Chapter 4
The vast penthouse living room was completely silent as Elena walked through it for the last time. She stopped by the coat closet near the foyer and pulled out her worn, camel-colored wool coat. It was frayed at the cuffs and completely out of place among the cashmere and leather hanging beside it, but wrapping it around her shoulders felt like putting on a piece of her old, independent self.
She gripped the handles of the black canvas duffel, her knuckles white. She looked around the opulent space, the panoramic views of the city mocking her quiet exit.
Just before she reached the door, her eyes landed on a small, floating glass shelf near the entryway. Sitting alone on the shelf, far away from the expensive vases and modern art, was a chipped, cheap white coffee mug. The glaze was cracked, and the handle was slightly faded.
Elena paused. A fresh wave of tears threatened to break her composure. She remembered the freezing night three years ago, sitting in a terrible diner in Queens, drinking terrible coffee out of that exact two-dollar mug. It was the night Nico, bleeding from a superficial cut on his cheek and terrified of his own feelings, had looked at her across the sticky table and told her he loved her.
With a trembling hand, Elena reached out and took the chipped mug. She carefully tucked it into the side pocket of her camel coat. It was the only thing in the entire penthouse that possessed actual value.
"Going somewhere, Miss Carter?" a deep voice echoed from the corridor.
Elena turned to see Marco, one of Nico’s perimeter guards, stepping out from the shadows near the service elevator. He looked at her duffel bag, his hand instinctively resting near the lapel of his suit.
"I am leaving, Marco," Elena said, her voice projecting a calm, unbreakable authority she rarely used. "Open the service elevator."
"I can't do that, Miss Carter," Marco replied, shifting uncomfortably. "The Boss didn't give orders for you to travel tonight. It's not safe. Let me call him."
"If you call him, Marco, I will personally ensure Arthur has you stationed at the docks by tomorrow morning," Elena warned, her expressive eyes locking onto the guard’s face with fierce intensity. "I am a free woman. I am leaving. Now, open the door."
Marco hesitated, torn between his orders and the undeniable fire in Elena’s eyes. He had never seen her like this. Reluctantly, he reached out and pressed the call button. The heavy metal doors of the service elevator slid open with a quiet hum.
"Be safe, Miss Carter," Marco muttered respectfully.
May you like
"Goodbye, Marco," Elena replied.
She stepped into the elevator, gripping her duffel bag tightly. She pressed the lobby button. As the metal doors slowly began to close, she didn't look back at the luxurious penthouse. The doors sealed shut over her tearful face, and the elevator began its long descent, carrying her away from the mafia king of Manhattan.
