I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Victor Hale's face staring back at me from the security footage. The man who was supposed to be dead. The man whose name had been connected to my father's death for as long as I could remember.
And now, somehow, he had returned.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the city lights beyond the window. It was nearly two in the morning, and the penthouse was unusually quiet.
I should have been exhausted.
Instead, my mind kept returning to the same question.
What had my father been involved in?
I remembered the night he died. I had been seventeen, sitting at the kitchen table with a half-finished mathematics assignment when the phone rang. My mother had answered it, and within seconds, her face had gone completely pale.
She hadn't cried.
Not at first.
She had simply lowered the phone, stared at me, and whispered that my father wasn't coming home.
The official explanation was a car accident.
A tragic accident on a rainy road.
But there had been no rain that night.
And when I asked my mother about the strange men who attended his funeral, she told me never to ask questions about my father's work again.
I had obeyed her.
For years.
Now, I wondered whether my silence had been exactly what someone wanted.
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
I turned toward the door.
"Who is it?"
"Someone who has no intention of spending the entire night arguing with a closed door."
I closed my eyes.
Adrian.
Of course.
"Go away."
The handle turned.
I jumped to my feet.
"Did I not just tell you to go away?"
Adrian appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee.
"You did."
"And yet you're here."
"I have a remarkable ability to ignore things that don't concern me."
"Then ignore me from the other side of the door."
He walked inside and placed the tray on the small table near the window.
"I brought coffee."
"I didn't ask for coffee."
"Would you prefer tea?"
"I would prefer my freedom."
He considered that.
"Unfortunately, the kitchen is out of stock."
I stared at him.
He pulled out a chair.
"Sit down, Elena."
"Stop ordering me around."
"Please sit down, Elena."
I hated that he had actually said please.
It made arguing with him considerably more difficult.
With an irritated sigh, I sat.
Adrian handed me a cup before taking the opposite chair.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then I finally broke the silence.
"Tell me about Victor Hale."
Adrian's expression became guarded.
"No."
I nearly dropped my coffee.
"No?"
"You heard me."
"You can't possibly expect me to sit here knowing that the man connected to my father's death might still be alive while you refuse to tell me anything."
"I expect you to stay alive long enough to learn the truth."
"That's not an answer!"
"It's the only one you're getting tonight."
I set my cup down harder than necessary.
"You know what? I hope your coffee is terrible."
His eyes flickered toward my cup.
"You've already had half of it."
"Unfortunately, I have standards."
"Clearly."
I glared at him.
He looked almost amused.
Then the amusement faded.
"Victor Hale was once one of the most influential men in the underground world. He controlled a network that connected several criminal organizations across Europe. My father worked with him before their relationship fell apart."
"What happened?"
"A betrayal."
"That's vague."
"Because I don't know all the details."
I studied his face, trying to determine whether he was lying.
He didn't look like a man who enjoyed admitting ignorance.
"What does that have to do with you?"
Adrian leaned back.
"My father died six years ago."
The words settled between us.
For the first time since I had met him, I saw something familiar in his expression.
Not anger.
Not arrogance.
Grief.
It was buried beneath layers of control, but it was there.
"Was Victor responsible?" I asked quietly.
"That's what we believed."
"Then why did you say he was dead?"
"Because his car was found at the bottom of a ravine. The vehicle was burned, and the evidence indicated that no one could have survived."
"But there was no body?"
Adrian looked at me sharply.
I leaned forward.
"Was there?"
He remained silent.
My stomach tightened.
"There wasn't."
"No."
A chill moved through me.
"So everyone simply assumed he was dead?"
"Not everyone. Some people believed he had escaped. Others believed he had been killed by his own men. Without a body, there was no certainty."
"And you?"
Adrian's gaze drifted toward the window.
"I believed he was dead because it was easier than accepting that someone capable of destroying my family could still be out there."
For a moment, I forgot that I was speaking to the head of a cartel.
I saw only a man who had lost his father and spent six years living with unanswered questions.
I understood that feeling more than I wanted to admit.
"What if he killed my father, too?" I whispered.
Adrian looked at me.
"Then I'll find out why."
"And what happens when you do?"
His answer came without hesitation.
"He'll answer for it."
Something about the cold certainty in his voice frightened me.
But beneath the fear was something else.
Hope.
For the first time in years, I might finally learn what had happened to my father.
And I might not have to face the truth alone.
The next morning, Adrian informed me that I would be accompanying him to his family's estate.
I informed him that he had lost his mind.
He informed me that I needed proper clothes.
