Page 6 of Tower of Temptations

We moved quickly, efficiently, crossing the pedestrian bridge to her building.

The lobby was exactly what we expected. Two guards at the desk, one by the elevators. Nico's loop was running on the cameras.

"Let's move," Rocco muttered as he went ahead, and the fire alarm kicked everything into motion. People running everywhere, guards trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Couldn't have asked for better cover.

The guards never stood a chance. Three quiet shots from our tranquilizer guns and they were down. I pushed away the twinge of guilt as we dragged them aside—guilt was a luxury we couldn't afford in this life. This was necessary.

But as we rode the freight elevator up, metal groaning under our feet, Pearl's lonely figure kept appearing in my mind. I'd done dozens of jobs like this. She was supposed to be just another piece in our revenge against Salvatore. A means to an end. So why the hell did the thought of using her make my stomach turn?

Nico met us at the elevator, his bald head gleaming under the fluorescent lights. "Change of plans," he said tersely. "We're going up, not down. Cops are already on their way."

The helicopter's presence suddenly made more sense. Sometimes the best plans were the ones made on the fly.

We found Pearl in the hallway outside her apartment, looking lost and confused and more beautiful up close than any scope could capture. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, all my carefully constructed walls trembled.

I caught the flash of fear she tried to hide, but there was something else in that gaze that made my blood run hot. Something that made me forget, for one dangerous second, that she was supposed to be just another target.

The sound of Nico's signal from the roof made her jump, but she didn't scream. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself in that same vulnerable gesture I'd watched through my scope.

"My stepfather will pay whatever you want," she said softly, her voice steady despite everything. "He always does."

"Not this time," I said, my voice harsher than intended.

The helicopter's rotor wash grew louder above us as I moved closer to Pearl. She held my gaze, not backing away. Just that quiet defiance that made something shift in my chest.

"Remember why we're here," Rocco's earlier words echoed in my head.

But with Pearl standing before me, her blue eyes full of secrets I suddenly wanted to unravel, the reasons didn't seem so clear anymore.

4

PEARL

The fire alarm's sudden wail made me jump. In three years, I'd never heard it go off in our building.

The shrill sound drew my attention outward.

Then I saw them—two men strode in, stepping over my unconscious guards. They moved like hunters, just like Vittorio's men. But these men were different. Twins, with blond hair and sharp features like mirror images of each other. Something fluttered in my stomach as I cataloged the details—a nervous habit I'd developed over years of needing to notice every imperfection before Vittorio did.

"No—" The word came out as a whimper. I backed away until my spine hit the wall.

The one with longer hair stepped forward. "Stay quiet and do what we say."

His brother moved to block the doorway. "We're not here to kill you." His voice was quieter, almost gentle. "But we need to move. Now."

I found myself staring at his hands—strong, slightly calloused—before my brain caught up with the fact that I was studying my potential captor's features.

"Where are you taking me?" I managed, trying to steady my breathing.

"You'll find out soon enough," Long Hair said, checking his watch.

"We need to move," his brother cut in, already at the door.

My legs felt like they might give out at any moment, and each breath came shorter than the last. But there was something else too, something unfamiliar that made my skin prickle with awareness every time Short Hair's gaze found mine. Like standing too close to a storm.

When Long Hair moved closer, panic surged. "Wait—if you don't touch me, I'll go willingly. I won't run. I promise." As if I had anywhere to run to. Three years in this cage had made sure of that.

My gaze darted past them to my apartment, taking in the pristine space that had been my entire world. The Picasso's violent slashes of color seemed to mock me now. Something stirred in my chest—an emotion I wasn't ready to examine.

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