Chapter 8 - The Knock on the Penthouse Door“What did you say?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sudden roaring in my ears.
“I said, open the front door, my dear,” Victor Vance replied smoothly, his tone dripping with chilling amusement. “It’s rude to keep your father waiting in the hallway. Especially when we have so much to discuss regarding your new… living arrangements.”
The phone went dead with a sharp click.
Before I could even process the words, a heavy, rhythmic pounding echoed through the grand foyer.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Someone was standing outside the private elevator doors on the top floor of the penthouse. Someone with enough security clearance, or enough money, to bypass the building’s biometric locks entirely.
Alessandro’s face darkened into a terrifying mask of controlled rage. He didn't hesitate for a single second. He stepped past me, his long strides carrying him across the marble foyer toward the private elevator doors.
“Stay behind me,” Alessandro commanded, his hand slipping instinctively inside the tailored jacket of his suit.
The elevator chime chimed softly—a bright, cheerful ding that felt completely absurd given the suffocating tension in the room.
The heavy steel doors slid open.
Standing inside the elevator car was an older man with silver-streaked hair, sharp, predatory eyes, and an expensive bespoke charcoal suit that matched Alessandro’s own. Behind him stood two massive, stone-faced private security guards in tactical gear.
Victor Vance stepped out of the elevator as if he owned the building.
His gaze swept past Alessandro entirely, locking straight onto me standing a few feet away. A thin, self-satisfied smile curled across his lips.
“Hello, Claire,” Victor said smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “It seems you’ve grown quite resourceful since the last time we spoke.”
Alessandro stepped forward, physically blocking Victor’s path toward me. The two alpha billionaires stood face-to-face, their eyes locked in a silent, lethal staredown.
“Victor Vance,” Alessandro said, his voice dropping into an arctic chill. “You are trespassing on private property. My security team has strict instructions to throw unauthorized visitors off the roof.”
Victor let out a low, patronizing chuckle. He looked Alessandro up and down with open disdain.
“Ah, Alessandro Duca,” Victor replied, his voice dripping with arrogance. “The boy wonder of Manhattan real estate. You built an empire, yet you didn't even notice that my own flesh and blood was living rent-free inside your private quarters for a quarter of a year.”
Victor stepped around Alessandro, his eyes glittering with cold calculation as he looked directly at me.
“Impressive work, Claire,” Victor continued, ignoring Alessandro’s tightening fist. “Just like your old man. You infiltrated the lion's den, brought down his chief of staff, and secured yourself a front-row seat to the Duca fortune. I always knew you had my blood in you.”
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“I didn't infiltrate anything,” I stammered, stepping back until my spine hit the wall. “I needed a job, Father. I was starving. Mia was sick!”
“And now you’re set for life,” Victor smiled coldly. “Which is precisely why you’re going to help me finish what I started five years ago.”
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