And I will pull on it until her entire world unravels.
Thirty Eight
Aria
Saturdayarrivesnotwitha bang but with the slow, agonizing crawl of hours. I spend the day in a state of high-strung lethargy, conserving the last of my energy. The hunger is a hollow ache in my stomach, a constant companion to the cold fear that has taken up permanent residence in my bones. I am a coiled spring, wound so tight I feel like I might shatter.
As dusk bleeds into night, I prepare. I pull my hair back, securing it in a tight, functional knot. I check the burner phone—still half a charge left. I count the cash, a pathetic wad of bills that feels like both a fortune and an insult. This is the sum of my old life. It will have to be enough to start a new one, if I survive the night.
At ten o’clock, I slip out of the studio. The city is a different beast at night, a glittering, predatory animal. The streets are alive with people spilling out of bars, their laughter and loud music a jarring contrast to the silent, life-or-death mission I am on. I keep to the alleys, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. Every shadow is a threat. Every passing car is him. I am a ghost in his city, and I can feel the eyes of his army everywhere.
It takes me nearly an hour to navigate the few miles to his building. I don’t approach the front but circle the block, my eyes scanning for the entrance to the underground garage. I find it on a side street, a gaping, concrete mouth swallowing a slow trickle of expensive cars.
I wait in the shadows of a recessed doorway across the street, my body trembling with cold and adrenaline. This is the most dangerous part. I need to get inside without being seen. I watch as a sleek, black sedan slows, the gate sliding open. As the car descends, the gate begins to close.
Now.
I sprint across the street, my worn sneakers silent on the asphalt. I dive, sliding under the heavy steel gate just as it clanks shut behind me. I’m in.
The garage is a sterile, brightly lit cavern of concrete and steel. The air smells of exhaust and wealth. I press myself against a concrete pillar, my breathing shallow, listening. The silence is absolute. I am in the belly of the beast.
Following Milo’s instructions, I find the service corridor at the far end of the garage. The door is unlocked. Inside the air is cooler, smelling of dust and machinery, and there it is. A single, battered-looking elevator, its steel doors scarred and dented. Nokeycard slot. Just a simple, black button with an arrow pointing up.
My finger trembles as I press it. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happens. Then, with a low groan, the elevator shudders to life. The ride up is the longest minute of my life. The elevator rattles and shakes, each sound an alarm bell in my head. When it finally shudders to a halt, the doors slide open to the familiar, dimly lit hallway outside his loft.
The silence here is different. It’s the silence of a place that is waiting.
I creep to the heavy steel door. I press my ear against it, listening. Nothing. He’s gone. He’s at the fight, lost in his world of blood and violence, thinking I am a broken, weeping mess hiding somewhere in his city.
I don’t have a key, but I don’t need one. He left the deadbolt unlocked when he stormed out. I pull a thin piece of plastic from my pocket—an old gift card from my wallet—and slide it into the crack. A few seconds of jiggling, a soft click, and the door swings open.
I slip inside, my heart in my throat. The loft is exactly as I left it. Dark, silent, and smelling of him—coffee, leather and that faint, clean scent of ozone. It’s a ghost of the life I’ve been living, and being back here on my own terms is a dizzying, terrifying feeling.
I don’t have time to waste. I know what I’m looking for. The folder.
I go straight to the locker. It’s still there, just as I left it. I pull it out, my hands steady now, my fear replaced by a cold, hard purpose. I sit on the floor, spreading the contents around me. The map. The financial statements. It’s all the same. There’s nothing new here.
My mind races. Where else would he keep his secrets? A man this controlling, this paranoid wouldn't leave his entire life in a single, unlocked folder.
My eyes fall on his desk. It’s a massive slab of reclaimed wood and steel, as stark and brutal as he is. On it sits a sleek, powerful-looking laptop. The digital heart of his empire. It’s a tempting target, but it’s a trap. It will be password-protected, probably encrypted. I don’t have the time or the skill.
I move to the desk, my fingers tracing the cold steel of the drawers. They’re all locked. Of course they are. I pull at them, frustration building. Nothing.
I sink into his chair, the worn leather still holding the faint impression of his body. I scan the room, my eyes darting everywhere, looking for the tell. The one thing that’s out of place. And then I see it.
On the bookshelf, nestled between a row of thick, leather-bound classics is a single simple wooden box. It’s not ornate. It’s not locked. It’s just… there. Too simple. Too plain. It’s hiding in plain sight.
I walk over to the bookshelf, my breath held tight in my chest. I lift the lid of the simple wooden box.
Inside, there are no documents. No ledgers. Just a small, chaotic collection of personal effects. A worn silver locket, tarnished with age. A handful of faded photographs. This isn’t his business. This is his life. His past.
My fingers tremble as I pick up the first photograph. It’s a picture of two boys, teenagers, standing in front of a gleaming sports car. One is Cassian, younger, leaner, but with the same fierce intensity in his eyes. The other… the other is the boy from the obituary. Leo. He has his arm thrown around Cassian’s shoulders, a wide, carefree grin on his face that is so full of life it feels like a physical blow. They are brothers. They are happy. The image is a punch to the gut.
I put the photo down, my hands shaking. I dig deeper. Underneath the photos is a bundle of letters, tied with a faded blue ribbon. The handwriting on the top envelope is elegant, feminine. I slide the top letter out.
My beautiful, wild boys,it begins.
I know you feel the darkness in this house. I know you see the way your father looks at me sometimes. He is not a good man. The only light I have is the two of you. Promise me, my darlings. Promise me you will always protect each other. When I am gone, you will be all the other has. Be his shield, Cassian. Be his heart, Leo. Never let him break you.
