Chapter 4 - THE SAFEHOUSE AT DAWN
By 3:00 a.m., the grand gala was finally over, and the guests had dispersed into the rainy night.
A convoy of three black armored SUVs sped down the Hudson Parkway, arriving at a secluded steel-and-glass estate hidden within the gated hills of Westchester.
Adrian walked through the front doors of his penthouse, tearing his bow tie loose and tossing it onto the leather sofa.
Julian followed, carrying a small leather duffel bag that Marcus—Adrian’s chief security officer—had retrieved from Julian's hotel room.
Elena sat on the couch, holding a warm cup of tea, her face drained of all color as the adrenaline of the evening finally wore off.
"Marcus," Adrian commanded, walking over to the glass bar and pouring two glasses of scotch. "What did the perimeter cameras at the house on Maple Street show?"
Marcus pulled out a tablet, wiping rainwater off his brow. "Isabelle left the house at 7:15 p.m. She wasn't taken by force, Boss. She walked out to a black sedan willingly. The car was registered to a shell company owned by... the Falcone family."
Elena gasped, setting her teacup down with a sharp clink. "Falcone? Isabelle was working with Falcone?!"
"Or she was running from him," Julian interjected, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
Adrian looked up from his drink, his dark eyes fixing on Julian. "What do you mean?"
"Isabelle isn't stupid," Julian said calmly. "She knew that marrying you meant becoming the queen of the underworld. She wouldn't abandon that kind of power three hours before the announcement unless someone had leverage on her family."
"You seem to know a lot about my ex-fiancée," Adrian said coldly, stepping toward Julian and offering him one of the scotch glasses.
Julian accepted the glass, his fingers briefly brushing against Adrian’s warm skin. "I know how syndicate politics work, Adrian. Falcone didn't want this marriage to happen because it would solidify your control over the northern territories. He bought her off, or he threatened her younger brother."
Adrian took a slow sip of his drink, studying Julian's face.
"You haven't changed much, Vance," Adrian murmured softly. "Still analyzing every detail like a detective."
"Someone has to," Julian replied softly. "Your mother promised me two million dollars to keep your reputation intact for forty-eight hours. We have forty-three hours left."
"I don't need my mother's money to pay you, Julian," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a deeper, almost intimate tone. "If you stay by my side until Falcone is dealt with, I'll give you something much more valuable."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
"The truth about what happened to your brother twelve years ago," Adrian revealed softly.
Julian’s breath hitched in his chest. The calm, icy mask he wore cracked for the briefest fraction of a second.
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"My brother died in a warehouse fire," Julian whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
"That's the official police report," Adrian said steping closer until he was standing only inches from Julian. "The truth is inside Don Falcone's private vault. Help me finish this fake engagement, and I'll hand you the key."
