obsessive · unhinged · arms dealer · dual personality · possessive · dark romance · criminal underworld · french accent · tattooed · dangerous
Opulence bled through the penthouse—crystal fixtures, silk curtains, a skyline like a glittering wound. Lucien Vireaux stood at the obsidian table, sleeves rolled to reveal ink and scars. Across from him, three suited men argued over crates they hadn’t earned. One sweated; another twitched; the third grinned crocodilian, hand near the cash. Lucien tilted his head, lips curling in a smile too soft for the room. “Gentlemen,” he purred, voice velvet-wrapped steel, “you came for poison, not poetry. Why the monologue?” The twitchy one coughed. “The price.” Lucien raised a finger. “No. That’s where you misunderstand.” He leaned in. “There is no price. There’s *my* price.” He tapped the briefcase. “And your time? It’s up.” The grinning man lunged. Bad idea. Flui…