Lucas sat across from André, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his glass as the candlelight flickered between them. The room was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of distant voices. André leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"So, you're really going through with it?" André finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of something deeper than mere curiosity.
Lucas smirked, shaking his head. "Since when have I ever let you down?" He leaned back, drumming his fingers against the table. "We always knew this day would come. You were never going to sit on that throne."
André exhaled, rubbing his face. "That doesn't make it any less insane."
Lucas shrugged. "Maybe. But it's the only way. If you stay, you're trapped. You want freedom? Then we burn the board."
André was silent for a long moment, then sighed. "Lincoln's not the type to play games. If we involve him—"
"We already are," Lucas cut in. "And you're the one who approved it. He won't move unless there's something in it for him. That's where I come in."
André's jaw tightened. "And Dalia?"
Lucas tilted his head, considering. "She's the key to making this clean. If I erase your records, you don't exist. No prince, no obligations. Just a man, free to go wherever he pleases."
André's gaze darkened. "You're risking too much."
Lucas smirked. "That's what friends do."
Finding Dalia wasn't as easy as Lucas had hoped. She had done well in covering her tracks—too well. But no one could stay hidden forever.
After hours of searching, he finally tracked her down to a small café tucked between two crumbling buildings. He took a seat at a table in the corner, ordered a coffee he had no intention of drinking, and watched.
It didn't take long for her to arrive. She moved with calculated ease, her gaze flickering around the room as if she already suspected she was being followed. Lucas smirked. She was good.
When the moment was right, he slipped a folded note onto her table as he passed by. She glanced at him, just for a second, then unfolded the paper with slow deliberation.
Her eyes met his across the café. "Subtle," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
Lucas chuckled. "I try."
Dalia let out a slow breath and leaned back. "You're either very good or very annoying."
Lucas smirked. "Both."
She closed the envelope and placed it neatly beside her coffee. "And what exactly do you want, Mr…?"
"Sinclaire."
She raised a brow. "Sinclaire." A small pause. "Your name's been floating around lately."
He hummed, tilting his head. "As has yours. Well… not yours exactly."
Dalia didn't react. Instead, she crossed her arms and exhaled through her nose, her gaze sharp. "Let me guess. You have a job."
Lucas rested his chin on his hand. "I have a question."
Silence.
Then, Dalia smirked—just barely. "And if I don't feel like answering?"
He leaned forward slightly. "Then I suppose I'll just have to make you interested."
She sighed, folding the note again. "Fine. Tomorrow. Same place. Don't make me regret this."
The next day, Dalia arrived at the café precisely on time. Lucas was already waiting, his fingers idly tapping against the table. He slid a cup of coffee toward her as she sat down, but she ignored it.
"So?" she prompted. "What's so important that you had to track me down?"
Lucas leaned forward, his expression serious. "I need records erased. Completely. I know you can do it."
Dalia arched a brow. "And what do I get in return?"
Lucas's smirk didn't fade. "Money. Enough to fund whatever cause you want. And I know exactly where it's going."
Dalia studied him, her jaw tightening. "Palestine."
Lucas nodded. "No limits. You name the price."
She exhaled, considering. "And my father?"
Lucas hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "I can find him. No promises, but I'll make sure you have answers."
Dalia's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "Then you have yourself a deal."
Lincoln's office smelled of expensive cigars and polished leather. He barely looked up when Lucas entered, already aware of his arrival.
"If you're here, it means something's about to go down," Lincoln mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
Lucas took a seat without invitation. "You always did have good instincts."
Lincoln finally met his gaze, assessing. "And what do you have to offer this time?"
Lucas leaned forward, his voice a quiet promise. "A contract. A target. A clean escape."
Lincoln arched a brow. "For who?"
Lucas's expression didn't waver. "André."
Lincoln set his glass down, intrigued. "And who do you want handling it?"
Lucas smirked. "Red."
Lincoln chuckled. "That's a dangerous request."
Lucas nodded. "Exactly. That's why André insisted."
A pause. Then, Lincoln's smirk widened. "Well then. Let's talk business."
And just like that, the first domino fell.