Chapter 4

"Dammit, Salvior!" Hector roared, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice echoing in the now almost empty hall. "If everything was already sorted out, why the hell did you call me here? I was in the middle of my only day off this week!"

Salvior, who had just finished speaking with the fire captain, turned with a carefree smile that only increased his friend's irritation. He leaned against the edge of a table, crossing his arms.

"Calm down, stormy. You're so worked up you even forgot you're half-owner of this place. And to answer your question, I called you for two reasons. First, so Captain Breed could see that the owner takes the establishment's safety seriously, even if it was a false alarm. Image is everything. And second..." His smile became broad and curiously youthful. "...For you to tell me about last night. In detail."

Hector froze for a second, his fury giving way to sharp suspicion. He followed Salvior, who was now heading with light steps to the office on the upper floor.

"For you to tell me about last night," Salvior confessed, and for the first time, Hector noticed a slightly embarrassed tone beneath the facade of nonchalance. It was a rare tone, one that only appeared when Salvior was genuinely anxious for information.

Hector followed him up the metal staircase, his indignation and anger transforming into a feeling of discomfort. He felt the wooden planks of the upper hallway creak under his feet, a familiar sound that today seemed accusatory.

"Now tell me everything," insisted Salvior, opening the door to his own office and entering, leaving the door open for Hector.

"My God! What a gossip he is," Hector thought, shaking his head in denial as he crossed the threshold. "But there's nothing to tell. I just took her home, as any gentleman would."

"Ahh, Hector, tell me another one!" Salvior exclaimed, falling heavily into his leather chair. "You think I don't know that 'I woke up on the wrong side of the bed' look of yours? It's the same face you make when you're brooding over something. Or someone."

"Don't start, Salvior." Hector's voice sounded more tired than he would have liked.

"I see you're stressed." Salvior's mouth curved into a mischievous smile. "Was the bed too hot to sleep in? Was the night... too long?"

Son of a bitch, Hector thought, cursing one of his best friends. He knew. Of course he knew. Hector had left the nightclub with Theresa; that was no secret. But what Salvior couldn't imagine, what Hector could barely admit to himself, was that he had spent the night with a hard-on, lying in the cold bed, his body tense, his mind invaded by vivid and forbidden images. Images of how he would fuck his best friend's daughter, if the barriers of duty and honor didn't exist. The memory of her perfume in the car, the soft sound of her breathing, the curve of her neck in the moonlight—it had all turned into a delicious and incessant torture.

"Go on, spit it out, man," Salvior begged, leaning forward with a gaze bright with expectation, like a child before a forbidden treat. "Just one detail. One measly detail. Was she okay? Did you talk on the way?"

"No," Hector replied dryly, turning to look out the glass window overlooking the empty hall. The denial sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

"Ahhh, hell!" Salvior swore, slapping his open hand on the desk. His expression was one of genuine dissatisfaction, the frustration of someone who has been denied a juicy story. "But if you don't want to tell me, it's because there's something there. Something happened. Did she say something? Did you say something?"

"There's nothing, you can stop overthinking. Your imagination is more fertile than the A****n soil," Hector tried to disguise with a playful tone, but his voice sounded tense.

"Not at all. I'm just analyzing what's right in front of me," Salvior insisted, his perceptive gaze scanning his friend's face, looking for a crack in the armor. "You're different. Tense. And it's a specific kind of tension, the kind you get when you see something you really want but can't have."

The phrase hit Hector like a physical blow. He turned suddenly, the shadow from the window partially covering his face.

"I'm going to my office," he declared, his voice a low command. "If there's anything else important"—he emphasized the word—"related to the nightclub"—another emphasis—"then call me."

He left without waiting for a reply, closing Salvior's office door with a soft click that was more final than a slam. In the hallway, his breath caught for a second. His mind, a whirlwind, repeated Salvior's words: "what's right in front of me." If it was so obvious to Salvior, who was like a brother but also one of the most perceptive men he knew, would others notice? Would Johan himself, his childhood friend, her father, notice the sinful look he could no longer control when he saw Theresa?

He walked to the door of his own office at the end of the corridor. The key turned in the lock with a metallic sound that echoed in the space.