Chapter 5 - The Heiress's Cold PerfumeAt 4:00 AM, the elevator chimed with a sharp, warning chime.
Marco stepped into the study, his face grim, his weapon already drawn and resting against his thigh.
“Boss,” Marco reported in a low, urgent voice. “Miss Delacroix is in the lobby. She brought six members of her personal security detail. She’s demanding entry to the penthouse, claiming she received an anonymous tip that our car was ambushed on First Avenue.”
Elena stood up quickly from her stool, stepping back from Dante’s side as her pulse raced.
Dante remained seated on the leather bench, unbothered. He reached for a fresh black dress shirt from the wardrobe, slipping his arms through the sleeves, deliberately leaving the buttons loose over his freshly bandaged ribs.
“Did she bring her head of security, Victor?” Dante asked.
“Yes, sir. He’s standing by the elevator bank with an earpiece.”
“Let them up,” Dante ordered calmly. “Only Giselle and Victor. The rest stay in the lobby.”
“Understood.”
Dante turned to Elena, catching her wrist with his large, warm hand. “Go into the adjoining library, Elena. Leave the door cracked two inches. Watch her face when she speaks.”
“Dante, if she sees me—”
“She won't see you,” he said, his thumb gently brushing across her pulse point. “You are in my fortress now. Nobody touches what belongs to me.”
Elena pulled her hand back, her cheeks burning slightly despite the danger, and slipped through the carved mahogany doors of the library.
She stood in the darkened room, looking through the narrow opening between the double doors.
A minute later, the private elevator doors opened into the penthouse foyer.
Giselle Delacroix swept into the room like an icy tempest. She was stunning—tall, with platinum blonde hair styled in an immaculate French twist, draped in a floor-length white mink coat over a shimmering champagne evening gown. Her diamond earrings sparkled under the recessed lighting, but her cold green eyes swept the room with calculating, predatory sharpness.
Behind her walked Victor, a thick-necked enforcer with cold, dead eyes and a jagged scar across his throat.
“Dante! Mon dieu!” Giselle gasped, rushing forward with theatrical desperation, throwing her arms around Dante’s shoulders. “I was terrified! When my father’s scouts told me there was gunfire near the bridge, I thought... I thought I had lost you!”
Elena watched through the crack in the door. Giselle’s voice was filled with frantic concern, but her body was stiff, and her eyes were darting toward Dante’s side, looking for signs of fatal trauma.
Dante didn’t return the embrace. He stood motionless, his hands resting in his trouser pockets, staring down at his fiancée with absolute detachment.
“You shouldn't have ventured out in this storm, Giselle,” Dante said, his voice smooth as silk. “A wedding gala requires the bride to be well-rested.”
Giselle pulled back, her perfectly manicured hand reaching out to touch his chest. When her fingers brushed against the fresh bandage beneath his shirt, her eyes widened by a fraction of a millimeter.
“You’re injured,” she whispered, her lips parting.
“A scratch,” Dante replied dismissively. “The cowards in the SUV couldn't shoot straight.”
Giselle forced a charming, relieved smile, though her throat tightened visibly. “Thank heavens! Who could have done such a barbaric thing? The Five Families have had peace for six months!”
“The shooter used custom Swedish submachine guns,” Dante said, each word falling like lead onto the marble floor. “The kind imported exclusively through the Montreal maritime docks.”
Victor, standing three paces behind Giselle, shifted his weight by an inch, his right hand twitching toward his coat.
Giselle laughed—a high, brittle sound that sounded like breaking crystal.
“Dante, darling, you know how porous the northern border is. Any common thug can buy contraband weapons on the black market.”
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest.
“Forget about the street rats,” she murmured softly. “Our gala is in forty-eight hours. The entire syndicate council will be present. Once we sign the joint maritime charter, my father’s fleet will be yours. Nobody will ever dare raise a weapon against you again.”
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Dante looked over Giselle’s head, his obsidian eyes locking directly onto Elena’s gaze through the crack in the library door.
“Yes, Giselle,” Dante murmured, his voice sending a deadly chill through the room. “Forty-eight hours. And then everyone will receive exactly what they deserve.”
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