

“No, he didn’t.” Her fingers brush against the papers on the desk. “To him, I was just another possession. Something to be displayed and controlled.”

“But that’s not who we are.” The words feel important, like I’m making a vow to both of us. “That’s not who I am.”

She reaches across the desk to touch my hand, her fingers cool against my skin. “I know, sweetheart. You value my opinion and treat me as an equal, and I love that about you. Though I miss Adrian, honestly, I’m happy you’re the one in power.”

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