CHAPTER 14: Ashes and Phone Calls

The television screen was a wall of orange fire.

"Breaking News," the reporter said, her voice grim. "A massive explosion has decimated the East Side shipping yards early this morning. Authorities suspect arson, though no group has claimed responsibility."

I sat on the velvet sofa, clutching a throw pillow to my chest. The footage panned over the twisted metal and black smoke billowing into the gray sky.

The shipping yards. The Vencetti territory.

Julian hadn't been speaking in metaphors. He had ordered an airstrike—or the ground equivalent of one—because they scratched his cheek.

"Coffee, Mrs. Thorne."

I jumped. Mrs. Davis set a cup down on the coaster. She glanced at the TV, her face impassive.

"Mr. Thorne prefers we keep the news off," she said, reaching for the remote.

"Leave it," I ordered, my voice sharper than I intended. "Where is he?"

"Mr. Thorne is in meetings. The... situation at the docks requires his attention." Mrs. Davis straightened her apron. "He has doubled the guard. You are not to go near the windows."

She turned and marched back to the kitchen.

I was alone again.

I looked at the fire on the screen. A few days ago, I was a librarian who worried about late fees. Now, I was the wife of a man who burned down city blocks for breakfast.

I walked over to the landline on the desk. It had been dead yesterday. I picked up the receiver, expecting silence.

Humm.

A dial tone.

My heart leaped. The lines were back up. Julian must have restored them for his business calls.

I looked at the kitchen. Mrs. Davis was running the blender. She couldn't hear me.

I didn't know who to call. The police were useless; Julian owned them. My friends couldn't help me against a mafia war.

Suddenly, the phone rang in my hand.

I nearly dropped it. It rang loud and shrill.

I stared at it. It could be Julian. It could be security.

I brought the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"

Silence. Then, a low, smooth voice that definitely did not belong to Julian.

"Hello, Vivian."

I froze. "Who is this?"

"A friend of the family," the voice said. "Or rather, a friend of your mother's."

My blood ran cold. "Who are you?"

"My name is Luca Vencetti."

I gasped, slamming my hand over my mouth. The enemy. The man whose docks were currently burning on my TV screen.

"Don't hang up," Luca said quickly. "If you hang up, you'll never know the truth."

"You tried to kill me yesterday," I hissed, looking frantically at the kitchen door. "You shot at us."

"I was shooting at him," Luca corrected. "You were just... collateral damage. I apologize for that. I didn't know you were in the car until my men saw you."

"What do you want?"

"I want to save you, Vivian. You think Julian is your protector? You think he married you out of the goodness of his heart?"

Luca laughed, a dark, dry sound.

"He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me what?" I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Ask your husband about October 12th, ten years ago," Luca said. "Ask him who was driving the car that ran your mother off the road."

My heart stopped.

"You're lying," I whispered. "You killed her. Julian said—"

"Julian is a Thorne," Luca interrupted. "And Thornes are very good at rewriting history. We didn't kill Eleanor. We were trying to extract her. She was running from him."

The blender in the kitchen stopped.

"I have to go," Luca said, his voice hurried. "But remember, Vivian. The monster isn't outside your door. He's sleeping in your bed."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stood there, the receiver still pressed to my ear, listening to the drone of the dial tone.

October 12th.

The door to the penthouse beeped.

"I’m home."

Julian walked in. He looked fresh, showered, and terrifyingly handsome in a new gray suit. He didn't look like a man who had just committed arson. He looked like a king returning to his castle.

He saw me standing by the desk. He saw the phone in my hand.

He stopped. His eyes narrowed instantly.

"Who were you talking to?"