Chapter 5
Inside the dim private study, the air was thick with unresolved tension. Nico Moretti violently scrawled his signature across the final syndicate document and threw his heavy silver pen onto the mahogany desk. He rubbed his temples, the light stubble on his jaw scratching against his palms. The stress of the rival factions was eating him alive, pushing him to say things he used to weaponize his own emotional distance.
"We are done for the night, Arthur," Nico said, his voice a low, strained rumble. He rolled his broad shoulders, his fitted charcoal-gray dress shirt pulling tight across his chest. "I need a drink, and I need to see Elena. Where did she go?"
Arthur stood by the window, his composed expression betraying a deep, lingering disappointment. "She was preparing a tray for you in the kitchen twenty minutes ago. I imagine she is waiting for you to stop acting like a sociopath."
Nico shot his lieutenant a dark, warning glare, but he didn't argue. He knew Arthur was right. He pushed his chair back and strode out of the study, his polished dark-brown leather shoes clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.
As he stepped into the dim hallway, his eyes immediately fell upon the antique console table.
There, sitting completely undisturbed, was the silver tray of fruit and the crystal glass of water Elena had prepared. Nico slowed his pace, a strange, uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach. He approached the table, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto the small, gleaming object sitting right beside the water glass.
It was her heavy brass penthouse key.
Nico froze. His heart skipped a violent, erratic beat. He reached out with a tattooed hand and picked up the key, the cold metal burning against his skin.
"Arthur," Nico called out, his voice suddenly stripped of its arrogant coldness, replaced by a sharp edge of confusion.
Arthur stepped out of the study, adjusting his burgundy tie. He looked at the tray, then at the key resting in Nico’s palm. The older man’s salt-and-pepper hair caught the amber light of the sconces as his expression darkened.
"She heard you, Nico," Arthur said, his voice dropping into a quiet, devastating realization. "The door was open. She brought the tray, and she heard exactly what you said about changing the locks."
"No," Nico muttered, shaking his head in immediate, defensive denial. "No, she wouldn't just leave. She knows I was blowing off steam. She knows how I get."
"She knows you told your lieutenant you would forget her name by Friday," Arthur corrected harshly, his intense gaze locking onto Nico. "You pushed her to the edge of the cliff, Nico, and you finally convinced her to jump. Check the bedroom. Now."
Panic, foreign and terrifying, began to claw at Nico’s chest. He dropped the brass key onto the silver tray and broke into a run, sprinting down the long hallway toward the master suite. He shoved the heavy bedroom doors open so violently they crashed against the walls.
May you like
"Elena!" Nico shouted, his voice echoing through the empty, pristine room.
The bed was perfectly made. The room was silent. Nico’s breathing turned ragged as he rushed frantically toward the illuminated walk-in closet, terrified of what he was about to find.
