Chapter 5 - Secrets in the SafeThree days had passed since I was brought back to the Moretti stronghold.
The penthouse was a fortress of luxury. Servants brought me gourmet meals on silver platters, private obstetricians checked my vitals twice a day, and an army of guards patrolled the hallways twenty-four hours a day. Damian was drowning in syndicate business, attending emergency meetings across the city to hunt down whoever had tipped off the Russian Bratva at the boutique.
I barely saw him, which suited me fine. It gave me time to map the penthouse.
Every security camera angle. Every blind spot in the hallway. Every emergency exit.
On the fourth night, a heavy thunderstorm rolled over San Francisco. Lightning flashed across the bay, illuminating the dark suite in stark, white bursts of light. Heavy rain battered the bulletproof glass.
I slipped out of bed, moving silently across the plush carpet. The penthouse was quiet, save for the low hum of the centralized security servers located in Damian’s private home office at the far end of the suite.
The office door was locked, as expected. But during my months on the run, living on the streets and learning how to survive in the underworld, I had picked up a few useful survival skills—including how to pick a high-end digital tumbler lock using a modified hairpin and a small tension wrench.
Click.
The lock gave way with a soft pop. I slipped inside the dark office, closing the heavy mahogany door silently behind me.
The room smelled of old leather, expensive bourbon, and cedar. I flicked on a small pen-light, illuminating the rows of bookshelves and the massive oak desk. I didn't want Damian's financial records or his weapons inventory. I wanted information about me. About why I had really been targeted a year ago.
I approached the large oil painting of the Moretti family crest hanging behind the desk. Pushing the frame aside revealed a biometric wall safe.
I stared at the glowing blue scanner. Damian had programmed my fingerprints into the estate's security system years ago, back when we were first married and foolishly in love, before the darkness of his empire consumed us both. On a whim, I pressed my thumb against the glass scanner.
Beep. Green light.
The heavy steel door swung open smoothly.
Inside weren't gold bars or bearer bonds. It was a thick, leather-bound dossier labeled with a single word: ISABELLA.
My hands shook as I pulled it out and flipped it open on the desk. The pages inside were filled with printed surveillance photos—photos of me taken over the last eleven months. Me walking on the beach in Carmel. Me entering a small grocery store. Me sitting on a park bench reading a book.
He knew where I was the entire time.
My breath hitched. A cold wave of shock washed over me. He hadn't just found me by accident at the boutique. He had known my location for weeks, maybe months. He had simply been waiting for the right moment to make his move.
And then, my eyes landed on the final document at the back of the file. It was a confidential medical report, dated two days before the yacht explosion.
My eyes scanned the lines, and the blood drained completely from my face.
Patient: Isabella Hayes-Moretti. Diagnosis: Early-stage terminal poisoning. Agent: Slow-acting heavy metal toxin, administered chronically.
I dropped the paper as if it had burned me. My knees buckled, and I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from falling.
Poison?
I hadn't just run away because of the mafia wars. I had run away because I realized someone inside Damian’s inner circle was trying to murder me slowly. And looking at the file, the medical signature at the bottom belonged to Dr. Marcus Vance—Damian’s most trusted personal physician, and his right-hand man.
"Looking for something, my love?"
A deep, smooth voice cut through the dark office like a razor blade.
May you like
I spun around with a gasp.
Damian stood in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, holding a glass of scotch. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing scarred forearms. His expression was completely unreadable, his dark eyes fixed entirely on me and the open safe behind me.
