Lucien didn't even have time to close the bedroom door before the first blow landed.
It wasn't a bullet or a blade this time—it was Charlène's fists. She turned on him the second they were behind closed doors, her face flushed with a mix of adrenaline and fury. She shoved his chest, her small frame vibrating with a rage that seemed too big for the room.
"Why the hell did you interfere?" she snapped, "I had her exactly where I wanted her!"
Lucien didn't move. He took the hit like he was made of iron, his hands sliding into his pockets as he watched her spiral. "You had a butter knife against the throat of a De Rossi, Charlène. I didn't interfere; I saved you from having to clean Sienna's cheap blood off your shoes."