I informed him that I would rather wear a potato sack than anything selected by him.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of a full-length mirror wearing a black dress that had appeared in my bedroom without explanation.
It was elegant, simple, and fitted perfectly.
I hated that I liked it.
When I entered the living room, Adrian looked up from his phone.
For a brief moment, he said nothing.
His gaze moved over me, then returned to my face.
I crossed my arms.
"Don't."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever compliment you're preparing to make."
"I was going to say the dress fits."
I stared at him.
"You are unbelievable."
"And yet you're wearing it."
"Because your house apparently has a dress code."
"Only for people who insult my furniture."
I glanced at the black sofa.
"Your furniture deserves it."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
Then he offered me his arm.
I looked at it as though he had presented me with a poisonous snake.
"What is that for?"
"Walking."
"I know how to walk."
"Wonderful. Then this should be easy."
I ignored his arm and walked toward the elevator.
He followed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
The drive to the Moretti estate took nearly forty minutes. The city gradually disappeared behind us, replaced by winding roads, tall trees, and enormous stone walls.
When the gates finally opened, I leaned toward the window.
The estate was breathtaking.
An enormous mansion stood at the end of a long driveway, surrounded by manicured gardens and a private lake. Security cameras watched from the corners of the buildings, and armed guards stood beside the entrance.
It looked less like a family home and more like a fortress.
"How many people live here?" I asked.
"Too many."
"That's helpful."
"You're welcome."
The car stopped in front of the main entrance.
Before I could open the door, Adrian reached across me and unlocked it.
I immediately turned toward him.
"I can open a door myself."
"I noticed."
"Then stop doing things for me without asking."
He studied me for a moment.
"Would you prefer I ask next time?"
"Yes."
"Fine."
He stepped out and offered me his hand.
I looked at it.
He waited.
I sighed and accepted it, mostly because the heels were threatening to kill me.
His fingers closed around mine.
Warm.
Steady.
Annoyingly reassuring.
Then the front doors opened.
A woman in her late fifties hurried toward us, her expression brightening when she saw Adrian.
"Adrian, darling. You're finally home."
She embraced him before turning to me.
Her smile faltered slightly.
"And who might this be?"
"Elena," Adrian answered.
The woman studied me with open curiosity.
Then she looked at our joined hands.
I immediately tried to pull away.
Adrian didn't let go.
"Adrian," I hissed.
"What?"
"Let go of my hand."
He glanced down as though he had forgotten he was holding it.
Then he released me.
The woman smiled knowingly.
"I see."
"No," I said quickly. "You really don't."
She laughed.
"I'm Margaret, the housekeeper. And don't worry, dear. I've seen many women come through these doors."
"Margaret," Adrian warned.
"What? I haven't said anything."
"You were about to."
"Perhaps."
I liked her immediately.
That worried me.
Adrian led me inside, where the mansion's enormous entrance hall opened into a grand staircase and a chandelier that looked like it belonged in a palace.
But before I could admire anything else, a man's voice echoed from the upper floor.
"So this is the girl who has managed to turn Adrian Moretti into a babysitter."
A tall man descended the staircase, dressed in a charcoal suit. He had Adrian's dark hair and sharp features, but his smile carried none of Adrian's restraint.
He looked at me with undisguised amusement.
"Lucian Moretti," Adrian said flatly. "My older brother."
Lucian stopped in front of us.
He looked me over, then grinned.
"Elena, was it?"
I nodded cautiously.
"Tell me something. Has my brother threatened you yet, or is he saving that for later?"
"Lucian."
"What? I'm making conversation."
I couldn't help it.
I laughed.
Adrian turned toward me with an expression of profound betrayal.
"Oh, wonderful," he muttered. "You've been here less than a minute, and you've already found someone who encourages you."
Lucian clapped him on the shoulder.
"Cheer up, little brother. Perhaps she'll finally teach you how to behave."
Then his smile slowly faded.
His gaze shifted toward the entrance, where a guard had just appeared.
"Adrian," the guard said urgently. "We have a visitor."
Adrian's expression hardened.
"Who?"
The guard swallowed.
"He claims to have information about Victor Hale."
Silence fell across the hall.
Lucian's amusement disappeared.
Adrian's hand tightened at his side.
Then the guard added six words that made the blood drain from my face.
"He says Elena's father was murdered."
I stopped breathing.
The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
Adrian turned toward me, but I barely saw him.
Because suddenly, the last six years of my life no longer made sense.
My father's accident had never been an accident.
And someone had finally come to tell me the truth.