“You've been busy,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
Her smile was thin and didn't reach her eyes. “One of us should be. Your brother would have understood the importance of family alliances.”
There it was. Gabriel. Dead twenty-two years, and still the golden standard against which I was measured and found wanting. I felt the familiar punch of grief and guilt, followed immediately by rage at her wielding his memory like a weapon.
“Gabe would have told you both to go to hell,” I said quietly.
My mother's face hardened into marble. “You don't get to speak for him.”
“And you don't get to puppet his corpse to manipulate me.” I stood up, no longer caring about the consequences. “I'm not marrying Samantha Hastings. I'm not a pawn in your corporate chess game.”
My father rose as well, his height—which I'd inherited—allowing him to look me in the eye. “Sit down, Rafael. We're not finished.”
“Yes, we are.”
“If you walk out that door, you're making a choice with permanent consequences,” he warned, voice dropping dangerously low. “The Hastings deal is just the beginning. Either you start taking your responsibilities seriously, or I'll find someone who will.”
I paused with my hand on the doorknob, my mother's cold stare burning into my back. “Find someone else, then. I'm done being your puppet.”
“You ungrateful—” my mother began, but I was already moving.
Slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass, I stalked down the hallway. My assistant appeared at my elbow barely a minute later. “The car is ready, Mr. de Luca.”
Of course it was. Richard knew how these meetings with my father went. Not trusting my voice, I nodded my thanks as we stepped into the elevator.
“Would you like me to clear your afternoon?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. I need...” I shook my head. “I just need some air. Some space.”
“Very well, sir.” He said, handing me my keys when we reached the garage level. “See you tomorrow.”
Just needing to put distance between myself and Orologio Media, I drove without direction at first. My phone buzzed repeatedly in my pocket—likely my father's people, already initiating whatever punishment he'd deemed appropriate for my defiance. Ignoring it, I pushed the car faster through the city until I found myself in familiar part of town.
My subconscious having steered me toward the one place where I could find a moment's peace in observation.
Vice and Virtue looked unassuming from the outside—a converted warehouse with discreet signage and a singledoorman who nodded in recognition as I approached. “Mr. de Luca. Good to see you again.”
The club was Santiago Alvarez's masterpiece—a playground for the wealthy where privacy was guaranteed and judgment suspended. Not the seedy strip club many assumed from the outside, but an exclusive venue where fantasies could be indulged in under careful supervision. For me, it had always been about watching—finding solace in being the observer rather than the observed.
The main room was bathed in low, red-tinted light, with private booths surrounding a central stage. I made my way to my usual spot—far enough from the stage to remain in the shadows, yet close enough to see everything.
A server materialized at my side almost immediately.
“The usual, Mr. de Luca?”
“Double it,” I replied, loosening my tie and undoing the top button of my shirt.
The bourbon arrived promptly, and I let the first sip burn down my throat, welcoming the heat that spread through my chest. On stage, a woman in an elaborate costume of feathers and crystals was finishing her routine to an appreciative applause. Settling deeper into the booth, I let the music and the shadows envelop me.
This was my ritual, my confession booth. Here I could simply exist without expectations, without the weight of the de Luca legacy crushing me.
“Gentlemen,” the announcer's voice broke through my thoughts. “Please welcome to the stage for the first time... Jade.”
My attention drifted toward the stage out of habit more than interest, expecting another beautiful stranger to provide momentary distraction. The lights dimmed further as a single spotlight illuminated the center of the stage and a new figure emerged from behind the curtain.
The moment I laid eyes on her; the bourbon froze halfway to my lips.
No. Fucking. Way.
