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In the lobby, I question the doorman, probably scaring him half to death with my obvious rage.
“No, sir,” he mumbles again, concerned. “No one went upstairs.”
“Are you sure? Change the penthouse codes again,” I tell him, trying to keep some level of civility in my voice.Why the hell am I paying thousands of dollars a month for a doorman and a penthouse if the security is so easy to breach?
“Of course, sir.”
I watch him log into the system to change the codes, wondering how secure the systemactuallyis. I could probably hack it in five minutes if I tried, but I patiently wait until he produces a new set of codes.
I’m much too aware of my surroundings as I make my way to the office.
Every vehicle that gets too close or stays behind me a little too long is suspicious. Every notification on my phone makes my chest twitch.
I need to get to my secure laptop at the office and figure out who’s behind this.
The lipstick, though—and the message.
“Remember when I used to watch you swim laps?” I repeat softly to myself as I pull into the office parking garage. That could be anyone from high school, any girlfriend or friend I’ve ever had.
The fact that it’s someone frommypast, someone who knows the ins and outs of my life, is terrifying but also confusing.
Before taking this promotion from Rafael, I had no enemies apart from Lev Rossi. There’s not a single person in my past that would want to hurt me to this level.
I was Enzo Cavalli—goofy, fun, golden-retriever nerd with a penchant for big laughs and computer shit.
I slip into my darkened office and lean back in my leather chair. It’s much too early for anyone to be here, not even my assistant who wakes up at 4 a.m. every day.
An eerie feeling like I’m being watched floats over me, and I hold my breath, clutching my gun protectively. Minutes of silence pass, like waves of peace washing over me, and I relax.
I’m alone. I’m safe.
The laptop whirs to life as I type in my password, and I dive into my research, checking the cameras first—nothing there. No one seems to get in or out of my apartment. They’ve looped the footage to hide whoever would have appeared.
Just as I begin to hyperfocus on rows and lines of code, my phone rings and I jump out of my seat. The screen tells me it’s an unknown number, and my heart stills.
“Who are you?” I demand, my voice low and menacing. A few seconds of silence tick by, and I’m about to hang up when a small cough comes from the other end.
“It’s Lenny.”
“Lenny,” I breathe, instantly shifting from aggressive I’ll-fuck-your-shit-up Enzo to my real self. “Are you alright?”
“No… yes? No.” She laughs, a frustrated little chuckle. “I don’t know Enzo, am I alright?”
“They’ve been in contact again?”
“The8? Oh yeah, they’re real big fans of me,” she huffs, but fear drowns out her sarcasm. My heart swells with worry, surprising even me.
All I want to do is keep her safe. The urge to protect her is so strong that my own fears dissipate. I can’t contain myself. All I want is to destroy everyone in my path to get to Valentina.
“It’s not safe to talk on the phone,” I say, keeping my voice low. “They tapped my phone, probably yours too.”
“Can we meet somewhere?” she breathes. I know how much of a risk she’s taking, meeting me in secret. But my concerns for her safety outweigh my fear of her father, so I agree.
“I’ll pick you up tonight,” I say, trying to devise a plan. “Meet me at the corner of 23rd and Mavis. When can you come?”
“After I deal with Matilda.” She pauses and curses. “Never mind, we’ll talk about that later. Nine p.m.?”
“Where are we going?” Valentina asks, buckling her seatbelt. I briefly wonder if she’s impressed by the car but then remember that she doesn’t give a shit about these things.