The door slammed open.
Mr Charles Monroe stormed into the dim room.
Heavy red drapes blocked out the mid-day rays, casting everything down to a dull, blood-warm glow. At the sound, Evelyn jolted awake. Her heart lurched.
She pushed the covers off and tried to sit up, watching him tear through drawers like a man possessed.
Sleep was a luxury she never enjoyed when the beast was home. He had grown worse by the day.
"What the hell do you want?" She asked through clenched teeth, forcing herself to face him even as her legs trembled.
His hand cracked across her face before the last word left her mouth.
He grabbed the collar of her hospital robe and yanked her toward him.
His jaw tightened. "Where is it?"
"What?" She muttered between groans then lifted her eyes to him.
He clutched her cheeks and squeezed hard.
"The meds," he hissed. "Where are the rest?"
She shook her head.
He released her. She collapsed to the floor, then his hand came down again, another slap that echoed through the room.
He stormed into the bathroom and rummaged through everything; the sink, the medicine cabinet, even the drawers she'd reorganised just yesterday in fear.
Soon his gaze landed on the laundry basket.
Unfolded clothes.
Wrong.
She never left them unfolded.
He dumped the basket. Clothes spilled everywhere. A brown paper bag dropped out.
He picked it up and went back to the room.
His expression darkened.
"Oh, so that's why you didn't flinch last time," he sneered, lifting the bag. "You had these all along."
"How did you get them?"
He towered above her, fury shaking his voice.
She didn't respond. She lay curled on the floor, sobbing quietly into the wood.
He kicked her.
"Or are you screwing the physician too, you pathetic whore?"
Another kick, harder. She cried out.
"You think you're smart, eh?"
He spat at her.
"Your bitch-ass daughter better be back when I say so. If not, she ends up just like you."
"I bet the physician would look better seeing his head away from his body, don't you think?" he added, then turned and walked out of the room. The paper bag crisped at his firm grasp.
Andy, his bodyguard who had been standing in the doorway the whole time followed him, silent, eyes averted, guilt carved into his face.
He wanted to help.
But he couldn't.
+++++++++++++++++++
"Hello, brother," Nico said in a singsong voice, breaking the silence. He pulled the heavy oak door open wider.
"Long time no see." His grin stretched ear to ear.
The mansion's interior was even more extravagant than its exterior promised. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, catching the sunlight pouring through the central skylight, scattering fractured rainbows across the walls.
Dario shot him a sideways look. " How's business been, Nico? Heard you were running out of stock. Even got kicked out of the Valentini casino," Dario stepped past him into the grand foyer. The cool air inside provided a quick relief from the mid-day heat.
The air smelled of lemon polish and something faintly of expensive pipe tobacco.
"How was London?" Nico asked, deliberately ignoring the jab.
"Of all places, brother? A bloody casino?" Dario chuckled as he started up the sweeping staircase.
Nico followed, walking across the marble floor toward the stairs.
"Dario, dear," Bianca called, drifting toward him as he ascended.
"Not now Bianca" he breezed past her as if she were barely there. "Talk to your son about not getting beaten up at casinos. It's pathetic." He chuckled, shaking his head then reached the landing.
"Er… Dario?" Bianca began, turning to him again. She watched him get on the landing.
"Where's the Don?" he asked, completely ignoring her attempt to speak. His voice dropped, cold and sharp.
"He was moved to the room down the hall…"
she said quietly.
"On whose orders?"
He didn't blink.
"The physician." Her jaw tensed. Without another word, she turned away and descended the stairs.
Dario narrowed his eyes as she walked off, then exhaled slowly and headed down the quiet corridor.
Nico remained on the staircase, watching the scene unfold with wide, amused eyes.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Someone tapped gently on the door.
"I'm coming," Leighton called, emerging from the staircase. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and a small white towel was clutched tightly across her chest, barely covering her.
She exhaled, composed herself, and pressed an eye to the peephole.
A white paper bag sat lifted toward her, stamped with the familiar logo of one of her favorite restaurants, one she hadn't visited in weeks.
The delivery guy?
She hadn't ordered anything.
Guess he had the wrong address. She shrugged.
"Hi" she said as she pulled open the mahogany door." I didn't order…"
Her words died when she looked up.
"Adrian?"
"Oh, hi," he said, smiling as his eyes swept over her, lingering longer than they should.
"Uh… hi," she stuttered. "You got off work early today?"
"Yeah. Thought I should check in on you, y'know."
He tried to sound casual, but his gaze drifted over her again, slow, unguarded, hungry. His gaze lingered on each curve. Memories flickered in his eyes. Memories made in the heat of their bodies. Memories she'd spent months burying.
Leighton cleared her throat sharply. His eyes snapped back to hers, embarrassed, though a shy smile tugged at his lips.
She narrowed her gaze at him.
"What?" he asked, still smiling.
"You're smiling."
"I'm just… happy to see you, Leigh."
She didn't move. She just stared.
"So" he cleared his throat "where do we go first? The Eiffel Tower or the museum?" He tried for a joke, though tension crept into his voice.
"You haven't changed one bit, have you?" She rolled her eyes and let out pent-up breath in a sigh.
He chuckled. "Here."
"You brought takeouts?"
"Yeah. Chicken Alfredo. One of your favorites." He winked.
Her lips gave way to a small smile. "I'll take that. Thank you." She purred as she took the paper bags from him.
She turned and walked into the house. Adrian followed, a bouquet of poppies carefully hidden behind his back.
Leighton made her way into the kitchen. "I'm going to heat this up a little, if you don't mind."
"Sure sure," Adrian answered vaguely. He barely paid attention to what she said. His eyes scanned her living room, searching for the right place to leave the flowers.
He finally settled on a white ceramic vase on the counter.
Leighton closed the microwave and glanced over.
"Flowers?"
"For you," he said with a small, playful smirk.
She opened her mouth to respond but her phone began buzzing on the counter.
Mum.
"Excuse me. I have to take this."
Adrian nodded as she moved toward the stairs.
"Hello, Mum?" she said, her voice lifting with concern.
Silence.
"Hello?"
Then…
A woman's scream tore through the receiver, loud and raw.
Leighton froze. Her eyes shot to Adrian, fear written all over her face.
"Mum?" she whispered.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Catalina Volkova was lounging in a reclined chair by the pool, the midday sun warming her skin.
Her personal aide, Viktor Sokolov, approached quietly, almost too quietly.
"Any good news?" she asked, lifting her champagne glass. The butler behind her immediately refilled it.
"Yes…" he hesitated. "And no."
Catalina sat up at once. She slid off her sunglasses slowly, as if she needed to see his face clearly for the first time.
"No?" Her voice was soft. Dangerous.
"Yes. We managed to slip the message to one of our people, but she couldn't confirm if Nico is in town."
"And?" Catalina raised a brow.
"We're still not sure if Mr. Moretti will be in attendance at the meeting."
She stared at him, silent, unreadable. The kind of silence that made the aide shift in place.
"Get someone who'll do a good job," she said at last, her tone stern and cold. With that, she tossed back the rest of her champagne and reclined in her chair again.
Her chihuahua nestled up on her lap.
The aide didn't move. He stood frozen, uncertain.
Catalina sat up sharply. The dog jumped off her lap with a startled bark.
"What the fuck are you still standing here for? Go."
He bowed quickly and hurried inside the mansion. Catalina sighed, leaned back again, and closed her eyes as if nothing at all had happened.