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"Etienne... please," she gasps between kisses, her hands fisting in my shirt, as if to anchor me to her side. And for a moment, I waver, the thought of defying Claude's orders rippling through my mind like a defiant flame.
"Stay with me," she whispers against my mouth, and the temptation is as sweet as honey, as intoxicating as the finest bourbon.
But I can't – not now, when our world teeters on the brink of chaos. To betray the mob is to risk everything, and I cannot drag Lisette into the maelstrom that awaits.
A sudden pounding on the door shatters our fragile connection, and Lisette's arms drop from around me. The door flings open, and Claude's man, Henri, looms in the entrance, his eyes narrowed as they survey the scene before him.
"Etienne," he growls, voice like gravel. "Claude's orders. Time to let go."
"Un instant," I plead, swallowing the bitterness that claws at my throat. But Henri's patience is a fleeting thing, and he steps forward, wrenching me away from Lisette by the collar of my shirt.
"Non!" Lisette cries out, reaching for me as her sobs stretch into the air, filling the space between us like a chasm. But Henri's grip is iron, and I'm torn from her side, thrust into the dim hallway.
"Find Bastien," Henri commands, releasing me with a shove. "You both got work to do." His gaze flicks to Lisette, who trembles like a wounded bird within the confines of her room. "She'll be taken care of, but you... you need to focus."
The door slams shut behind me, leaving me with a world gone cold and silent. My heart screams in protest, but I know there's no turning back now. With a heavy sigh, I set off to find comfort in the only other person who understands what it means to love and lose Lisette: Bastien.
I find him hunched over a table in a dimly lit corner of a tavern, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his side. He raises bleary eyes to meet mine, and it's all too clear that he's been drowning his sorrows in alcohol for hours.
"Mon frère," I murmur, sliding onto the bench across from him. "How are you holding up?"
"About as well as you'd expect," he mutters, voice thick with drink and despair. He takes another swig of whiskey before slamming the bottle down on the table, its contents sloshing over the sides. "I can't believe she's really gone."
"Neither can I," I confess, my gaze dropping to the smeared rings of spilled liquor staining the wood. "But we have to trust that Claude will keep her safe. She's his niece, after all."
"Safe from everything but a broken heart," Bastien scoffs bitterly, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle.
"Ours or hers?" I ask, and for a moment, there's silence between us. The answer hangs heavy in the air, unspoken but understood: both.
"Merde," Bastien curses, shaking his head. "How the hell did we let things get so tangled up?"
"Love's a damn treacherous thing, mon ami," I reply, my hand resting on his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. "It lures you in with promises of warmth and light, only to plunge you into darkness when it slips away."
"Damn straight," he grumbles, raising the bottle to his lips once more. "But at least we still have each other, right? Brothers in arms, till the bitter end."
"Always," I affirm, the weight of our shared history settling on my shoulders like a cloak of comfort and camaraderie. And as we sit there, bound together by loss and loyalty, I know that we'll face whatever storms may come – side by side, ready to brave the tempests of fate.
The bar's door crashes open, splintering my thoughts like shattered glass. Claude's man, René, strides in, his eyes cutting through the haze of smoke and half-drunk men. The air crackles with tension as he approaches, a storm cloud rolling in to crash against our shared sorrow.
"Patron wants you both," René growls, his gaze flicking between Bastien and me. "Now."
I exchange a glance with Bastien, determination igniting in the depths of his eyes. We both stand, leaving behind the empty bottles that litter our table like fallen soldiers.
"Lead the way," I say, my voice strong despite the tempest churning within. I wonder if this new assignment might be an opportunity to save Lisette – or at least keep her close enough to protect.
René escorts us through the winding streets of New Orleans, moonlight casting shadows over cobblestone and wet pavement. As we walk, I can't shake the image of Lisette's tear-streaked face from my mind, her desperate pleas echoing in my ears like a siren's song.
"Etienne," Bastien murmurs, catching my attention. "You're not seriously considering defying Claude, are you?"
"Maybe," I admit, the weight of my decision heavy on my heart.
"Merde, mon ami," he sighs, shaking his head. "That's a dangerous game you're playing. You know what happens to those who betray the mob. We'd lose everything."
"Perhaps," I reply, my jaw clenched, "but isn't she worth it? Isn't love worth fighting for?"
"Love won't save us from a bullet to the head, Etienne," Bastien warns, his eyes dark with concern. "Just...think carefully, alright?"
"Always," I promise, though I feel as though I'm teetering on the edge of a precipice, caught between loyalty and love. The taste of Lisette's desperate kiss lingers on my lips, a reminder of what could be lost – or gained.
