Chapter 5 - The Cold Realization
Luca didn't blink. He didn't gasp. But every single micro-expression on his chiseled face instantly shifted from cold annoyance to absolute, terrifying realization. All the color slowly drained from his sharp features.
He slowly lowered the frantic, handwritten note, his dark, lethal eyes drifting over to the massive puddle of champagne still foaming on the marble floor.
If Clara had followed her orders—if she had smiled, played the part of the seductive escort, and handed him a crystal flute of that golden liquid—he would be dead right now. His heart would have stopped in three minutes, and his ruthless uncle Vincent would be walking through the front door to claim the entire Vale syndicate empire.
Clara hadn't dropped the bottle out of clumsiness. She had shattered it on purpose to ensure he couldn't possibly drink it. She hadn't run away in terror because she was afraid of him. She ran because she knew Vincent’s heavily armed hitmen were waiting in the shadows of the high-rise, and she was trying to act as the bait to draw them out of the penthouse.
A heavy, violent protective instinct violently erupted inside Luca’s chest. The woman in the red silk dress had just put a massive target on her own back to keep him breathing.
Luca’s hand clamped down hard on his phone, pulling it from his pocket with a rigid, lightning-fast motion. He didn't bother dialing; he pressed a single speed-dial button. He walked slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down at the sprawling, glittering Chicago streets far below, his gaze turning completely dark and deadly.
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The line clicked open after one ring.
👉 Luca was about to unleash his full power to save her, but his right-hand man was about to deliver devastating news.
