THE EMPEROR - CHAPTER 1

Aliénor

It was midnight when I finished my shift as a sommelier at Septime. The bottles were wiped down and returned to the case, and the wine glasses were dried by hand before being hung on the rack. It was a small restaurant with only a handful of tables, but the cramped atmosphere added to the charm.

I put on my long black coat and threw the rose-colored scarf around my neck before I stepped into the cold. The restaurant was on a narrow one-way street, and most of the other businesses were already closed. There were normally pedestrians on the sidewalks at all hours of the night, but it was quiet in the city in late winter. Spring was in the distance, close enough to see but not close enough to touch.

I headed down the street toward my apartment, my heels making a distinct tap against the cold stone of the sidewalk. With my bag drawn close, I glanced at my phone to check the time before I stowed it in my pocket once again.

My chin lifted, and I noticed a man across the street, smoking a cigar, dressed in all black with a black beanie, looking at me like he knew who I was.

I quickly looked ahead and pretended I hadn’t noticed his silent aggression.

I walked everywhere in Paris. Taxis and ride-hailing services were way too expensive for a bottom-feeder like me. I was a sommelier because I’d grown up privileged—but that was a long time ago.

I’d been poor so long I forgot what it was like to be rich.

Another set of footsteps accompanied mine, and I knew he was following me. I noticed the way the sound changed when he left the sidewalk and stepped onto the cobblestones. His legs were so much longer than mine, his stride would quickly catch up to me.

“Shit,” I said under my breath.

I kept my head down, kept a low profile, did everything I could to be a nobody.

But he’d kept his word and sought me out—even years later. Hell-bent on revenge that shouldn’t be my debt to pay, determined to add my head to one of the spikes outside his castle, desperate to fill his glass with the last drops of my family’s blood.

I finally reached the end of the narrow street, the sidewalk opening to other shops under the lampposts, all closed early in the off-season. A couple cars passed on the street, but it was mostly empty.

There was only a single car, a blacked-out Range Rover with midnight-black rims and blacked-out tinted windows. A muscular man stepped away from one of the shops and headed toward the Range Rover. The side-view mirrors immediately popped open at his approach like it was his vehicle, and he hit the button on the key fob before he came into my sight.

I didn’t have time to think.

Just before he opened the driver’s door, I sprinted down the stone pathway next to the trees and the park bench, aware that my assailant was in pursuit even though I couldn’t hear his boots in my hustle.

I threw open the passenger door and jumped inside. “Fucking drive!” I slammed the passenger door shut and hit the lock button—like that would stop a bullet from shattering the window. I turned to the driver and expected to have to yell or explain, but he hit the gas and took off down the empty road, his powerful engine making us accelerate with the speed of the wind.

I turned back to stare at the man who had pursued me and then heard shots fired, hitting the back window of the Range Rover. Two little cracks appeared in the glass, but it somehow didn’t break. “Fuck.” I faced forward again and glanced at the driver.

He was calm, almost indifferent.

The light at the intersection was red, but he turned left on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine like it was just a normal day. He dropped his speed, like he believed the gunman would never be able to track us on foot.

Once the immediate danger had passed, I looked at the driver of my getaway car.

Dark hair and dark eyes, his muscular arms stretching the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt, he was the definition of calm and collected. An Omega watch was on his wrist, the kind worth over one hundred thousand euros, and the only reason I knew that was because my father used to have one very similar. A shadow was along his jawline, like he had to shave every morning to keep a clean look, but the darkness was back by midnight.

One hand remained on the wheel while he relaxed in the seat, eyes on the road. “Where to?”

In shock, I stared for a solid three seconds. “That’s it? No questions?”

“Your business is your business.”

“You aren’t going to demand that I pay for your back window?”

He had a relaxed grip on the wheel, the light from the center console basking his face in a glow. “It served its purpose.”

“But at your expense.”

He came to another red light, but this time, he obeyed the law and stopped. He turned to look at me for the first time, and I was stunned by what I saw.

The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.

Ruthless eyes that were as unforgiving as the underworld. Hard and chiseled bones in his face. Cords up his tight neck. Masculinity so potent it was toxic to breathe. It was hard to gauge his height when he was seated, but I could tell he would tower over me greater than the Eiffel Tower over Paris. And he was thick like a slab of meat. Not just his arms but his shoulders and his chest…everything.

He continued his stare like he’d asked a question.

I was as immobilized by his gaze as if it were a loaded gun. One blink and my life would be over.

“Where to?” he repeated.

