Chapter Twenty-Two
The weight of the warehouse still clung to Alex long after he’d left it. His hands were raw from punching the walls, knuckles split open and aching, but it wasn’t the pain that lingered—it was the quiet. That damn, oppressive quiet. It followed him through the city like a ghost, even with the chaos of traffic and the city’s usual pulse around him.
Diego’s betrayal.
Sophia’s silence.
Too many questions. Not enough answers.
He parked the black Maserati outside his penthouse and sat still behind the wheel, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. The skyline used to calm him—used to remind him of control. Now it looked like a battlefield. He thought of Dominic, of Carlo’s last words before his death, and of Sophia standing in that hallway, half-truths glittering behind her wide eyes.
He closed his eyes, fingers twitching.
Control was slipping.
Back upstairs, the moment he stepped into the penthouse, he knew Sophia had returned. Her scent—a mix
