Chapter 1 - The Cold Marble CorridorThe heavy mahogany door of Adrian Moretti’s master bedroom swung inward, casting a long, golden strip of lamplight across the dark marble floor of the third-floor corridor.
Adrian stood in the doorway, his six-foot-two frame dressed in dark silk sleep trousers and an unbuttoned black linen shirt that exposed the dark, intricate tattoos tracing his chest and shoulders. His storm-gray eyes were sharp, devoid of any grogginess, carrying the lethal, hyper-vigilant instincts of a man who had survived three syndicate wars and countless assassination attempts.
His foot had almost clipped my shoulder.
I scrambled backward against the cold wainscoting, my bare feet pulling under the threadbare wool blanket, my knuckles turning bone-white around the heavy brass handle of the fireplace poker.
"What the hell are you doing here, Claire?" Adrian’s voice was a low, rough baritone that vibrated through the quiet, shadow-draped hallway like a warning shot.
"I... I'm sorry, sir," I stammered, my voice cracking into a high, trembling whisper. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, spilled over my lashes, melting the cold numbness on my cheeks. "I didn't mean to wake you. I'll move... I'll leave right now—"
I tried to push myself up, but my knees, stiff from sleeping against the hard stone, gave out. The brass poker clattered loudly against the marble floor.
CLANG!
In the silent mansion, the metallic sound echoed like a gunshot.
Adrian didn't flinch. He didn't reach for the concealed firearm I knew rested beneath his pillow. Instead, his dark eyebrows drew together as his gaze dropped to the brass poker, the thin pillow, my bare, bruised toes, and the shivering frame of his thirty-year-old housekeeper.
He crouched down in front of me, his heavy leather house slippers quiet against the stone. Up close, he smelled of cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and faint mint.
"How many nights have you been sleeping outside my door, Claire?" he asked quietly.
I bit my lower lip, unable to meet his piercing gray eyes. "Four... four nights, Mr. Moretti."
"Four nights," Adrian repeated, his tone devoid of anger, replaced by a cold, dangerous stillness. "You’ve been sleeping on a marble floor in the middle of the night with a fireplace poker in your hand."
"Please don't make me go back to the servants' wing," I sobbed, hiding my face in my hands. "Please, sir. I'll clean the third floor every day for free. I won't make a sound."
Adrian reached out. His large, calloused fingers gently caught my wrist, pulling my hands away from my face. His grip was firm, warm, and surprisingly gentle for a man who commanded three hundred armed enforcers across New York.
"Claire. Look at me," Adrian commanded softly.
I forced myself to raise my eyes, meeting his unyielding gaze.
"Why are you sleeping here?"
"Because... because someone keeps coming to my door at two in the morning," I whispered, every word dropping out in a ragged breath. "They test the lock. They turn the handle. Last night, someone tried to slide a blade through the latch."
Adrian’s jaw hardened, a terrifying muscle twitching in his cheek. He pulled his smartphone from his trousers pocket, his thumb hovering over his speed-dial for security.
Before he could tap the screen, I reached out, my cold, shaking fingers clutching the cuff of his linen sleeve.
"Mr. Moretti, please," I breathed, my pale blue eyes wide with pure, unadulterated terror. "There's something else."
Adrian stopped. He lowered the phone, his storm-gray eyes locking onto mine with total, unblinking focus. "What else?"
My voice dropped to an almost imperceptible whisper, barely louder than the rain tapping against the tall arched windows at the end of the corridor.
"Two nights ago... while I was sitting in the dark room waiting for the handle to turn... I heard voices in the courtyard below my window. It was Dean Russo."
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Adrian went dead silent. "What did Dean say?"
"He wasn't talking about me, sir," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "He was talking to a man wearing a dark rain slicker. Dean gave him an encrypted USB drive and said, 'The shipment arrives at Pier 42 on Friday. Tell Falco that Adrian will be at the docks alone at midnight.'"
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