Chapter 2 - The Tear in the Denim
Elias stood up slowly, his tall frame blocking the single harsh light hanging overhead. The shadows across his carved face deepened, hiding whatever emotion had just flashed across his icy eyes.
"Say that again," Elias said, his voice dropping into a register that was far too quiet to be safe. "Where did you see that sensor?"
"In the south parlor," Seraphina said, keeping her chin level despite the frantic pounding in her ears. "Under the silk carpet near the fireplace. I felt the wire casing under my shoes when I swept the floor three months ago. I noticed the light reflected off the copper rim."
"You shouldn't have been in the south parlor."
"The head housekeeper assigned me to wax the floorboards," she replied simply. "I don't choose which rooms I clean, Mr. Moretti."
Elias walked behind her chair, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the cold concrete floor. The tension in the small, windowless bunker was so thick it felt physical, pressing down on her chest.
He reached out and roughly grabbed the collar of her faded denim dress, pulling her backward to force her to face him.
"Who taught you to spot subterranean wiring, Seraphina?" he demanded, his grip tightening. "Who paid you to log my security protocols?"
"Nobody!" she gasped, twisting against his iron grip. "It was just a light!"
"Don't lie to me!" Elias barked, jerking her shoulder backward.
The heavy denim fabric, weakened by years of washing and wear, gave way with a sharp, violent sound.
RIP.
The seam along her left shoulder and collarbone tore completely open, exposing the pale skin above her chest.
Elias froze.
The air vanished from his lungs. His hand released the torn fabric, but his eyes remained glued to her shoulder, fixed in an expression of sheer, unadulterated horror.
Across Seraphina’s collarbone, running in a jagged, violent line toward her ribcage, was a silver, star-shaped burn scar—a mark left by a customized incendiary rounds weapon used only by military contractors.
Elias stared at the scar, his gray eyes widening as his face turned entirely pale, draining of all color.
The file in his left hand slipped from his fingers, hitting the steel table with a dull thud.
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Slowly, almost hesitantly, the most feared mafia boss in Europe reached out with a trembling finger, stopping mere millimeters short of touching the scarred tissue.
"You..." Elias whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, shattered emotion she had never thought him capable of showing. "You were supposed to be dead."
