CHAPTER 164: LAST PIECES OF MY CHESSBOARD ( LUCREZIA’S POV )

No!

This can’t be happening!

"Mom? Calm down please, I—"

"Shut up! What the f-ck do you know? We are ruined! Ruined!"

I’ve lost everything. All I’ve worked for, all I’ve sacrificed myself for— my empire is burned down to ashes.

I could feel the mascara running down my face. Such a strange feeling. I haven’t cried in more than twenty years, but now I couldn’t seem to stop.

I guess it’s only natural to cry at a funeral. To grieve in such a grotesque way. Who cares about good mannerism and classy behavior now?

I am done for.

"Mom, we can still fix this! We-we could get the presidential pardon! We can still win this!"

"Presidential pardon? Don’t be ridiculous, child! These hyenas are not interested in us anymore. We’ve lost the company, we have no more cards to deal. Nothing but crumbs."

"You have me..."

"My dear beautiful Clara, who would want you anymore? You are no longer the symbol of power. You are just a woman."

"Mom..."

I couldn’t help but see the shambles of my lost innocence in the teary-eyed look of my dear daughter.

And the dumb naivety that killed her real mother.

"Clara, what have I taught you about these men?"

"They respect and crave power, they use and consume what they deem weak. If you are not important, they will rip your flesh apart and leave you to rot."

"They wouldn’t even care enough to actually eat you."

"This just can’t end like this, mom."

"What more can I do? Sanchez dropped the rain everywhere. It’s in the waterstream, the water system, it dropped on half population. The news programs only have one suspect to blame for the thousands upon thousands of deaths caused by the rain— us."

"Let’s cut our losses. Let’s negotiate.

"

My poor Clara’s voice rang through the room, full of boldness and confidence, despite her face betraying her true emotions.

My dear child—molded in my own image, flawless and young— couldn’t inherit my intelligence as well. At least, not completely.

"Even if I were to negotiate with Emiliano to assure our company gathers power in the underground world until the dust settles down on the surface— what could I trade for it? I have no name anymore. "

"Two things, mother: your dignity and your children."

I have always seen myself as a cunning woman, but seeing my reflection in that moment in my Clara changed my self-image after all those years.

She was cold and calculated. Ruthless.

And I was so proud of her for that.

"Although I think Emiliano will find amusing the scenery of me begging and pleading, I doubt he would really bat an eye in my direction. He got what he wanted."

"You are not seeing the better picture, mother. Emiliano has a weakness he kept showing over and over again."

"Luther."

"And Luther had a brief history with Killian. Now, I won’t make assumptions, but I do find Luther as a man driven by his feelings and instincts. If you put Killian in danger, Luther will save him. Emiliano would do anything to please Luther."

This could work.

I walk into the kitchen with my heels clicking against the tile, each step deliberate.

The place is quiet, the kind of quiet that demands movement.

Clara was sitting on a chair. She no longer paid attention to me. Rather she kept checking our stock market and planning her way to deal with the damage the company got hit with.

I head straight for the cabinet above the sink and swing the door open. The scotch is where I left it—half full, untouched.

I don’t bother with a glass at first, just eye the label as if it owes me something. Then I pull a tumbler from the shelf, pour two fingers, and throw it back without flinching.

The burn is sharp, familiar.

I pour another.

This one I don’t rush.

I take a slower sip, let it coat my throat, and exhale like it matters. The aftertaste is clean and dry, but I’m already thinking about what comes next.

Emiliano won the fight. That’s true. That’s undeniable, but Clara is right.

I can’t give up yet.

Even if it means putting in the game all I have.

I set the glass down with a sharp clink, wipe my palm on my skirt, and reach for my phone on the counter.

It lights up before I touch it. Too many notifications. I swipe them away like flies.

My thumb finds Killian’s name quickly—he never moves far down the list. I don’t pause before hitting call.

I know he’ll answer.

My spine is straight, shoulders back, expression flat. I already know what I’m going to say.

It’s not a conversation; it’s an announcement.

The drink hums in my veins, steadying me, not softening anything. I tap my fingernails against the counter while the line rings, each tap faster than the last. Impatience, not nerves.

"A little busy right now, Auntie."

"Drop everything. We have work to do."

"What more can we actually do? It’s done. Everything is done."

"Killian, would you die for the sake of our family?"

Killian stopped breathing, letting a long silence stretch.

"No."

I expected the answer. I didn’t move. I waited for the weight of it to settle in his chest.

"Then would you die for Luther?"

"Luther?"

His voice got shaky. I could hear the shift in his tone, the crack that came when a name hits harder than expected.

"Would you trust him enough to let him save you from your death?"

He gulped.

I heard it—soft, wet, tight in his throat. He didn’t speak again. I could hear him thinking, could picture his fingers flexing the way they always did when he was cornered.

I picked up the bottle, poured another glass. My wrist moved with precision, no hesitation. The liquid hit the glass with a dull splash. I drank it.

No pause. No savoring.

Just down.

The heat spread fast. I leaned against the counter, eyes on the floor, listening to him sit in his silence. My fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter as I waited. Still nothing.

I stepped back from the counter, walked to the window, and looked out without seeing anything. My jaw tightened. I held the phone tighter, brought the glass back to my lips, finished what was left.

I poured again.

He still hadn’t spoken.

I walked to the sink, turned on the tap, rinsed the glass quickly, then set it down beside the bottle. The call was still connected. I hadn’t heard a click.

He was still there. Thinking.

I stared at the wall, unmoving. My breathing slow. Controlled. I didn’t speak again. Not yet.

I didn’t need to fill the silence. I already knew the shape of his answer.

He just hadn’t admitted it to himself yet.

"What are you planning right now?"

"Sacrificing you."

Killian let out a dry chuckle. It wasn’t real amusement—more like something broken trying to sound whole. In the background, I caught the noise of someone else. A voice—high, whining, unruly. An omega with no control.

He was trying to blow off steam by sleeping around.

I could have blamed him.

But I did not.

Luther was in the arms of Emiliano, and our company was destroyed. What we built—burned through, sold off, and gutted while we watched from the sidelines. Every plan, every foundation we poured into the ground, reduced to ash.

Killian lost his love and his future.

And now I was asking him to lose his life.

I didn’t flinch at the thought. It was already past emotion. This wasn’t a plea. This was strategy. Every piece on the board had to move. Even him. Especially him.

I moved through the kitchen, clearing the glass from the counter. I didn’t wash it this time. I set it in the sink and leaned forward, hands braced on the edge. My head dropped for a second. Just one.

I lifted it again.

I could still hear him breathing. Slower now. Controlled. But not calm. Not even close.

He had nothing left to lose, not really. I knew it. He knew it. The world didn’t care if Killian fell. But I did. And I needed him to fall right.

That voice in the background laughed—shrill and pointless.

I grabbed a towel, dried my hands, and turned back to the phone on speaker.

Still no answer. But he hadn’t hung up. That mattered.

I walked out of the kitchen, the sound of my heels echoing behind me, and moved toward the office.

Finally, he mumbled weakly:

"How do you want me to die?"

"Publicly."

"Are you gonna blame this all on me?"

"Yes."

"I see."

Another moment of silence.

"If Luther doesn’t save me using Emiliano’s power, I will be publicly executed."

"Yes."

Killian took another break and sighed.

"Fine. Proceed with your plan, but before that find out Luther’s number. I want to see him one last time before I die."