Chapter 14: 12 - The price of Silence

Four days.

It had been four long, agonizing days since I last saw her, heard her sharp wit, or felt the magnetic pull of her presence. Four days of radio silence.

She hadn’t called. She hadn’t texted. And worse—she had banned me from stepping foot inside her company.

I, Lucifer, the Mafia King, the ruler of an empire that thrived on fear and power, was standing outside her gates like a desperate man.

The first day, I had convinced myself it was a game—a clever ploy of hers to rattle me. By the second day, I was seething with frustration. By the third, I had become unrecognizable to myself.

The staff at my office tread lightly around me, terrified of the way my temper had spiraled. The smallest mistakes earned a fury that I couldn’t contain.

I smashed my phone for the fifth time this week when yet another call to her went unanswered.

It wasn’t just the silence that ate at me; it was the absence of her. In the two days we worked together, she had embedded herself into my routine so deeply it felt as if she had always been there. Her presence had become an addiction, one I couldn’t shake.

I missed her sharp comebacks, her unapologetic defiance, her very existence in my space.

And so, I found myself here, standing in front of her palace—a fortress that seemed to echo her very essence.

The place was a masterpiece of dark elegance. High spires loomed above, their intricate designs creating an ominous silhouette against the night sky. The gates were massive, forged from wrought iron and adorned with patterns of thorned roses and  designed flames, giving the impression that this wasn’t just a home—it was a dominion.

Her dominion.

I knew she could see me. Cameras were everywhere, their lenses glinting like her piercing gaze. She was watching, assessing, waiting for me to make my move.

Then, my phone rang.

Her name lit up the screen, and a rush of relief coursed through me. I answered instantly, but before I could speak—

“Lucifer Salvatore Di Carlo !”

Her voice exploded through the receiver with such fury that I instinctively held the phone away from my ear.

I couldn’t help it—I smirked. Her anger was electrifying, and for a moment, I forgot my frustration.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her tone sharp enough to cut through steel.

“I wanted to see you,” I said honestly, my voice steady despite the storm raging on the other end of the line.

“For what?” she snapped.

The truth? I missed her. But I knew better than to admit that outright. Instead, I leaned into humor, letting my voice drop into a teasing drawl. “What can I say? You’re the only one who can keep me entertained.”

“Leave,” she barked, her tone leaving no room for argument.

But I wasn’t going anywhere. “No.”

The line went dead, and I sighed. I knew her temper well enough by now to expect a long standoff.

Minutes later, the massive gates groaned open. My heart surged with triumph, but it was short-lived.

There she was, standing in the dim light of the entryway, her silhouette framed by the menacing glow of her palace’s torches.

Her expression was a storm of fury, her eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. In her hand, she held a knife, its blade catching the light and gleaming ominously.

I didn’t flinch.

I had faced death countless times, stared down the barrel of guns and walked through fire without hesitation. But this woman... this woman had a way of unnerving me like no one else ever could.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous as she stalked closer.

I didn’t move, didn’t speak. I just watched her, utterly captivated.

Her anger was magnificent.

“You think you can just show up here uninvited and demand to see me?” she continued, waving the knife for emphasis. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

I allowed a small, amused smile to curl my lips. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

She stopped a foot away from me, the knife poised between us. “Then why are you here?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me,” I said simply, meeting her gaze with unwavering intensity. “And I don’t like being ignored.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with Death .”

“And you’re breathtaking when you’re angry,” I countered smoothly.

For a moment, she faltered, her grip on the knife loosening slightly. But then she straightened, her anger renewed.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out myself,” she muttered, turning on her heel and marching back toward the palace.

I stayed rooted in place, watching her retreating figure. Despite the knife, despite her fury, I felt the corner of my lips twitch upward again.

This woman was going to be the death of me.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The moment I stepped inside her domain, the opulence of her home struck me. The place was a seamless blend of red and black, every corner exuding power, elegance, and an unmistakable sense of danger.

It was luxurious, yes, but not overly extravagant. She had an impeccable taste—each element of her home seemed deliberate, carrying her aura.

But as I moved through her palace, I noticed something odd. No photos. Not a single image of her adorned the walls or the surfaces.

It was as if she had erased herself from her own home.

“Amara!” I called out, my voice echoing in the vast, shadowy space.

No response.

When I finally found her, she was in the grand library area . Seated in a plush velvet armchair, she looked unbothered, a book open in her hands. The room itself was breathtaking—towering shelves filled with ancient book shelves , dim lighting casting golden hues on the rich wood, and a faint aroma of old paper and ink.

She didn’t look up when I entered.

It was as if my presence didn’t matter, as though I wasn’t there at all.

Still, she hadn’t stopped me from coming inside, and that was something.

I walked closer, glancing at the book in her hands. The title caught my attention: The Shadowed Grimoire: Secrets of Demonic Energy.

“Are you trying to learn black magic?” I teased, smirking.

She finally looked up, her gaze sharp as a dagger. If looks could kill, I’d be dead.

I sat down beside her, close enough for her to feel my presence but careful not to touch her. I wasn’t used to apologizing—hell, it wasn’t in my nature—but for her, I’d make an exception.

“I’m sorry.”

The words felt foreign on my tongue, but they were sincere.

She didn’t even blink. No reaction at all.

How strong was she, that she could make me, Lucifer Salvatore Di Carlo, apologize without lifting a finger?

The silence stretched, my frustration mounting. Finally, I sighed and leaned closer. “Please, say something.”

