Chapter 1 - The Trap In The Dark
His palm remained flat against the wood paneling, wood fibers groaning beneath the raw pressure of his grip. The warmth radiating from his chest felt like an open furnace in the freezing corridor. I pressed my spine flush against the wallpaper, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as I stared directly into eyes that were pitch-black and burning.
"I... I just meant thank you," I stammered, my pulse drumming violently against my throat. "For the landlord. For clearing my mother's remaining hospice arrears. I didn't mean to cross your rules."
Luca didn't flinch. He leaned in half an inch closer, his dark hair falling across his forehead, casting sharp shadows over the jagged scar slicing along his cheekbone. "In my world, Elena, touching a boss isn't an innocent gesture. It is an invitation. Or a death sentence."
"Which one is it for me?" The words slipped out before my survival instincts could choke them down.
A faint, dangerous smirk curved the corner of his lips, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Neither. Which makes you the most dangerous thing in this entire estate."
He dropped his hand from the wall and stepped back, creating a sudden pocket of cold air that made me shiver. He adjusted the cuff of his white linen shirt, hiding the fresh white dressing I had wrapped around his arm just hours earlier.
"Go to your room," he said, his voice flat, retreating behind the impenetrable stone wall he maintained for the world. "Lock the door. Do not come out until sunrise, no matter what you hear on the ground floor."
"Luca, are you—"
"Go, Elena." The command was razor-sharp, leaving zero room for argument.
I turned and practically fled down the hallway, my soft-soled shoes making no sound against the thick Persian runners. When I reached the small suite assigned to me on the third floor, I slammed the heavy oak door and turned the iron deadbolt twice.
My heart felt like a trapped bird inside my ribs. I touched my own cheek, still feeling the heat of his skin against my lips. What had possessed me? He was Luca Rossi. The man federal prosecutors spent decades trying to put in an iron cage. The man whose whisper moved millions through the New York harbor.
Around two in the morning, the heavy silence of the mansion shattered.
Muffled shouts echoed from the courtyard below, followed by the dull, unmistakable thud of heavy suppressors spitting fire into the damp autumn night. Glass shattered somewhere in the lower gallery. I sat upright in bed, clutching the duvet to my chin, remembering his warning. Lock the door. Do not come out.
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Then came the heavy footsteps running up the service stairs, stopping right outside my room. A sharp, rhythmic rap struck the wood: three fast knocks, two slow.
"Elena," Marcus's voice hissed through the keyhole. "Open up. We are under breach."
