Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 91 - Chapitre 100

Seraphina's POVThe address on my phone felt like a lifeline. 392 West 88th Street, Apartment 4C. I stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the brownstone building. It wasn't new, but it had character—the kind of weathered elegance that came from decades of being loved instead of constantly renovated.The rent was too good to be true. I knew that. But desperation had a way of making you willing to believe in miracles.I climbed the front steps and pressed the buzzer for 4C."Coming, dear!"The voice that crackled through the intercom was warm. Grandmotherly. Nothing like the cold, clipped tones of the luxury buildings Sterling's family owned.The door buzzed open.I climbed four flights of stairs, my heels clicking against worn wooden steps. When I reached the landing, a door was already open, and a woman stood in the frame.She was older—maybe seventy, with silver hair pulled into a soft bun and reading glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck. She wore a cardigan covered in

Lorenzo's POVShe was gone.We're not that close.That's what she'd told Rousseau. What she believed."I need another drink."Nico materialized beside me as if summoned, sliding into the empty chair with that quiet efficiency that made him invaluable. He signaled the waiter for two glasses."Boss," he said, voice low. "You look like you're planning a murder.""I'm fine.""Right. That's why you've been staring at your drink for ten minutes." He leaned closer. "According to my sources, you're in a particularly foul mood tonight."I didn't respond."I heard an interesting story." That infuriating smirk. "About a man who bought a brownstone. Hired an actress to play landlord. Then rented it at a criminally low rate."My jaw tightened. "You talk too much.""Someone has to." He leaned back. "You bought her a building, Lorenzo. And for what? So she could tell Rousseau you two aren't close?"The glass in my hand threatened to shatter."She doesn't know it was me.""Exactly." Nico's voice drop

Seraphina's POVHe didn't move.Neither did I."You should say something," I told him. My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Now would be a good time.""Would it."Not a question. His eyes moved—slow, deliberate—from mine to my mouth, then back up. My heart knocked against my ribs so hard I was certain he could hear it.Tell him to get up. Tell him to leave. Say anything.I didn't say anything.The silence stretched another second. Two. Then something in his expression shifted—the last remaining wall in him giving way, incremental and inevitable, the way ice cracks before it breaks—and he lowered himself down.His mouth found mine.It wasn't gentle. I hadn't expected gentle from him, but I hadn't been prepared for this—for the controlled, deliberate hunger of it, the way he kissed me like he'd already decided exactly how this would go and was taking his time getting there. His hand came up to my jaw, tilting my head back, holding me exactly where he wanted me. I grabbed the front o

Seraphina's POVI woke up reaching for something that wasn't there.My hand found the sofa cushion instead---the worn edge, the slightly rough fabric, the exact shape of the armrest where he'd been sitting last night before everything unraveled into something I still didn't have a name for. I lay still for a moment in the gray morning light, cataloguing what remained: the faint trace of tobacco and cedar on the air, barely there, almost imagined. The unlocked window I'd relocked at midnight. The particular quality of silence that follows a near-miss.He was right here.I sat up too fast and immediately regretted it.My shirt was still on backwards. I'd been in such a state of pure adrenaline when I'd grabbed it off the floor last night that I hadn't noticed until now. I pulled it straight, pressing the heel of my hand flat against my sternum like I could slow my heart down through sheer force of will.Lorenzo Vitale, I thought, with something between dismay and something else I refuse

Seraphina's POVThe venue was the kind of place that existed specifically to make people feel like they'd arrived somewhere.Polished marble floors. Lighting engineered to flatter. A view of the city through floor-to-ceiling glass that turned Manhattan into something abstract and beautiful and entirely without consequence. The kind of room where business cards felt like currency and the right handshake could be worth more than a year's salary.I was wearing a dress I'd bought on sale two months ago and told myself I'd have a reason to wear eventually. Navy. Simple. The kind of thing that said I belong here without requiring me to say it out loud."You clean up well," Alex said, handing me a glass of sparkling water when I found him near the entrance."I clean up adequately," I corrected. "You clean up well."He looked genuinely pleased by this, which was very Alex. We moved into the room together and he was immediately