QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 170: Different perspectives

Chapter 170-

Luciano POV

I watch her walk into the private booth—head high, hips swaying like she owns every pair of eyes in the room. She’s older now, of course. But somehow, Antonia still draws attention like a flame draws moths. Even my men, who should know better, can’t help but glance in her direction, trying to be subtle, failing miserably.

I don’t blame them. That was always her power.

It’s no wonder she caught Father’s attention first. And then mine.

She’s not particularly smart. But she’s not clueless either. Just the right balance of pliant and cunning. Not threatening enough to fear, but not so bland you forget she’s there. Just enough wit to play the games she’s taught.

She slides into the booth beside me, all soft smiles and lowered lashes. Her hand finds my wrist like it belongs there. "I missed you," she says, her voice just above a whisper.

I let her touch linger.

"I did too, Annie. I’ve just been busy. Stressed."

Her lips part into something like concern. She leans forward, the scent of her perfume—too floral, too sweet, too much like Father’s taste—curling around my senses. I don’t particularly like it. But it reminds me of power, of inheritance, of what was once his and is now mine to claim.

"I can help with that," she murmurs.

She drops to her knees before I can answer. Her hands are practiced. Her eyes stay on mine. She used to flinch, hesitate. Now she moves with precision, molded by my preferences. Shaped by my silence.

I tilt my head back and close my eyes, letting her work.

She understands her role. Not a lover. Not a partner.

An outlet.

A perfectly trained indulgence.

Father kept her caged, starved for affection, and when I offered her scraps, she soaked them up like sun on stone. I never had to give much. She was already mine. Still is. She knows not to be clingy. She knows her place.

And I reward her, when it pleases me.

***

Antonia POV

Luciano buttons his shirt, methodical and mechanical. The same hands that crushed my hips earlier now slide cufflinks into place like nothing happened. His back is to me. I don’t exist anymore—not in his eyes. I’m a used object, briefly admired, now shelved.

I slip off the bed, toes curling against the cool marble floor, and spot my lace underwear half-tucked under the nightstand like some discarded token. I sigh. The entire room smells of him—of leather and old cologne and sweat. I’ll need an industrial-strength exfoliant and a couple of hours under a scalding hot shower to feel myself again.

Luciano is less of a brute than his father. But still, a selfish lover through and through. He doesn’t want a partner—he wants a mirror that smiles and moans at the right times, that folds itself around him like warm silk, never speaking out of turn. That’s fine. I’ve perfected that role.

I’m a spectacular actress.

And I never forget my lines.

The only thing that stopped me from clawing out of my own skin this time was the memory of Raffaele. I’ve grown fond of him, which may or may not be attributed to his dashing handsome looks and the fact that he’s a very generous lover.

Sweet, stupid, radiant Raffaele. The one who asks before he touches. The one who murmurs praise like it’s prayer. The one who pulls me closer after, not away. The one who makes me laugh even when I try not to. He’s soft, untrained, eager to please—like a boy playing house in a man’s world. And that softness? It’s addictive. It makes me feel like a person again.

Compared to that, Luciano is a tax.

But I pay it. Because this betrayal will be worth it.

"Luciano," I say, voice even.

He pauses mid-step, halfway to the door. Of course. He wasn’t going to say goodbye. Why would he? He thinks he owns me, body and mind, a gift passed down from father to son.

He glances over his shoulder. "Yes?"

I wrap the silk robe tighter around my waist and step into the shaft of golden light filtering through the curtains. A carefully crafted image—vulnerable, eager, sweet.

***

Luciano POV

I exhale through my nose. I should leave. But I suppose I have been neglecting her lately. I turn, nod once, and sit back down on the edge of the bed.

"What is it?"

She lights up. How sweet. Like a dog being told it can ride in the car.

"I want to help you," she says, fumbling for her phone.

"I overheard something... and I did a little digging. I found something useful."

I indulge her. Let her scroll and tap and beam. She holds the phone up with a picture. frёeωebɳovel.com

A young woman. Tan skin, long hair. Smiling beside someone I recognize immediately—Valentino.

"She’s one of them," Antonia says. "Daughter of a higher-up in the cartel. She’s in France. Alone. Security’s tight, but I could reach her."

I blink.

She might be on to something.

"Can you really do it?"

"Yes," she says firmly. "He used me for this before. That’s why he kept me out of public view—so my face wouldn’t be recognized. I know how to blend in. I know how to charm women too."

I know, he is my father. Hmmn.

I think for a moment. If she gets close to that girl, maybe she can find something—files, recordings, a schedule, anything. If she gets in, she could even mark out the headquarters. An inside route.

"That’s impressive," I admit. "How’d you find her?"

"Rumors. A few whispers. . I wanted to help you. I’d do anything for you, Luciano."

I smile at her. Stroke her hair.

"Thank you. I adore you."

I kiss her forehead. She glows like I just handed her the moon.

"I’ll arrange everything," I say.

And I will.

Father always underestimated the women in his life. Always took and took and never offered so much as a thank-you. Look where it got him.

Me? I know better.

They don’t need much. Just crumbs of affection. Just a whisper of warmth.

And they’ll walk through hell for you.

Or drag someone else there.