Chapter 30: The Devil and the White Queen

Chapter 30: The Devil and the White Queen – Damon – I cleaned the mucus from my wife’s eyes and applied the eye drops gently. I hope she’ll be able to see me soon. She drifted off fast after that. I stayed, just watching her sleep. I couldn’t sleep. My sweet, innocent wife... is the fucking Queen of the Underworld. When she said she ran the underworld, I didn’t expect that. But now I know—she’s the White Queen they all whisper about. My wife. Mine. I am so fucking lucky. I got up and headed downstairs for a drink. But what I found stopped me in my tracks—Damien, casually eating while Wally served him whatever carbs he requested. "Thank you, man. Your food’s honestly the best I’ve had," Damien said mid-chew. "You are most welcome, Damien," Wally replied smoothly. They talk casually now? If I’d known Damien liked chefs with muscles... Well, Wally fits the bill. He’s got that look—good enough to catch a woman’s eye. I cleared my throat. Damien paused, glancing at me. "Where’s Laura?" I asked flatly. He shrugged. "Somewhere around. Good luck with the carbs." "Would you like anything, sir?" Wally offered. I shook my head. My focus was elsewhere. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar, dropped a perfectly rounded sphere of ice into a glass, and poured myself half a serving. Then I headed back upstairs. My wife’s phone blinked, vibrating on the nightstand. The sound didn’t wake her. I picked it up—no visible messages. Everything was hidden behind the lock screen. I didn’t know her passcode. I put it back down. My own phone buzzed on the other side of the room. I walked over, picked it up, and stepped onto the balcony as I answered. "Good evening, sir. My apologies for the hour... but our men received confirmation. You married someone from the Carrington family. They’re tied to Braxton." I exhaled a dry laugh, eyes drifting to the pool where Laura was swimming, graceful in the moonlit water. I turned back to face my sleeping wife. "Word spreads fast." "It’s not good news for our people, sir." "Oh?" I smiled darkly. "Are they thinking of starting a war?" "No one’s said that. But—" "No one insults my wife. No one touches her. If they do, I’ll end them. Every last one of them. Bloodline and all. Remind them who they owe. Remind them I feed them. Pass that message, Caine." Silence. "It’s war, boss." "I know," I said calmly, sipping my whiskey. "And I like it." I stared at Livana. "You knew, Caine. I’ve been obsessed with her from the beginning." "Her? The White—" "Careful," I cut him off. My voice dropped. "You don’t get to curse my wife. Tell them to tread lightly." "...Yes, boss." I hung up. From below, I heard Damien’s voice and glanced back out. He was by the pool with a tray of drinks. Laura tackled him into the water. Splashing. Laughter. Cute. They’re good together. But I couldn’t help remembering how Livana defended Laura at the table—how their grandparents blamed Laura for Livana’s choices. Had they always been that cruel to her? If someone treated my sibling like that, I’d be furious too. I’m glad Damien is close to her. Livana treasures Laura... so I will protect her, too. I walked back into the room, shutting the balcony door behind me. I downed the last of my whiskey and set the glass aside. Turning off the lights, I climbed into bed, caging my wife in my arms, kissing her face slowly. "You smell so damn enticing, my wife." I always speak when I touch her. So she knows it’s me. But then the thought of Brandon—that bastard cousin—flashed into my mind. The way he tried to force himself on her... I could kill him again and again in my head. Livana is mine. Mine to kiss. Mine to devour. She stirred, raising her hand to trace my face, then down to my chest and neck. I kissed her wrist as she rolled to her left, nestled in my arms. "Damon," she whispered, eyes closed. "Quit staring at me." Her hand dropped. I smiled, waiting... but she was already asleep again. Her phone vibrated once more. I reached toward it, but she grabbed my shirt and pulled me down. I laughed softly, pulled the duvet over us, and curled around her. She looked sinfully gorgeous in her negligee. A shrill laugh echoed from outside. Those two were at it again, playing like kids. "Did you close the balcony?" she mumbled. I got up and slid it open with just a crack. A faint flash of light blinked from the lawn. One of the guards? I squinted. No, it was rhythmic—Morse