She exhaled softly, closing the book. But just as I thought she might finally speak, she smirked.

That smirk—it was maddening.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, my suspicion growing.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned closer, her hand reaching out.

Before I could react, her palm rested on my chest, right over my heart.

Her eyes closed, and a small, serene smile tugged at her lips.

That simple touch—her hand against my chest—sent a ripple through me. My smirk deepened as I watched her, captivated by how peaceful she looked.

But then, she opened her eyes, her gaze meeting mine.

It was only then that she seemed to realize the intimacy of our position. Her eyes widened slightly, and she stepped back abruptly.

Before she could escape, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

Her body pressed against mine, her heartbeat quickening as her breath hitched. She didn’t struggle, but she didn’t lean into me either.

I lifted my hand, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

She looked up at me, her defiance flickering, her walls wavering for just a moment.

“You…” she began, her voice steady despite her proximity. “Are... So predictable . ”

“And you,” I replied, smirking, “are irresistible.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, her sarcasm returning in full force. “You’re lucky I was tired right now.”

I chuckled, releasing her but not before squeezing her hand lightly.

“Are you still angry?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

She looked at me, her expression softening just a fraction. “No.”

That single word was enough.

I smiled, letting go of her hand. She turned and headed upstairs, her composure as regal as ever.

Once she was out of sight, I turned my attention back to the book she had been reading.

It wasn’t just about black magic—it was a deep dive into demonic energy, forbidden rituals, and the manipulation of shadows.

The notes in the margins were hers, written in a sharp, elegant script. She had been studying this meticulously, every page marked with her observations.

She was dangerous in a way that even I couldn’t fully comprehend.

And yet, I couldn’t stay away.

I ascended the staircase, leaving Lucifer behind in the library . Once in my room, I leaned against the door and took a deep breath. My heart, or what remained of it, felt heavy.

He was making me feel things I shouldn’t feel.

I had no business entertaining human emotions. They were a distraction, a liability—something that someone like me could never afford. But when he apologized earlier, I felt the faintest flicker of warmth. It wasn’t his words that moved me, but his heart. It wavered, just slightly, in my favor.

My blaze heart, the one I swore to protect, was letting its guard down.

I clenched my fists, steeling myself. This was all part of the plan. His growing obsession with me wasn’t accidental—I was the solution to his undoing.

And yet, a sliver of guilt wormed its way through me. I didn’t plan to hurt him. Once I retrieved what I came for, I would erase his memories, leaving no trace of me behind. At least then, he wouldn’t feel the pain of my absence.

I returned downstairs to find him engrossed in the book I had left behind. So curious, so persistent, I thought, watching him from the doorway.

“I didn’t peg you for a bookworm,” I said, my voice slicing through the quiet.

He looked up, startled for a moment before masking it with a grin. “You’ve got interesting taste in books.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just something to pass the time.”

Before he could launch into another quip, I interrupted. “Are you hungry? I was about to have dinner.”

His eyes lit up in a way that surprised me. “You’re inviting me to dinner?”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Why not? Or is that too ruthless for you?”

He chuckled but said nothing, following me as I led the way to the kitchen.

The kitchen was pristine, every surface gleaming under the warm lighting. It was well-stocked, as always—Enzo ensured the staff kept the fridge and pantry filled to my liking.

Lucifer glanced around, clearly impressed. “You cook?”

I shrugged. “Occasionally. But tonight, everything’s already prepared.”

He seemed fine with that, and we served ourselves. The table was set for two, the air thick with unspoken words as we sat down.

He was unusually quiet during the first few bites. Then, as expected, he broached the topic.

“So, Michael’s death…”

I didn’t look up from my plate, calmly humming in acknowledgment.

“How did you know it would happen?” His voice was measured, but his curiosity was palpable.

I set my fork down and shrugged. “I have my ways.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Background check?”

“Exactly,” I said, keeping my tone light. “It’s amazing what you can uncover when you dig deep enough.”

He hummed thoughtfully but didn’t press further. I knew he didn’t fully believe me, but for now, my vague answers would have to suffice.

After dinner, he lingered. I could tell he was searching for an excuse to stay.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “You seem awfully comfortable here.”

He grinned, the devilish spark in his eyes returning. “Maybe it’s the company.”

“Or maybe,” I said, tilting my head, “you’re just bad at goodbyes.”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Is it so bad that I want to spend more time with you?”

I pretended to ponder his question, tapping my chin. “Depends. Are you planning to overstay your welcome?”

“Define ‘overstay.’”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You’re shameless .”

“And you’re beautiful” he countered smoothly, the grin never leaving his face.

I stood and began clearing the table, but he followed me into the kitchen.

“Need help?” he offered, though he made no move to actually assist.

I waved him off. “I’ve got it.”

He leaned against the counter, watching me with an almost boyish curiosity. “You know, most people would be flattered to have me stay the night.”

I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Oh? And here I thought you were just afraid of the dark.”

His laughter echoed through the kitchen, rich and genuine. “Afraid? Hardly. I just think your palace has a… unique charm.”

“Unique charm,” I repeated dryly. “Is that what you call it?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “You can’t blame me for wanting to stay. It’s not every day I get to share a meal with someone like you.”

I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Maybe not. But persistence?”

I sighed dramatically, throwing up my hands. “Fine. Stay. But don’t expect me to entertain you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement.

As I made my way upstairs, I could feel his eyes on me. He wasn’t just lingering out of stubbornness—he genuinely wanted to stay, to be near me.

And as much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t mind his presence.