QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 172: lapdog

172-

Luciano POV

The moment I pick up Antonia’s call and hear her voice crack with panic, I know something’s gone terribly wrong. She rarely breaks character, and never panics. For her to be this shaken? It has to be serious. I board the jet without hesitation, bark orders, and we cross the continent in record time. My mind spins with calculations and rage the entire flight.

She was our in. Our link. Our leverage.

And now she’s gone.

The car is already waiting when we land. The suite is in the middle of Paris, penthouse level, discreet and upscale. I open the door and hear them before I even see them.

"You goddamn son of a—!"

Antonia’s voice is shrill and furious, echoing off marble floors and glass. She screams like she’s possessed, like she’s heartbroken, like something inside her has snapped.

I walk in further, past the foyer, and find her. Hair wild, robe barely clinging to her shoulders, her cheeks blotchy with rage. She turns at the sound of the door and rushes toward me like salvation.

"Luciano!" she gasps, clutching at my chest like she might collapse.

"I was so close. So damn close. She invited me to her family home. I had her eating out of my hand—and he came in and had her killed!".

Her finger jabs behind her like a dagger.

My gaze lifts. Raffaele.

He’s lounging against the wall like he owns the place, arms crossed over his chest, that infuriating smirk carved across his face like he’s just waiting for me to throw a punch.

"How was I supposed to know?" he says, unbothered. "All I saw was a chance to make those cartel bastards bleed. So I took it."

"I told you," Antonia screams, trembling in my arms. "I told you she was valuable. That she was talking."

I narrow my eyes at Raffaele.

No. This wasn’t an accident. He did this deliberately.

To spite me.

"You knew," I say, voice low.

He shrugs. "Maybe. But she was a cartel princess. She wasn’t going to hand us anything we couldn’t take ourselves."

I clench my fists. My knuckles crack.

"I was so close you asshole!!" Antonia shrieks. "She was planning to introduce me to her fucking father!"

I pull away from her, step forward slowly, measuring every footstep.

"Do you realize what you’ve done?" I hiss at Raffaele.

He pushes off the wall. "I’ve expedited things. You keep playing nice. Me? I play to win."

His tone is flippant, but there’s heat under it. Bitterness.

Antonia responds bitterly. "We needed her to get in. Now? They’ll barricade themselves tighter than ever."

I study her. Her makeup is smudged. Her eyes are bloodshot. But the pain there? It’s not all fake. She worked for this. For months. She built a relationship.

And Raffaele—

Raffaele just blew it up.

"This isn’t fucking over," I say, voice quiet, dangerously calm. He wants a reaction. He wants me to snap, to punch him in the throat, to scream like Antonia had minutes earlier.

I won’t give it to him.

"Let’s go," I tell her, taking Antonia’s hand.

She looks like she’s on the verge of tears, but she doesn’t protest. Her fingers curl around mine, delicate and trembling.

We leave the suite, my men flanking us immediately, silent shadows with hard eyes and guns under tailored jackets. The hallway is empty. I can feel the weight of Raffaele’s stare drilling into my back, but I keep walking. If I stop, I’ll turn around and kill him.

We reach the elevator. Antonia leans her head on my shoulder as we descend.

"I’m sorry," she whispers. "I messed up."

"No," I murmur. "You did everything right."

Because she had. I’d seen the footage. The girl trusted her. Antonia had gotten her to lower her guard completely. If Raffaele hadn’t stepped in like a rabid dog with a vendetta, we’d have already been neck-deep in intelligence.

But he ruined it. Because he hates me more than he wants to win.

***

Raffaele POV

I watch them leave like a satisfied cat watching two leashed dogs walk away from a fight they started but couldn’t finish.

Antonia plays the devastated informant to perfection. If I didn’t know better, even I’d believe her tears. The falter in her voice. The way she clung to Luciano like a broken doll.

But I do know better.

I watched her drive that blade into the girl’s chest, deep and clean and precise. Right through the heart. No hesitation. No remorse.

Because the girl was no longer useful.

God, she’s magnificent.

She even timed the scream perfectly.

Antonia is terrifying.

And she’s on our side.

At least for now.

She had switched teams without blinking, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Luciano thought he was shaping her into the perfect companion, obedient and loyal. But all he did was train her to adapt.

Now she’s mine.

Sort of.

---

Downstairs, I take the express elevator to the basement garage. One of Daphne’s men is already there, waiting. He’s leaning against the wall, chewing gum like he owns the place.

"Is it done?" he asks.

I nod. "Clean. Loud. Memorable."

He tosses me a burner phone. "She wants an update."

I catch it, dial the only saved contact. It rings twice.

"How many casualties?" Daphne’s voice greets me, crisp and cold.

"Just the girl," I reply. "No collateral. Antonia handled it."

There’s a pause.

"And Luciano bought it?"

"Swallowed it whole."

"Good."

"So how are y—"

The line cuts out. Just like that.

I lower the burner phone slowly, my thumb brushing over the cheap plastic casing like I can will it to reconnect.

No use.

I stare down at the device for a long second, lips twitching with something between amusement and resignation. Of course she’d hang up. Of course.

*

I’m sitting in the hotel lobby, three floors beneath Luciano’s suite, in a corner near the window where the velvet shadows cling to the walls like smoke.

I lean back in the velvet chair and look through the reflection-stained glass to the dark Parisian street beyond.

I reach into my coat and pull out a cigarette I won’t light. Just hold it between my fingers, imagining the warmth. The weight of it.

My mind drifts to the look on Luciano’s face earlier. The way his jaw twitched when I said I’d killed her. The way Antonia clung to him like a trembling doll, her voice cracking in all the right places.

He bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.

I didn’t need to look at Antonia to know she was smiling inside. That secret, wicked grin she gives when something plays out exactly as planned.

He’ll never know it was her who slid the blade into that girl’s ribs. Not in the dark alley. Not after earning the girl’s trust for so long. Not after promising safety.

He’ll never know she was still wearing the girl’s perfume when she crawled into bed with him.

I laugh softly under my breath and rest my head back against the chair. My burner buzzes with a text.

"He’s flying back tonight. I’ll update you in 48. Be careful, he’s pissed."

Of course he is. Probably nursing his wounded pride in first class, while Antonia puts on another mask and curls up beside him like a lapdog.