Page 55

I glance back at the door, listening for footsteps. Nothing.

The top drawer slides open easily, revealing hanging files organized carefully. Most contain what look like property deeds, investment portfolios, the mundane paperwork of wealth.

The second drawer sticks slightly, but gives way with a firm tug. Inside, thicker files are labeled by name rather than content. I scan them quickly—Volkov, D. Castellano, M. Greco, A.—before one stops me cold.

Sutton, M.

My mother's name.

I pull the file out with trembling hands, heart pounding so loudly I'm sure someone will hear it. The folder is thin compared to the others, newer looking too, but its very existence feels like the floor dropping out from under me.

Opening it, I find medical records. They're recent ones, from the care facility where my mother has lived for the past five years. Monthly updates on her condition, medication changes, visitor logs.

And financial statements showing payments from an offshore account I've never seen before.

Someone has been paying my mother's bills. Someone has been watching her. Watching me.

The sound of a door opening somewhere in the wing sends a jolt of panic through me. I shove the file back into place, close the drawer, and am halfway across the room when Luca's voice freezes me in place.

"Find something interesting, little rabbit?"

He stands in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame, expression unreadable. His suit is impeccable, his hair styled perfectly, but his eyes are cold as winter steel.

"I—" I begin, searching for an excuse, a plausible explanation for why I'm standing in his private office, rifling through his files.

"Don't fucking lie,Bianca." He pushes off the doorframe, moving toward me with the fluid grace of a predator. "Lying will only make this worse."

My chin lifts, defiance rising despite the fear coiling in my stomach. "Why do you have files on my mother?"

Luca stops, something flashing across his face—surprise, perhaps, that I found that particular piece of information.

"I have files on everyone connected to you." His voice is a deep growl. "Your mother. Your ex-fiancé. Your childhood friends. Even that hotel manager who gave you a room the night I found you."

"Why?"

"Because knowledge is power." He circles me slowly, like a wolf sizing up its prey. "And in this world, inmyworld, power is the only currency that matters."

I turn with him, refusing to have him at my back. "So what does your file say about my mother? About me?"

His smile is sharp enough to cut. "That Marina Sutton has early-onset Alzheimer's. That she hasn't recognized you in years. That you faithfully visited every Sunday until something changed—you disappeared for six months, and when you returned, your visits became less frequent, more painful."

The truth of his words slices deeper than any blade.

"You had no right," I whisper.

"I had every right." He moves closer, until I can smell his cologne, feel the heat of his body. "From the moment I decided you would be mine, I had every right to know everything about you."

"And what else did you learn?" I ask, refusing to back away, even as anger and fear war inside me. "What other secrets do you think you've uncovered?"

His hand comes up to grip my chin with a hard grab. I couldn't look away from his piercing gaze if I wanted to.

"I know that your mother started forgetting things when you were twenty-one. I know that Marcus proposed after dating you for just three months. I know that you disappeared for half a year before accepting that cheap ring that asshole gave you."

My heart pounds against my ribs.

"But most importantly," he continues, his thumb tracing my lower lip, "I know that someone else has been watching you. Long before I ever saw you. Someone who's been paying your mother's medical bills. Someone who wants to keep you close, but hidden."

I swallow hard. "Who?"