Chapter 14‐ Stress

AUTHOR

Slone is in the living room of the Morreti mansion.

She's seated in a velvet armchair by the fireplace. A crystal flute of Dom Pérignon 2012 rests on the side table. Her silk robe is pale gray. Her hair is down. She's alone. The fire crackles. The room smells like expensive wood polish and jasmine.

Her phone rings.

She glances at the screen. Monica Randall. She picks up.

"Monica. How lovely to hear from you."

"Slone, darling. How are you? How is Amon? Still working himself to the bone, I assume."

"You know him. He'll never stop. And you? How's Richard?"

"Oh, Richard is Richard. Always traveling. Always busy." Monica's laugh is light. Effortless. "But I didn't call to talk about my husband."

Slone takes a slow sip of champagne. "I didn't think you did."

Monica's tone shifts. Still pleasant. But sharper underneath.

"Natasha came home from dinner last night. She was quite upset."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Apparently Alexander mentioned he has a girlfriend. Someone he's considering marrying."

Slone sets the glass down. "He did."

"Natasha said he was very adamant. He said he'd bring her to dinner. To meet you and Amon."

Slone's jaw tightens. But her voice stays smooth. "That's what he said."

"And you believe him?"

Slone pauses. "I believe he said it. Whether she exists is another question. He's never mentioned a woman. Not once. It's very sudden."

"Very sudden," Monica repeats. "And very convenient. Right when you and Amon were about to announce his engagement to Natasha."

Slone says nothing.

"The only woman who truly meets what you want for him is Natasha," Monica says. "You know that. I know that. We've known it since they were children."

Slone nods, though Monica can't see her. "Yes. Natasha is... suitable. She knows our world. She understands it."

"And our children being married wouldn't just be business. It would make us family." Monica's voice softens. "That's what I've always wanted, Slone. For our families to be truly joined."

Slone's fingers tighten around the phone. "I've always wanted that too."

Monica's tone shifts again. Cheerful. Light. "Natasha mentioned Alexander invited his so-called fiancée to dinner. She and I will definitely make an appearance. I want to see this new distraction of his for myself."

Slone hesitates. "The dinner date hasn't been set yet. But... perhaps this weekend."

"Then I'll keep my schedule open." Monica's voice is bright. "Keep me updated, darling. Don't leave me in suspense."

"I will."

And just like that, Monica changes the subject.

"I saw the new collection from Valentino last week. The red is absolutely divine. Have you seen the gowns? I'm thinking of ordering the one with the crystal detailing."

Slone exhales. Slowly. "I haven't seen it yet. I've been distracted."

"Distracted is an understatement. You have a potential daughter-in-law to vet." Monica laughs. "But when this is over, we're going shopping. Both of us. We deserve it."

"Yes," Slone says. Her voice is calm. Controlled. "When this is over."

She hangs up.

The fire crackles. The champagne sits untouched.

Slone stares at the flames. Her mind is already spinning. Already planning.

She doesn't know who this girl is. But she'll find out.

And when she does, she'll make sure she's gone.

— — —

MIA

The hunger that wakes me is unnatural.

My stomach is cramping. Growling. I didn't realize I had fallen asleep. I sit up in the massive bed, disoriented. The room is dark. The only light comes from a digital clock on the wall.

2:19 AM.

I can smell food. Right. The housekeeper said she'd bring me dinner. I must have slept through it. I look at the nightstand. There's a covered tray. I lift the lid.

Coq au vin. Chicken braised in red wine. Pearl onions. Mushrooms. It's cold now. The sauce has congealed. But it smells incredible.

I take a bite. It's delicious. Even cold. I eat a few more bites, then wipe my mouth. I remember the intercom. I could call the housekeeper. But it's 2:19 in the morning. I'm not going to wake an elderly woman just to heat up my dinner.

I'll find the microwave myself.

I stand up. My bare feet touch the cold marble floor. I grab my phone from the nightstand. Turn on the flashlight. The beam cuts through the darkness.

I open my door. Step into the hallway. The penthouse is quiet. Eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you hear your own heartbeat.

I wonder if he's back. Alexander. The man who owns this place. The man I'm supposed to marry. I haven't signed the contract yet. I haven't seen him since that night in the car.

I walk. The hallway is long. I pass doors. Try a handle. Locked. Another door. Locked. A third. It opens. A study. Dark wood. Bookshelves. A massive desk. Not the kitchen. I keep walking.

Two empty bedrooms. A bathroom. A room with red lights glowing from under the door. I don't open that one. I'm not sure I want to know.

Finally. The seventh door. I turn the knob. It opens.

I find the light switch. Flip it on.

The kitchen is massive. Marble countertops. Stainless steel appliances. A island in the center with a built-in wine rack. A refrigerator that's probably worth more than my entire apartment. The floors are white. The cabinets are dark. Everything is spotless. Everything is expensive.

I spot the microwave. It's built into the wall. I open it. Place my plate inside. Close the door. Press start.

The microwave hums. I lean against the counter. The light from inside casts a soft glow. I hum a tune. Something my grandmother used to sing. I don't remember the name. Just the melody.

I wait.

— — —

ALEXANDER

The hunt was good.

Dean was a mad man as always. He got one kill—a clean shot with his crossbow. Then he almost took my life in the process. A knife thrown at the wrong moment. Thank God I was fast enough to get out of the way. And yet I'm still not unscathed. My arm stings where one of Dean's knives grazed me. A thin line of red. Superficial. But annoying.

Psycho.

I didn't get a kill today. The hunt was over in less time than usual. The other two targets were taken down by Jax and the Chairman. I had my chance. I let it pass. My mind wasn't in it tonight.

That's that.

By now she should be at my penthouse. Mia. The woman I fucked. The woman I'm paying to pretend to love me. The woman who's probably asleep in the room where I first had her.

I drive into the underground parking lot. The Porsche's engine purrs. I kill it. Sit in the silence for a moment.

I grab the folder Dean dropped off at my office today.

The contract.

I head up. The elevator ride is too quiet. Too long. The keycard beeps. The doors open.

I'm glad everyone is asleep. No one can see me in this state. It would raise suspicions. Where did a businessman get an arm injury? Why do his clothes carry that smell?

Sweat. Forest. Blood.

I step inside. The penthouse is quiet. Normal. Except for the sound of clattering from the kitchen.

Someone's awake.

I don't risk getting caught. I don't bother checking. I just head to my room. I'm not ready for that stress. Not tonight.

Tomorrow we sign.

I walk down the hallway. Past her door. I don't stop. I don't look. I keep moving.

My room is at the end. I open the door. Close it behind me. Lean against it.

Fuck.

This is going to be harder than I thought.