My phone buzzed.
Raphael’s name on the screen.A text, not a call.
I opened it.
Something has come up.Pack business.I will explain when I return.Stay close to security.Trust no one.I love you.
I read it twice.Then a third time, my frown deepening with each pass.
Trust no one.What did that even mean?
I tried calling him.Straight to voicemail.His phone was off, or he couldn’t answer.Through the bond, his anxiety intensified, peaking into desperation that made my chest tight.Pack business could mean anything in Raphael’s world.The politics were complicated in ways I was only beginning to understand.The Pakhan’s demands, the hierarchy, the violence that simmered beneath the surface of their civilized meetings.
But trust no one?
I stared at the message, trying to decode it.Was this about the stalker situation?Joe was dead.Raphael had dealt with him, whatever that meant.I hadn’t asked for details, and he hadn’t offered them.The threat was supposed to be over.
Unless it wasn’t.
A cold shiver crept down my back.But the sensation faded as quickly as it came.I was in my hotel, surrounded by staff who had known me for years.Whatever crisis Raphael was managing, I was safe here.I would call him again when I got to my office, and he would explain everything in that low voice that made my chest tight, and I would tease him about being dramatic, and everything would be fine.
I gathered my bag and my notes, making a mental list of what still needed handling today.The voicemail could wait.He would explain when he got home, and whatever pack crisis had pulled him away would resolve itself the way they always did.With blood or with money.Sometimes both.
The corridor outside the conference room was quiet.Late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows.I could hear the distant hum of the lobby, guests checking in, staff moving through their routines.The faint smell of fresh flowers drifted from the arrangements Sophie had ordered for the spa entrance.Lilies and roses and something green and growing.Everything normal.Everything fine.
Through the bond, Raphael’s distress intensified.Not pain, but close to it.An urgency that made my steps slow as I processed what I was feeling from him.Fear that didn’t make sense.Desperation that felt like claws scraping against the inside of my ribs.
What’s wrong with you?I thought toward the bond, knowing he couldn’t hear the words.But I wished he could.I wished he had called instead of texted, so I could hear his voice and know whether this was his usual overprotective paranoia or a real threat I should be taking seriously.
I would call him again when I got to my office.Whatever was happening, I wanted to hear his voice.I wanted to feel the rumble of it through my phone, steadying me the way his presence always did.
“Lena.”
Michael appeared at the end of the corridor, professional smile in place.
Michael, who had known me longer than Raphael had.Who felt like the brother I never had.
The comparison made me smile.Michael’s steady presence had been one of the few constants in my turbulent year.When everything else was chaos, he was always here.Always helpful.Always watching out for me in the way that good colleagues did.His reliability was a comfort I had come to depend on.
“I’m glad I caught you.”He fell into step beside me, matching my pace.His cologne was faint but familiar, clean and professional, the same scent he had worn every day for years.It had become as much a part of the hotel’s atmosphere as the fresh flowers in the lobby, as the marble floors and crystal chandeliers.“There’s something in the basement I need you to see.”
“The basement?”I glanced at my watch.“Can it wait?I need to make some calls.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”His brow creased with concern.“It’s a foundation issue.One of the old support pillars is showing stress fractures.I would rather you see it.We might need to call the structural engineers.You’ll want to be involved in any decisions about remediation.”
Foundation issues were expensive.Foundation issues during peak season could be catastrophic.If we had to close any part of the hotel for repairs, we would lose revenue we couldn’t afford to lose.Not now, when we were finally recovering from the disasters of the past year.Not when I had fought so hard to prove I could run this place.
“Show me.”
We walked toward the elevator, but Michael veered left before we reached it, opening a door to the service stairwell.Narrow and utilitarian, lit by bare bulbs.
“Faster this way,” he said over his shoulder.“Avoids the lobby traffic.”
The stairwell was empty.No guests, no staff, no security detail.I hadn’t seen Petrov’s men since I left the conference room.Usually they were everywhere, Raphael’s silent shadows reporting my every movement.Their absence felt strange, but I didn’t question it.Maybe they were changing shifts.Maybe Raphael had pulled them for whatever pack emergency had taken him away.
Michael moved quickly, with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of this building.Which he did.These back stairs and hallways were as familiar to him as my own office was to me.
We descended two flights.Through the bond, Raphael’s agitation flared suddenly, a flare of panic that made me stumble on a step.The intensity of it was staggering.He was too far away for me to feel this clearly, but the bite had changed the rules of distance.The bond stretched between us like a wire pulled tight, humming with his distress.
