My fingers twitch toward the chef’s keys. If I have to knock him out, I will. I just need one good strike. One clean—
But then, he turns, heading back the other way, muttering into his phone.
I don’t breathe again until his footsteps fade.
I wait five more seconds, then peel out of hiding and move fast.
I spot another camera, this one by the stairwell. I stay tight against the wall until it glances away, then bolt down the last hall andfinallyreach the garage door.
The key fob shakes slightly in my grip as I scan the lock.
One beep, and the deadbolt unlatches with a satisfyingclunk.
I slip inside the garage.
It’s quiet. No movement.
Rows of sleek black vehicles gleam under recessed lights: Rolls Royce, Lamborghini, Maserati.
I smirk.
Nico must’ve taken the Benz.
Each car is spotless, all of them ready.
I snatch the keys to the Maserati hanging on the wall in the garage.
One more beep. The lights flash. I slide into the driver’s seat, my heart still hammering, and press the ignition.
The engine purrs to life like a beast waiting to devour something.
I hit the garage remote and the door lifts, the car rolling out quiet as a whisper.
I don’t know how long I have before they realize I’m gone.
But I already know where I’m going.
I’m willing to bet he’s at the club, the one I tailed him to two nights ago. It’s exclusive. Discreet. The kind of place that caters to violence disguised as pleasure.
If Nico’s there, it’s the perfect setup to finish the job.
The only problem? Too many fucking witnesses.
I can’t take the shot with a crowd breathing down my neck.
No, it’ll have to wait.
I’ll wait until he leaves, until he’s alone,
then it’ll just be him and me.
And this ends.
For good.
I drive through the city like a shadow, weaving through traffic until I reach the club.
Nocturne.
