The building's lobby gleamed with its usual polished perfection, but I paid it little attention as I nodded to the security guard and made my way to the private elevator. I must have looked like hell—sweat-stained t-shirt clinging to my chest, hair disheveled from running my hands through it repeatedly, and a day's worth of stubble darkening my jaw. Not exactly the polished image of Rafael de Luca that the world expected. But fuck it. I was tired of masks, tired of pretending to be something I wasn't.
The elevator ride up to the penthouse gave me a much-needed moment to mentally rehearse what I'd say to Cecelia. How exactly does one transition from blackmail marriage toI think I'm falling for you?Not exactly a Hallmark moment. But after last night, I knew something had shifted between us. I'd seen it in her eyes, felt it in the way she'd held me. Maybe, just maybe, she was feeling this too.
When the elevator doors slid open and I strode toward the penthouse, the thought of seeing her put way too big smile on my face. That smile died on my lips when I spotted Edward standing in the foyer, his usually impassive face tight with tension.
"Sir," he said. "There's been another... delivery."
That's when I noticed he was holding a long-stemmed rose, its petals blackened and dead, and coated in a thick red substance. And with it, a plain white envelope.
"Another?" I repeated, my muscles tensing for a completely different reason now. "What do you mean, another?"
Edward's posture stiffened further. "This is the third such delivery for Mrs. de Luca."
Ice slid down my spine. "And you didn't tell me because...?"
"Mrs. de Luca instructed me not to," he said, and at least had the decency to look uncomfortable about it. "She didn't want to worry you."
Fucking hell. Of course she wouldn't tell me. As if the thought of someone sending my wife dead flowers wasn't exactly the kind of thing I should be worried about.
Snatching the envelope from his hand, I tore it open with fingers that weren't quite steady. Inside was a sheet of expensive stationery, the kind you'd buy at one of those pretentious paper stores. The message was typed in a plain font, but there was nothing plain about the words.
Little dancer, little whore,
Spreading your legs on a club room floor.
I saw you enter, watched you go,
With that wannabe playboy putting on a show.
Did you think I wouldn't know?
Did you think I wouldn't see?
You belong to me, not him…
A lesson you'll learn painfully.
The paper crumpled in my fist as rage and fear twisted inside me, a toxic combination that made my vision blur at the edges. Someone had seen us. Someone had watched us go into the club. And that same someone was now threatening Cecelia.
"Where is she?" My voice came out in a low growl.
Edward took a small step back. "She left about an hour ago for her dance class. On Monday mornings she teaches—"
I was already moving before he finished, stalking back toward the elevator with my phone in hand, pulling up the address of Elevate Dance Studio. I knew the name because Cecelia had mentioned it, but I'd never actually been there. Now that ignorance felt like a failure on my part, a gap in the protection I should have been providing.
"Sir," Edward called after me.
Ignoring him, I stepped back into the elevator. The doors closed on Edward's concerned face, and I leaned back against the wall, trying to quiet the roaring in my ears. The fear that had seized me was unlike anything I'd felt before. Cold and sharp and all-consuming, it clawed at my insides until I could barely breathe.
Who the fuck was doing this? The note mentioned the club, which meant whoever it was had been following us. Tracking our movements. Watching Cecelia. How long had they been following her? Days? Weeks? The thought made me want to put my fist through the elevator wall.
Could it be Santiago? No, we'd settled his debts. Besides, I'd had him investigated after paying off Cecelia's loan—the man was sleazy but not deranged. One of my business rivals, then? Someone who knew about our arrangement and wanted leverage? Or maybe some obsessed lover from Cecelia's past?
The elevator reached the lobby, and I burst out with such force that a woman waiting to enter actually jumped backward. Mumbling an apology, I kept my focus on the security desk where two uniformed guards monitored the building's entrance.
"De Luca, penthouse," I said curtly, though they clearly recognized me. "I need to see all security footage from this morning. Everyone who entered the building."
The younger guard looked uncertain, but the older one—Marco, I remembered suddenly—responded to the urgency in my voice without hesitation. He turned to his computer and began typing.
