Chapter Six - Pricilla

The sunlight streaming through the curtains felt invasive, too bright for the mood that had taken root in my chest. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the phone in my hand. My inbox was empty, aside from a few perfunctory updates from Luka. The man was always efficient, always meticulous in his reports, and for a moment, I found myself grateful for his steadfast presence in the chaos of my life.

Luka had been with me for years—my shadow, my shield. When my father assigned him to me, I'd bristled at the idea of having someone constantly monitoring me. But over time, his quiet loyalty had earned my trust, something few others had managed to do. Trust. That word lingered in my mind like an aftertaste, bitter and unwanted. It was a luxury I couldn't afford in this world, but with Luka, I'd allowed myself the smallest indulgence.

Pulling myself from my thoughts, I forced my legs to move, slipping into my usual armor: a tailored blazer, sleek black trousers, and the sharpest heels I owned. Every step I took in those heels echoed like a declaration—I was in control. Even if it was a lie.

The house was alive with activity as I descended the stairs. Guards patrolled the hallways, their gazes sharp and unflinching. My father's empire thrived on discipline and order, traits he'd instilled in every man under his command. Yet, even amidst the calculated chaos, something felt...off. A tension hummed in the air, subtle but undeniable.

In the dining room, my father was already seated at the head of the table. His sharp eyes flicked up as I entered, scanning me with his usual scrutiny.

"You're late," he said, his voice cold but not unkind. A statement, not an accusation.

"I wasn't aware there was a schedule," I replied, taking my seat across from him. Our conversations were always like this—pointed, guarded. He didn't trust anyone, not fully, and I wasn't an exception.

He folded his newspaper and leaned back, studying me. "Luka updated me this morning. He's handling the situation with precision, as expected."

"Good," I said, keeping my tone neutral. Luka's reliability was one of the few constants in my life. If he was involved, I didn't need to worry.

The silence between us stretched, heavy with unspoken words. My father wasn't one for idle chatter, and neither was I. We operated in shadows and silence, where actions spoke louder than words.

After breakfast, I retreated to the study, seeking solace in the smell of old books and polished wood. It was my sanctuary, the one place where I felt even a shred of peace. I poured myself a drink—a habit I'd picked up from my father—and let the burn of the liquor ground me.

My mind wandered, as it often did, to Anton Rosenthal. His name alone was enough to ignite a storm inside me. He was everything I despised—arrogant, dangerous, and entirely too perceptive. And yet, he lingered in my thoughts like a shadow I couldn't shake.

The note he'd left still haunted me:

"I don't think we're done yet, Princess."

I'd ripped it to shreds, but the words were seared into my memory. The way he said "Princess" made it sound like a curse, but there was something else beneath it—something I refused to acknowledge.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. "Come in," I called, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

Luka stepped in, his expression unreadable as always. His dark suit was immaculate, his posture perfect. "Miss Moretti, there's been a development."

I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of development?"

"Anton Rosenthal," he said, his tone as measured as ever. "He's making moves. Nothing overt, but enough to warrant concern."

Of course, it was him. "And what exactly do we know?" I asked, swirling the amber liquid in my glass.

"Not much," Luka admitted. "He's careful, but there are whispers. He's been meeting with people outside of his usual circles."

"Let me guess," I said, setting my glass down. "You'll handle it."

A flicker of something—guilt?—crossed his face, so quick I almost missed it. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual calm. "As always," he said. "I've already taken steps to monitor the situation."

I nodded, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. As the door clicked shut behind him, I allowed myself a moment to breathe. Luka had always been my lifeline, my most trusted confidant. If anyone could deal with Anton, it was him.

But what I didn't know—what I couldn't possibly suspect—was the truth. That Luka wasn't mine anymore. That the man I trusted with my life had already sold his loyalty to Anton Rosenthal. That every step he took, every report he gave, was carefully orchestrated to keep me in the dark.

