Chapter 7 - Whispers in the Dark
The dinner was a masterclass in psychological warfare. Course after course of immaculate food was served in absolute silence, broken only by the clinking of silverware against crystal. Throughout it all, Emily felt the weight of a dozen hostile eyes pressing down on her.
When the meal finally concluded, Dante excused himself to the private study with Marcus and two of the regional capos to discuss an urgent shipment arriving at the docks at midnight.
"Stay here," Dante had told Emily quietly before leaving. "Brutus is outside your door. No one will bother you."
Emily retreated to her suite, her mind spinning. The crimson dress felt heavy now, like a costume in a play where she didn't know the script. She walked out onto the private balcony, letting the cold night air hit her flushed face. Below her, the dark waves crashed against the jagged rocks, foaming white in the moonlight.
"A pretty view, isn't it?"
Emily spun around. Elena Rostova stood just inside the sliding glass door of the suite, holding a crystal tumbler of whiskey in her hand. The doors had been locked—or so Emily thought.
"How did you get in here?" Emily demanded, standing her ground near the balcony railing.
"This is my house, Miss Parker—long before you stumbled in covered in dog hair," Elena said, taking a slow sip of her drink as she strolled out onto the balcony. Her expression had lost all pretense of politeness; it was cold, calculating, and predatory. "You think because Dante gave you a fancy dress and a seat at his table that you actually belong here?"
"I don't want to belong here," Emily shot back. "I want to go home."
"Then go," Elena challenged with a dark, mocking laugh. "Walk out the front gate. See how long you last before Dante’s men drag you back—or worse, before his enemies find you and flay you alive to send him a message. You are a liability, Emily. To Dante, to the syndicate, and to me."
"If I'm such a liability, why don't you tell Dante to let me go?"
"Because Dante doesn't let go of his toys until they break," Elena stepped closer, her voice dropping into a venomous hiss. "And you will break, civilian. Men like Dante Valente don't fall in love. They consume. And when he's done using you to prove some sick point about loyalty, you'll be nothing more than a footnote in his bloody history."
Before Emily could reply, a deep, earth-shaking growl echoed from the bedroom.
Brutus emerged from the shadows, his massive body low to the ground, his teeth bared in a silent, lethal snarl. He didn't hesitate. He surged forward, planting himself squarely between Emily and Elena, his massive chest rumbling with pure menace.
Elena froze, the color draining slightly from her face. She took a slow step back, her eyes wide as she stared at the beast that had supposedly belonged to her faction of the syndicate for years.
"Good dog," Elena muttered bitterly, regaining her composure with visible effort. She glared at Emily one last time. "Enjoy your little cage while it lasts, Miss Parker. The storm is coming, and you won't survive the wreckage."
May you like
With that, Elena turned and swept out of the suite, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.
Emily exhaled a breath she didn't realize she’d been holding, her knees suddenly feeling weak. She sank onto the balcony chair, burying her face in her hands. But as Brutus slowly walked over, pressing his heavy head into her lap and letting out a soft sigh, she knew Elena was right about one thing: the storm was coming. And she was standing right in the eye of it.
