I turn and walk out.
Close the office door softly behind me, even though I want to rip it off the hinges.
Once I’m in the hallway, the breath I’ve been holding slips out in a tremor.
The fire. The insurance lapse. The fear in my father’s voice . . . How is this the same man who once bragged he could buy God if the price was right?
Something is wrong. I don’t know what, but I can feel that a change is coming, and I’m not sure what that means.
I force myself to breathe, then for my legs to move, and as I head down the hallway, I try to silence my thoughts.
But as I walk through the steel corridors of my family’s empire—shaking, pretending not to be afraid—one truth curls cold and certain in my chest.
If this is just the beginning . . .
We are not ready for the storm that’s coming.
25
Lorenzo
The report hitsmy desk with a thud.
I don’t look up at first. Because if I do, and it has anything to do with Victoria, I might put someone through the drywall.
Then Dom, the head of my private household security, clears his throat.
My jaw tightens. “If you’re coughing like that, you’d better be dying.”
Dom shifts his weight. “You need to see this.”
He slides the file closer. I flip it open. The first page is a still image from a security camera—time-stamped ten minutes ago. It’s taken inside Danforth Steel’s executive conference room.
And there she is.
Victoria.
Standing at the end of a long conference table like she’s made of glass and fury. Hair twisted back. Jacket thrown over one arm. The look on her face? Pure steel.
The look I remember.
The look that ruined me the first time.
My pulse spikes in my throat.
She’s talking. Arguing probably. Her father’s across from her, looking like he swallowed a grenade. Grant Jameson sits beside him wearing that smug, oily confidence I’d like to beat off his face with a chair.
I flip the page so hard it tears.
Another angle.
Another shot of her.
Eyes sharp. Chin up. Tension in every line of her body like she’s holding herself together with sheer force of will. Something hot and ugly twists in my chest.
He shifts again, carefully keeping his distance. “She was at the office today. From my intel, they were discussing the fire. Thought you’d want to know.”
I tap two fingers on the photo, slow, controlled . . . deadly. “She looks tired.”