I lingered in the study long after Luka left, pacing slowly, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The thought of Anton making moves outside his usual circles unnerved me more than I cared to admit. He wasn't the kind of man to act without a plan, and whatever he was scheming, it wouldn't be small. The Rosenthals never dealt in anything small.

I picked up the glass I'd abandoned earlier and took another sip, the burn of the whiskey anchoring me. My fingers itched to do something—make a call, demand answers, anything to regain a sense of control. But that wasn't how this game worked. I couldn't act out of impulse, not when the stakes were this high.

Luka's words replayed in my head. "He's careful, but there are whispers." Luka was always precise with his language, never overstating or understating the situation. If he said there were whispers, it meant there were fires spreading that we hadn't yet seen.

I had to admit, Luka's ability to stay composed in the face of uncertainty was something I admired. His loyalty had always felt unshakable, his presence a constant reassurance. But lately, there'd been something about him—a subtle change I couldn't quite put my finger on. A hesitation in his words, a flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes.

No. I shook the thought away. Luka had earned my trust, and in this world, trust was sacred. If I started doubting him, I'd be left with no one.

The study door creaked open again, and I turned sharply, expecting another update. But it wasn't Luka.

It was my father.

"Pricilla," he said, his deep voice filling the room. "We need to talk."

I straightened, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "About what?"

He stepped inside, his presence commanding as always. My father had a way of making any room feel smaller, as if his sheer force of will could bend the walls around him.

"Anton Rosenthal," he said simply, his expression unreadable.

Of course. He was all anyone could talk about these days.

"What about him?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

"He's getting bolder," my father said, crossing his arms. "And I don't like it. He's already sent his men sniffing around our territory. If we don't respond, he'll see it as a weakness."

I tilted my head, studying him. "What kind of response are you suggesting?"

He met my gaze, his eyes cold. "A show of strength. Let him know we're watching, that we're not afraid to retaliate."

"Retaliate against what?" I challenged. "From what Luka's told me, he hasn't done anything overt."

"Yet," my father countered. "You know how these things work, Pricilla. He's testing us, pushing boundaries to see how far he can go. If we wait for him to make the first move, it'll be too late."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My father's paranoia had served him well in building his empire, but it often bordered on obsession. Still, I couldn't dismiss his concerns entirely. Anton wasn't someone to underestimate.

"I'll handle it," I said, my voice firm.

My father raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"Yes, me," I replied. "Luka and I will make sure he understands where the lines are."

For a moment, he simply stared at me, his sharp eyes searching for something. Approval? Reassurance? Whatever it was, he didn't find it.

"Fine," he said at last, though his tone was laced with doubt. "But don't make the mistake of underestimating him, Pricilla. Anton Rosenthal isn't like the others. He's dangerous."

"I know," I said softly, the weight of those words settling over me like a shroud.

---

Later that evening, I found myself standing on the balcony outside my room, the city lights stretching out before me. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the suffocating tension that seemed to follow me everywhere these days.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the stillness. I pulled it out to find a message from Luka:

"He's moving tonight. I'll keep you updated."

I frowned, typing back quickly. "Details?"

His response came almost immediately. "Just whispers, like I said earlier. Nothing confirmed yet. I'll handle it."

I stared at the screen, my unease growing. Luka's efficiency was comforting, but the lack of concrete information made me feel like I was walking blindfolded into a trap.

"Trust him," I muttered to myself. "He's never failed you before."

But deep down, a nagging doubt refused to be silenced.

Unbeknownst to me, as I paced the balcony, Luka was already in contact with Anton.

"She doesn't suspect anything," Luka said quietly into the phone, his voice steady. "She's too focused on the bigger picture to notice the cracks."

On the other end, Anton's voice was calm, calculating. "Good. Keep her that way. The less she knows, the easier this will be."

"She trusts me," Luka added, though there was a hint of guilt in his tone. "It won't be long before she hands me exactly what we need."

Anton's laugh was low and cold. "Perfect. Keep playing your part, Luka. When the time comes, she'll never see it coming."