Chapter 3 - Eleven Forty-Five
Evelyn stared at her daughter, her grip loosening slightly on Elena’s wrist. "You would die for a man who doesn't even touch you? A man who thinks you despise him?"
"I would rather die beside him on this floor," Elena said, every word slow, deliberate, and weighed with absolute finality, "than walk out those doors alive and live another day in a world where he doesn't exist."
Outside in the corridor, Dante felt a cold flame ignite in the center of his chest.
The pain, the grief, the years of regret vanished in an instant, replaced by a dark, terrifying clarity. The clock at the end of the hall struck eleven-thirty-five.
Twenty-five minutes until eleven forty-five.
Dante slid the cream-colored envelope into his inner jacket pocket. He reached behind his back, unclipping the heavy leather holster beneath his arm, and drew his silver-plated custom Sig Sauer P226. He pulled the slide back half an inch, confirming the chambered nine-millimeter hollow-point round, then let it snap forward with a faint, metallic click.
He didn't open the sunroom door. Not yet.
He turned on his heel, his leather shoes making no sound against the oriental runner, and moved silently down the private corridor toward his corner office.
He unlocked the mahogany desk drawer, pulled out a encrypted satellite comms device, and hit the speed-dial button.
The line rang once.
"Boss," Mateo’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and alert despite the rain static. "We're wrapping up at the harbor. Everything is secured."
"Mateo," Dante said, his voice flat, low, and smooth as polished ice. "Listen to me very carefully. Arthur Whitaker has bought the lobby detail and the elevator security supervisor. Raymond Cole’s hit team is already inside the building. The private elevator cameras are scheduled to shut down at eleven forty-five."
There was a half-second pause on the other end of the line as Mateo processed the information.
"How many?" Mateo asked, his tone shifting instantly from relaxed subordinate to deadly commander.
"Unknown," Dante replied, looking out the floor-to-ceiling office window at the city streets below. "Expect at least eight to twelve men. Heavy weapons. They’re using the service entrance and the emergency stairwells."
"I have six men at the docks," Mateo said smoothly. "We can be at the penthouse in twelve minutes."
"No," Dante commanded. "If you bring three black SUVs screaming up the front drive, Cole's men will launch an immediate assault or fall back into the city. I want every single one of them inside this building."
"Boss?"
"Block the underground parking garage exits," Dante ordered. "Seal the service stairwell doors from the outside once they pass the thirtieth floor. Call Marcus and tell him to bring the heavy assault team to the roof via helicopter. I want this building turned into a iron coffin."
"Understood," Mateo said. "What about you, sir? You’re alone up there."
Dante looked back toward the corridor leading to the sunroom.
"I am not alone anymore," Dante said softly. "I'll see you at midnight."
He ended the call, tossed the satellite phone onto the leather desk, and walked back into the corridor.
It was 11:38 p.m.
Inside the sunroom, the argument had devolved into a tense, suffocating silence. Evelyn was standing near the door, nervously checking a small diamond watch on her wrist, while Elena stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, her arms wrapped around her waist, looking out at the rain.
The floor subtle shuddered beneath their feet—a faint, almost imperceptible vibration that only someone living on the top floor of a skyscraper would notice.
The private service elevator had just passed the fortieth floor.
Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief. She turned toward her daughter, a cold, triumphant smile returning to her thin lips.
"They're here, Elena," Evelyn said, stepping toward her. "It's over. Be sensible. Step away from the window and come to the foyer."
Elena didn't move. She didn't look at her mother. She simply reached out and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, tears silently falling down her cheeks.
"I'm staying," Elena whispered.
"You foolish girl—"
The heavy oak doors of the sunroom glided open.
Evelyn froze. She turned around, expecting to see her husband's tactical team stepping into the room.
Instead, Dante Moretti stepped across the threshold.
He had removed his suit jacket, leaving him in a dark charcoal vest and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His heavy leather shoulder holster was strapped across his chest, the black steel handle of his handgun resting against his ribs.
In his right hand, he held a single glass of Scotch, the amber liquid swirling gently around a single ice cube.
His face was completely unreadable.
Evelyn gasped, taking two quick steps backward, her hand flying to her throat. "Dante... I thought you were in the east wing..."
Dante didn't look at her.
His dark eyes were locked entirely on his wife.
Elena turned slowly away from the window. When her eyes met his, her breath hitched in her throat. She looked at his face, searching for the cold detachment she had seen every day for three years.
She didn't find it.
Instead, she saw something in his dark eyes that made her knees feel weak—a deep, burning, terrifying intensity that burned through the room like liquid fire.
Dante walked slowly across the rug, his footsteps measured and unhurried. He set his Scotch glass down on the marble side table near the broken teacup.
"Dante," Evelyn stammered, her voice high and panicked. "What... what are you doing here? You should leave. There's a leak in the building security—"
Dante finally turned his head to look at Evelyn Whitaker.
May you like
The look in his eyes was so absolute, so devoid of human mercy, that the older woman felt the words freeze in her throat.
"Evelyn," Dante said smoothly, his voice low and rich. "You have three seconds to sit down on that sofa and close your mouth. If you speak another word, or if you reach into that leather bag again, I will put a bullet through your knee before your husband reaches the hallway."