code? I turned off the balcony light, watching the flashes. On the far end, someone mirrored it back. Was the radio breached? My eyes darted to the pool. Damien was still wrestling Laura. Oblivious. I closed the balcony and locked it. If the signal system is compromised, this house may not be as secure as I thought. I needed to investigate. It could be the Carringtons. Or someone from my bloodline. Someone trying to break us apart. A forbidden marriage. But it’s more thrilling this way. There’s no fun in marrying someone you don’t burn for. "Damon," Livana’s voice stirred the fire in me again. I turned to her and kissed her softly, hungrily. She shoved my face away. "I’m leaving tomorrow. Don’t send your men to tail me." "Oh, you’re still awake." I sat beside her, tucking her in with care. "Don’t worry. I won’t listen to you." She glared at my way although she couldn’t see me. "Then I won’t let you fuck me again." "Babe," I smirked. "We both know we’ll do it again... and again..." "Get out," she said coldly. "Fine." I stood, defeated but amused. "You’re probably a direct descendant of Aphrodite, you know that? Mixed with Athena." She rolled her eyes. "Good night," I said, heading for the door. "I’m going downstairs to check on something." – Laura – We were told to head back inside, which was a total bummer. I slipped on my robe while Damien followed, still holding the tray of untouched snacks. My room was calling me—and with a jacuzzi right in the bathroom, a flat-screen TV, and all the little luxuries my sister spoiled me with? Yeah, I was planning to end the night with a bubbly soak and maybe a steamy movie once Damien left. I caught a glimpse of Damon heading toward the back exit. Probably off to investigate whatever drama was stirring outside. I stepped into my room and turned on the jacuzzi, adjusting the temperature just right. The gentle hum of the water filled the room—perfection. "You are really something," Damien muttered behind me. I turned just as he set the tray on the table and gestured toward my charging station. Ahem... where all of my toys were lined up like well-behaved soldiers. I shrugged. "What? At least I’m not out there sleeping around." He smirked. "Hey, I told you—I could help." I glanced at his crotch, then up at his face, making a face like I’d just smelled something foul. "As if." He rolled his eyes and grabbed the remote, flipping on the TV. The screen lit up with a man going to town between a woman’s legs. I tilted my head. Okay... my toy definitely didn’t come with a tongue. "What?" Damien asked, sliding closer with that irritatingly confident grin. "If you’re curious, just spread your legs in front of me. But you already scratched that off your notebook, didn’t you?" I scoffed and raised a hand to slap him—but then, a gunshot echoed in the distance. "Livana!" I exclaimed I bolted out the door, heart pounding, with Damien right behind me. I didn’t wait—I knocked once before bursting into Livana’s room. She was already on her feet, phone pressed to her ear. "Livy?" I called out, breathless. Damien closed the door and stayed near it, alert. "Close the curtains," she ordered quickly. I rushed to pull them shut and turned off the lights. The room dimmed, and I moved toward her cautiously. Her face was cold, focused. She was speaking rapidly—in a language I knew well. Sicilian. Her voice was low but razor-sharp, deadly calm as she gave instructions to someone on the other end of the call. "Un po’ scappari... s’iddu nun ci levi li membri. Accumincia cu unu... e poi cavatigli ad unu ad unu tutti li grastuna di li peri." I froze. She was telling someone that the target wouldn’t be able to escape unless they removed his limbs. Start with one... then take each toe, one by one. My sister was giving Mafia-style torture orders. The kind of stuff you only hear in whispered stories or messed-up movies. I stared at her in disbelief. Sweet, elegant, innocent Livana... was this ruthless? This... cold? The door creaked open. Damien shifted, ready to pounce—but it was Damon who stepped inside, calm as ever. Livana didn’t even flinch. She remained on the call. And then—I heard it. A scream. Muffled through the phone, but unmistakable. Agony. Real pain. Someone was begging. I couldn’t look away from her. My skin prickled with goosebumps. She looked like an angel... but not the kind that saves you. No. Livana was a black angel. An angel of death, wrapped in white silk.