I woke up to the sound of someone arguing outside my bedroom door.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then I noticed the enormous bed, the silk sheets, and the unfamiliar chandelier hanging above me.
Right.
The Moretti penthouse.
My personal nightmare.
I sat up, pushing my tangled hair away from my face. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a bedroom that looked more expensive than every apartment I'd ever lived in combined.
There was even a walk-in closet.
A walk-in closet.
I could barely afford to walk into a decent clothing store, and this man had an entire room dedicated to his clothes.
Unbelievable.
The argument outside grew louder.
"Boss, you can't keep her here indefinitely," a male voice said.
"I can do whatever I want."
I recognized Adrian's voice immediately.
Unfortunately, so did my rapidly developing headache.
"She's not one of us," the other man continued. "The Valenti family is already making moves. Keeping her here could create a bigger problem."
"Then let them come."
Silence followed.
I slowly climbed out of bed and approached the door.
"With all due respect, sir, if they discover what she overheard—"
"They won't touch her."
The certainty in Adrian's voice sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.
I pressed my ear closer to the door.
"And if they try?" the other man asked.
"Then they'll learn why they should have stayed away from my family."
I stepped back.
My heart was beating strangely.
I didn't know why his words affected me. Adrian was a dangerous man, and his promises weren't something I should find comforting.
Yet some foolish part of me wanted to believe him.
The door suddenly opened.
I stumbled forward.
A pair of strong hands caught my shoulders before I could fall.
I looked up.
Adrian stared down at me.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
I immediately pushed away from him.
"Don't call me that."
"Good morning, then."
"Don't sound so pleased with yourself."
"Would you prefer I look miserable?"
"Yes."
He smiled.
I hated that smile.
Behind him stood a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from his temple to his jaw. Unlike Marco, he didn't look particularly patient.
His gaze settled on me.
"So this is the girl."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Congratulations. Your eyesight works."
His expression hardened.
Adrian sighed.
"Elena, this is Luca. Luca, this is Elena."
"She knows my name?" I asked.
"Everyone knows your name," Luca replied.
The casualness of his answer made my stomach tighten.
Adrian noticed.
"Leave us, Luca."
"But—"
"Now."
Luca's jaw flexed, but he obeyed.
When he was gone, I crossed my arms.
"Does everyone in your organization have a problem with me?"
"No."
"Really? Because that man looked like he wanted to throw me off the balcony."
"That's just Luca's face."
I stared at Adrian.
He stared back.
Then, against my will, a small laugh escaped me.
His eyes lingered on my face as though he had discovered something unexpected.
I immediately stopped laughing.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're looking at me strangely."
"Am I not allowed to look at someone in my own home?"
"Not when you look like you're planning a murder."
"That would be a different expression."
I rolled my eyes.
"You're impossible."
"And yet you're still here."
"Because your people won't let me leave!"
"Technically, the people trying to kill you are the reason you're still here."
I hated that he had a point.
I hated it even more because I couldn't argue with him.
Adrian stepped aside and gestured toward the hallway.
"Breakfast is ready."
"I'm not hungry."
"There's coffee."
I hesitated.
He noticed.
"Freshly brewed. No poison."
I narrowed my eyes.
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"Immensely."
The dining room was already occupied when I arrived.
Marco stood near the windows, speaking quietly into his phone. Luca sat at the far end of the table, scrolling through a tablet.
And beside Adrian's usual seat sat a woman I had never seen before.
She was beautiful.
Not in the ordinary sense, but in the kind of way that made everyone else in the room seem slightly less impressive. Long blonde hair fell over her shoulders, and her cream-colored dress looked as though it had been tailored specifically for her.
She smiled when she saw Adrian.
"Finally. I've been waiting for you."
Then her gaze shifted toward me.
Her smile disappeared.
"Who's she?"
I pulled out a chair.
"Someone who would appreciate eating breakfast without being interrogated."
The woman's eyebrows rose.
Adrian sat down, looking entirely too entertained.
"Elena, this is Isabella Rossi."
Isabella's expression changed at the name.
"Elena?"
She looked me over from head to toe.
Then she laughed softly.
"Oh, this is interesting."
I glanced at Adrian.
"Should I know who she is?"
"No."
"Then why is she looking at me like I've stolen something?"
"Because Isabella enjoys drama."
"I do not," Isabella protested.
Adrian reached for his coffee.
"You once started a three-month feud because a woman wore the same dress as you."
"That was completely different."
"Of course."
I tried to hide my smile behind my glass.
Isabella noticed.
Her eyes narrowed.
"How long have you known Adrian?"
I nearly spat out my coffee.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"Since last night."
Her expression went still.
"Last night?"
