I move toward the club’s door, my hand reaching for the handle, then pause. The weight of what I’m about to say roots me to the spot.
“And Gabe? If we do this, if I choose to be with you knowing what you are... I need you to promise me something.”
He crosses the room in three strides, stopping just short of touching me. “Anything.”
I turn to face him fully, forcing myself to meet his gaze. The morning light carves shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the intensity in his eyes.
“Never lie to me again. If there are more secrets, more darkness, I need to know. All of it. I can’t make real choices without real information.”
Something flickers across his face—respect, perhaps. Or relief.
“I promise,” he says without hesitation.
I nod, accepting his words for whatever they’re worth, and leave.
21
AMELIA
The morning air bites at my cheeks as I hurry down Michigan Avenue, my mind still reeling from what I found in Gabe’s office. Every step feels mechanical, disconnected from my body, as if I’m watching myself move through the city from somewhere far above.
I barely slept after leaving his club yesterday. The images from those files keep flashing behind my eyelids—crime scene photos, bodies arranged like grotesque art installations, meticulous notes on blood collection and preservation techniques.
My phone buzzes with another text from Gabe. The third since I left his place.
We need to talk. Please speak to me, Amelia.
I ignore it, just like the others, and pick up my pace. The wind whips my hair across my face as I turn onto the side street where Adrian’s chocolate boutique sits, its elegant storefront a stark contrast to the horror I now know lies behind it.
I need answers. I need to understand what my best friend has gotten herself into—or worse, what she’s willingly become part of. The bell above the door chimes softly as I push it open, the warm scent of chocolate hitting me immediately. On any other day, it would be comforting. Today, it turns my stomach.
Maya looks up from behind the counter, where she’s arranging display truffles, her smile faltering as she takes me in. I haven’t bothered with makeup or even proper clothes—just threw on yesterday’s jeans and a sweatshirt before rushing here.
“We need to talk. Now.” My voice cracks on the final word, betraying the chaos churning inside me.
Her eyes dart to the few customers browsing the displays before she nods, gesturing toward the back room.
“Of course,” she says, though I catch the slight tremor in her hands as she lifts the counter divider. “Let’s go somewhere private.”
I follow her through a door markedEmployees Only, into a small but elegant preparation area. Polished stainless steel surfaces gleam under soft lighting, with specialized equipment arranged. Everything is clean, orderly, beautiful.
Just like Gabe’s basement must be.
As soon as the door closes behind us, cutting off the soft music from the boutique, Maya turns to face me. “What’s wrong?”
“I was at The Blue Room, in Gabe’s office.” My hands shake uncontrollably as I clutch my purse, anchoring myself to something solid. “I saw some files and... Maya, there were photos. Horrible photos.”
Her face drains of color, and my stomach plummets. She knows. Of course she knows.
“Amelia—”
“People tied up. Blood everywhere.” I grab her arm, needing her to understand the gravity of what I’ve discovered. “And there were pictures of you, too. From before you met Adrian. They’d been watching you.”
“Let me explain?—”
“Explain what? That my best friend is involved with murderers?” Tears streak down my face, hot and unstoppable. Everything we’ve been through together—college roommates, supporting each other through failed relationships, celebrating career milestones—suddenly feels like it happened to different people. “I found recipes, too. Special ingredients. Human ingredients. Tell me I’m wrong, Maya. Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
She can’t meet my eyes. Can’t lie to me anymore.
