The morning didn't start with a romantic stroll; it started with a kidnapping—or at least, that's what Charlène was screaming to anyone within a three-block radius of the Via Montenapole.
"Hey! Let me go, you oversized gargoyles! This is illegal! I have rights!"
Lucien didn't even look up from his phone. He stood on the sidewalk outside the most exclusive boutique in Milan, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as he listened to his "Future Donna" treat his elite security team like a wrestling squad. Behind him, his right-hand man, Marco, was coughing into his hand, a sound that was suspiciously close to a smothered laugh.
Whoever this girl was, she was a handful that Lucien hadn't factored into his spreadsheets.
"Signore," the lead guard gasped, his face flushed as he literally hauled Charlène over his shoulder. She was kicking, her designer heels narrowly missing his chin. "She... she refuses to exit the vehicle."
