The weight of Cassia’s words lingered as Lucius rode back through the streets of Rome, the city restless beneath the moon’s silver gaze. Power was shifting—he could feel it, like the tightening of a bowstring before the arrow was loosed. If Cassia was right, the Senate was already laying the groundwork to move against him.

  That meant he had little time.

  The wheels of his chariot clattered over the worn stones of the Via Sacra, his mind racing with possibilities. Assassins lurked in the shadows, politicians sharpened their tongues like daggers, and every ally was a potential traitor. He had played the game of power long enough to know that hesitation was death.

  As he approached the grand gates of his villa, the torches lining the entrance cast flickering shadows across the stone walls. The household guards bowed as he passed, their spears held high, their eyes watchful. He had doubled the security in the past weeks, yet something inside him whispered that no amount of men could keep the unseen dangers at bay.

  Inside, the villa was quiet—save for the soft crackling of torches and the distant sound of a lyre playing somewhere in the chambers. He moved through the marble corridors, his senses attuned to every detail.

  Livia awaited him in the dimly lit atrium. She lounged on a couch draped in deep red silk, a goblet of wine cradled in one hand. The way she watched him, half amusement, half something more calculating, told him she had been expecting his return for some time.

  “You look troubled,” she mused, swirling the wine in her goblet. “Did Cassia confirm your suspicions?”

  Lucius poured himself a drink and took a slow sip before answering. “The Senate is aligning against me. Decimus, Marcellus, and Vibius. They’re orchestrating something from the shadows.”

  Livia tilted her head, watching him. “And Cassia? Where does she stand?”

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  Lucius met her gaze. “By my side. For now.”

  A knowing smile played on Livia’s lips. “You don’t trust her.”

  “I trust that she is a survivor. She will do whatever is necessary to ensure she is not caught in the tide.”

  Livia rose gracefully, setting her goblet aside. She moved toward him with slow, deliberate steps, her fingers trailing along the edge of his tunic. “And what will you do, Lucius?”

  His grip tightened around his cup. “Strike first.”

  She chuckled, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “You make it sound so simple.”

  Lucius exhaled, his thoughts running through the different strategies at his disposal. He had allies in the legions, men who had fought by his side. But in Rome, where daggers lurked in the dark, brute force would only get him so far.

  He needed to be careful. He needed to be patient.

  Livia’s fingers traced the tension in his jaw. “You’re always thinking. Always planning.”

  “It keeps me alive.”

  She leaned in, her breath warm against his neck. “Then perhaps it’s time you let yourself stop—just for a moment.”

  Lucius turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. He could see the fire there, the way she reveled in their game of power and passion. But there was something else, too—a genuine hunger, not just for him, but for the chaos that surrounded him.

  He reached up, tangling his fingers in her dark curls. “And how would you have me do that?”

  Livia’s smirk deepened as she pulled him toward her. “Let me show you.”

  She pressed herself against him, the silk of her dress cool against his skin. Her lips brushed over his jaw, lingering at his ear. “Let go, Lucius,” she whispered.

  His breath hitched as her hands traced down his torso, untying the belt at his waist. He let her take control for a moment, allowing the fire between them to burn away his thoughts. Livia was skilled, knowing exactly how to pull him into the moment, making him forget—if only briefly—the world outside their walls.

  The night stretched on, their passion mingling with the flickering candlelight.

  But even in the depths of pleasure, a part of Lucius remained alert, his mind drifting back to the dangers that awaited him beyond these walls.

  —

  Elsewhere in Rome, Cassia sat alone in her study, staring at the sealed letter before her. The message was brief, but its implications were vast.

  A warning. A threat.

  A reminder that no one could play the game forever without making enemies.

  She had chosen her side. Now, she would have to live with the consequences.

  Or die by them.