Adrian cut into his eggs as though we were discussing something completely unimportant.
"She witnessed an incident involving the Valenti family."
Isabella slowly turned toward him.
"And she's staying here?"
"For now."
A strange silence settled over the table.
Then Isabella placed her fork down.
"Adrian, can I speak with you privately?"
"No."
She blinked.
"No?"
"If it's important, say it here."
Her cheeks flushed.
I suddenly became very interested in my breakfast.
Isabella leaned toward him anyway.
"You know what people will think if they find out you're keeping another woman in your penthouse."
Adrian looked up.
"Let them think whatever they want."
"And what about me?"
For the first time, his expression showed genuine irritation.
"What about you, Isabella?"
She looked as though he had slapped her.
I stopped chewing.
Oh.
Oh, this was interesting.
Very interesting.
Isabella stood abruptly.
"I see."
She grabbed her handbag and turned toward the door.
"Enjoy your breakfast."
The door slammed behind her.
I stared after her.
Then I slowly turned toward Adrian.
"Was that your girlfriend?"
"No."
"Ex-girlfriend?"
"No."
"Secret fiancée?"
He looked at me.
"Are you always this curious?"
"Only when beautiful women storm out of rooms because of men who pretend not to care."
His gaze sharpened.
"Do you think I care?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then I reached for another piece of toast.
"Nope."
"Good."
"Excellent."
"Wonderful."
We ate in silence for approximately thirty seconds.
Then I couldn't help myself.
"She definitely likes you."
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
"Elena."
"What?"
"Eat your breakfast."
I grinned.
For the first time since arriving at the penthouse, I felt almost normal.
Then Marco's phone rang.
He answered, listened for a few seconds, and immediately walked toward Adrian.
"Boss."
Adrian looked up.
"What is it?"
Marco lowered his voice, but the dining room was quiet enough for me to hear him.
"We found something in the security footage from last night."
Adrian put down his fork.
"Show me."
Marco placed a tablet on the table and opened a video.
The footage showed the parking garage outside the Vesper Hotel.
I leaned forward.
There was the black car. The man who had been shot. The men who had chased me.
And then, just before I ran toward the service entrance, another figure appeared near the elevator.
A man wearing a dark coat.
He wasn't carrying a weapon.
He wasn't running.
He was simply standing there, watching everything.
My breath caught.
I knew that face.
Not because I had met him personally, but because I had seen his photograph years ago.
On an old newspaper clipping my father had kept hidden in a drawer.
A photograph I had stumbled across after his death.
My hands began to shake.
"No," I whispered.
Adrian looked at me.
"What?"
I couldn't take my eyes off the screen.
"That's impossible."
"Elena, who is he?"
I swallowed hard.
For years, I had believed my father died because he had made a mistake involving the wrong people.
I had believed his death was an unfortunate consequence of a life I had never fully understood.
But the man on that screen had been connected to my father's final days.
And if he was involved in what happened last night, then everything I thought I knew about my family might have been a lie.
I turned toward Adrian.
"My father knew him."
Adrian's expression changed.
"Who is he?"
I forced the name out of my mouth.
"Victor Hale."
Marco went completely still.
Luca slowly lowered his tablet.
And Adrian Moretti, the man who had seemed unshakable since the moment I met him, stared at the screen with an expression that made my blood run cold.
"That's not possible," he murmured.
I stared at him.
"Why?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stood and walked toward the windows, his phone already in his hand.
Then he turned back to me.
"Because Victor Hale has been dead for six years."
My entire world seemed to tilt.
I looked at the frozen image on the tablet.
The face was unmistakable.
The same sharp jaw.
The same cold eyes.
The same scar near his left eyebrow.
I knew what I had seen.
And I knew what it meant.
Someone had lied about Victor Hale's death.
Someone had lied about my father's death, too.
Adrian approached me slowly.
"Elena, listen to me carefully. From this moment on, you don't speak about that man to anyone outside this room. Do you understand?"
I could barely breathe.
"Why?"
His gaze locked onto mine.
"Because if Victor Hale is alive, then the war my family buried six years ago has just begun again."
He paused.
"And this time, you may be the reason it ends."
I stared at him, unable to speak.
Last night, I had stumbled into the wrong room.
This morning, I had discovered that the past I had spent years trying to escape was still alive.
And somehow, the most dangerous man in the city had become the only person who might help me uncover the truth.
I didn't trust Adrian Moretti.
I didn't trust his men.
And I certainly didn't trust the secrets hidden inside his world.
But as he reached for my trembling hand, I realized that I was already standing on the edge of something I could no longer escape.
A war built on lies.
A mystery buried in blood.
And a man whose death might have been the biggest lie of all.