Chapter 7

That night, the Moretti estate didn’t sleep. The chandeliers were still glowing past midnight. The air smelled of burnt tobacco, gun oil, and spilled brandy. Adrian was in the drawing room—his sanctuary turned battlefield—shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, knuckles bruised. An untouched steak bled onto fine china. He hadn’t touched it. Couldn’t. Not when his entire empire was searching, but no one had answers.

The glass in his hand trembled slightly, not from fear—he didn’t know fear—but from restraint. Barely contained fury. Another one of his men stepped in, face drawn.

“We checked every checkpoint between here and the coast,” the man reported, voice low, wary. “Nothing. No sighting. Not even a whisper.”

Adrian downed his drink, eyes vacant.

“We bribed a few customs officers. Still nothing,” another said, entering. “It’s like she vanished.”

The silence thickened. Then—

CRASH.

Adrian hurled the tumbler against the marble column. It shattered, spraying glass and whiskey across the floor. The men flinched. No one moved to clean it.

“I gave you seventy-two hours,” Adrian growled, voice cold and dark, like thunder before the storm. “Seventy-two hours and an unlimited budget, and you still came back with empty hands?”

They looked away.

Tony stepped forward from the shadows, fixing his cufflinks with careful precision.

“We’ve deployed everyone we have, Adrian. But tomorrow is Mr. Smith’s election. If we cause a scene or pull too many resources, it’s going to reflect badly. The last thing we need is media sniffing around because we’re launching a manhunt for a missing journalist.”

Adrian lit another cigarette with the last one. The tip burned red-hot as he took a slow drag, exhaling smoke through his nose like a dragon barely holding back fire.

“Scarlett is more important,” he said flatly.

Tony’s jaw tightened. “Why are you all worked up about this woman?”

Adrian didn’t answer.

“She’s a journalist. A bad and wanted one. And now there’s another article floating around—an anonymous op-ed tearing into Smith. Another journalist. What if it’s her?”

Adrian’s stare lifted slowly, landing like a dagger.

“Bring me Williams.”

Tony blinked. “Her former boss?”

“He’ll have her address. Or know where she’d run. He’s her fallback.”

Tony hesitated, then nodded. Just as he turned to leave—

The doors flew open.

And in walked Mr. Smith.

Slick suit. Fake smile. Surrounded by muscle in black suits and glinting tattoos. The air changed. Men in Adrian’s territory reached for their weapons. They didn’t draw. But they touched them.

Adrian remained seated, unmoved.

“Smith,” he said, reaching for the decanter. “You didn’t say you were coming.”

“I prefer spontaneity.” Smith smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He sat without invitation. “Besides, I heard my scapegoat was somewhere in this building.”

Adrian poured two glasses. Set one in front of Smith. Didn’t push it closer.

“And who told you that?”

Smith’s grin stretched wider. “Your son, Lucas. You know how close we are. I invited him over. He said a few things. Told me you’re keeping something I want from me. Or rather, someone.”

Tony tensed at the edge of the room.

“Permission to search?” Smith asked, voice too casual to be anything but a threat.

Adrian’s face hardened. “That’s rude, Smith. I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

“You do,” Smith said. “Scarlett Hayes. The journalist who ruined Vincent’s campaign. And now you’re harboring her. That’s betrayal.”

“We’re not allies,” Adrian replied, pouring himself a drink. “We’re business associates, both legal and illegal. Big difference.”

“Semantics.” Smith’s eyes glittered. “You owe me. And I’m here to collect.”

“I don’t have her,” Adrian said quietly.

Smith stood, eyes scanning the room like he could sniff out secrets.

“You know,” he said, turning to face him. “This whole damn city is watching tomorrow. Everything needs to go perfect. If word gets out that you’re hiding a woman who crippled my campaign, the entire election goes sideways. It won’t just hurt me, Adrian. It’ll bleed on you too.”

Adrian tilted his head slightly. “Are you threatening me in my own home?”

Smith chuckled. “No, friend. Just reminding you how fragile your throne is.”

Then he turned toward the door. But paused.

“You give her up by tomorrow morning,” Smith said, eyes like steel. “Or I take her from you and when I do that it’s going to be very dangerous.”

Tony exhaled only after the door closed.

Adrian lit another cigarette. This one burned slower.

“Lucas is the one who talked?” he asked.

Tony nodded, cautiously. “I can confirm it. He’s been meeting with Smith more often than we realized.”

Adrian didn’t speak.

He just stared ahead, the firelight flickering against the rage building behind his eyes.

—

Meanwhile, thirty miles away, in Marco’s estate, Scarlett stood in the dim light of the bathroom, both hands gripping the sink.

Her breathing was shallow.

Two lines.

The stick was still on the counter, mocking her.

She gripped the edge harder.

Marco’s voice drifted from outside the guest room.

“You’ve been quiet for hours,” he called. “Everything okay?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her reflection. Pale face. Wild eyes. Fear disguised as calm.

Then she opened the door and stepped out.

Marco saw the look on her face and straightened.

“What happened?”

She held the test up.

He stared. His face shifted.

“Scarlett…” he whispered.

“It’s positive,” she said.

He stepped toward her. “Are you—”

“Don’t,” she cut in. “Don’t ask me if I’m okay. Because I’m not.”

Marco sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded. “You didn’t plan this. I get it.”

“Planned? I didn’t even know I slept with him until I couldn’t stop thinking about how his kiss felt like a goodbye wrapped in violence.”

Marco rubbed his face. “You can’t stay here anymore.”

She blinked. “What?”

“This changes everything. Adrian is already spiraling. Now if he finds out you’re pregnant and that, I am keeping the mother of his child.”

“I can’t let him find out,” she whispered.

“Scarlett, he’s going to find you. One way or another. But when he does, if he knows there’s a child—”

“I won’t let him use it,” she snapped. “I won’t let this baby be a pawn in his war.”

Marco stood, suddenly angry. “You think it’s that simple? You think he’s just going to accept that you ran and took his blood with you?”

She flinched.

He softened. “I’m trying to protect you. But this just made you the most valuable hostage in the country.”

Scarlett’s voice was barely audible. “Then hide me better.”

Marco shook his head. “There’s only one person who can erase you off every radar.”

“Who?”

He hesitated.

“My sister,” he said.

Scarlett frowned. “You have a sister?”

“She lives off-grid. Fake IDs. Black-market relocation. But it comes with a price.”

“I’ll pay it.”

“She won’t want money. She’ll want something… else.”

Scarlett looked out the window, where the moon hung like a secret in the sky.

“I don’t care what it takes.”

Marco stared at her.

“You’re starting to sound like him.”

She turned to him, eyes glassy but steady. “Maybe I have to, to survive this.”

Marco didn’t respond.

But deep down, he knew.

Adrian wouldn’t stop until he found her.

And when he did… it wouldn’t be forgiveness he brought.

—

Back at the Moretti estate, Adrian was on the phone. A secure line. The kind used for dirty business and final orders.

“You found Williams?” he asked.