Page 87 of Shadows of Steel
The moment we arrive home, I slip away from the guards as they begin unloading the bags, heading straight to check on Mattia.
I find him in the lounge, curled up with a book, his dark head bent in concentration. He barely looks up, muttering a distracted, “Ciao, Harlow.”
The corners of my lips twitch, but I don’t disturb him.
I leave quietly, making my way to the bedroom.
When I open the door, my steps falter.
The vase on the vanity is shattered, shards of glass scattered across the floor, the flowers wilted in a pool of water. And there, right next to the ruins of my bouquet, sits an envelope.
My chest tightens. The edges are smeared with blood, fingerprints staining the ivory paper.
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
He was here. Inside the house.
My fingers tremble as I reach for it, the rapid beat of my heart reverberates through my body. The room feels too quiet, the air too thick.
I rip it open, my stomach twisting violently.
Inside, there are photographs.
Of me.
At the spa. Reclining on the massage table, eyes closed in blissful ignorance.
At the boutique. Standing in front of the mirror in nothing but my lingerie, the gown I had been trying on pooled at my feet.
Taken from a distance.
Taken from a fucking window.
The room tilts. My vision narrows.
My bodyguards are in some of the shots, standing rigid.
He had been watching me.
Following me.
The entire day, the one meant to be for me, was never truly my own.
A sharp breath leaves me as I stagger back, the edges of the photographs crumpling beneath my grip.
I fumble for my phone.
My fingers are clumsy, numb, but I manage to press Dante’s name.
The line rings twice, then I hear his voice. “Yes?”
I can’t get the words out. My breath is wrong, too fast, too shallow. “Dante,” I finally whisper.
A beat of silence. Then, his tone shifts, going lethal.
“Where the fuck are you?”
I close my eyes, forcing my lungs to expand. “Our bedroom.”