The light remained red for what felt like an eternity. The intersection was deserted, but he kept his foot on the brake anyway. The city was quiet until the sound of sirens came from somewhere in the far distance, an ambulance passing through the streets to a civilian in need.

His coffee-colored eyes continued to bore into mine.

I remained speechless.

He looked ahead once more. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”

My apartment wasn’t safe. Someone was probably already sitting in my living room with a loaded gun, just waiting for me to walk in so they could execute me. Or hidden behind the door so I’d walk in and they’d end my life with a silencer attached to the barrel.

“Too proud to ask but too desperate to pretend.” His blinker hadn’t been on and he was in the lane to go straight, but he suddenly turned to the right and ran the red once he had a destination. “You can stay with me for a couple days.”

“Some man just tried to kill me. What if he follows me?”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know what I’m involved with. The men who want me dead are dangerous?—”

He chuckled like I’d made some kind of joke.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” His smile continued for a moment, the lights from the lampposts we passed reflecting in his eyes. “I’m not worried about it. And if I’m not worried about it, you shouldn’t be either.”

Who the fuck was this guy? “Who are you?”

“Luca Fournier.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

He continued to drive with one hand on the wheel, relaxed and casual, like his heart rate hadn’t elevated once during this adventure. “My business is my business.”

“What if you’re dangerous?—”

“I’m very fucking dangerous.” He made another turn and entered the 6th arrondissement, one of the most luxurious parts of the city, where apartments were in the millions and entire buildings were owned by celebrities and politicians and aristocrats, the other ultrawealthy. “But not to people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Women. Children. Innocents.”

“How do you know I’m innocent?” I watched the buildings go by, remembering a childhood spent among the elite, extravagant parties with fancy canapés and expensive champagne.

“Just a hunch.” He slowed the car when he approached iron gates that were thirty feet high, the crest of a garden in the center. They gently swung apart at his approach, and he waited until they were fully open before he entered the property.

A small driveway lined with cobblestone emerged into a roundabout with a fountain in the center. He came to a stop in front of double doors with two potted trees on either side, like this used to be the entrance to a hotel. Men flanked the door with rifles.

My spike of adrenaline was instantaneous.

Luca exited the car, and one of the guys got in. One of the guys with a rifle opened my door for me, like some kind of gentleman.

I stepped out and tried not to look like I’d just swallowed a bug.

Luca didn’t wait for me as he approached the double doors that opened for him like he was a king.

I followed and entered a majestic entryway as high as the gate outside. Full of Parisian artwork and enormous statues, it looked like the lobby of a luxurious hotel before it became a personal asset to this enigmatic man.

A butler appeared in a tuxedo, hands behind his back. He said nothing, just emerged and waited for orders. He glanced at me, dark hair slicked back with gel, a thick mustache across the top of his mouth. He looked at me like he didn’t know what to make of me but didn’t dare ask.

Luca had just texted on his phone before he looked at his butler. “Prepare the guest room for—” He turned to look at me. “Who are you?”

“Aliénor.”

He looked at his butler again. “Aliénor. She’ll be staying for three days.”

“Of course. Anything else, sir?”

“No.” Luca headed to the stairs and began to walk up.

I felt out of place in this villa, but I felt even more awkward just standing there with no purpose, so I followed him up the stairs. It wasn’t just one flight of stairs, but several, three to be exact. Luca made it to the top without being winded, but I felt the tightness in my chest, probably because I wore heels.

By the time I caught up to him, he was already heading into his bedroom. “Wait.” I gripped the banister as I stood with my hand on my hip, trying to catch my breath.

He turned to look at me, eyebrows slightly raised like he couldn’t believe I’d issued an order.

I caught my breath enough to approach him, the stitch still in my side.

His stare continued, growing in hostility.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?” The coldness was in his voice, expressing his annoyance candidly.

“Letting me stay here.”

“Because I wasn’t given a choice.”

“You do have a choice. You could have just thrown me out, and to be honest, you seem like the kind of guy who would.” He’d saved me, but he didn’t strike me as some altruistic gentleman who would open a door for a woman or pull out the chair for her. He was complicated. That much was certain.

He stared at me with that hard gaze without needing to blink. “Would you like me to throw you out?”

“No—”

“Then don’t annoy me.” He turned to enter his bedroom.

“Wait—”

“Tell me what to do again in my goddamn house, and your ass is on the street.” He said he was no danger to me, but when he looked at me again, his eyes were like bullets. Once he squeezed the trigger, my entire body would be pumped full of lead. “You have three days. Use them wisely.”