Chapter 2 - THE MAN IN CHARCOAL|
The private dining room gleamed under soft recessed lighting as Elena made her final checks.
Polished sterling silver cutlery. Hand-blown Austrian crystal. Floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows overlooking the rain-soaked city seventeen stories below. The streetlights transformed the urban sprawl into blurred watercolor paintings.
It was a room constructed exclusively for people who preferred looking down on the rest of the world.
Elena was adjusting the alignment of a cloth napkin when the heavy oak doors clicked open.
Two men in dark, unbuttoned suits entered first. Their eyes didn't look at the decor; they scanned the corners, the service pantry, and the window seals with practiced, lethal methodology.
Security.
Then came a sharp-looking woman carrying a tablet, followed by the man himself.
He entered not with rush, but with the quiet, terrifying authority of someone who assumed the entire building belonged to him.
Tall. Broad-shouldered beneath a custom charcoal suit made of wool so fine it shimmered under the chandeliers. Dark hair trimmed tight along the sides. A jawline carved from marble.
But it was his eyes that locked Elena in place.
They were a pale, icy blue—almost silver in the dim room. Completely devoid of warmth.
Until they landed on her.
Something shifted in his cold features. A sudden spike of recognition. A quiet surprise.
"Miss Ellis," he spoke, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated through the quiet room. He pronounced her surname as if it carried weight.
Elena's pulse spiked into her throat. "Good evening, sir."
"Adrien," he corrected smoothly, his Italian accent softening the sharp consonants. "My name is Adrien Russo."
She didn't need the introduction to realize who he was. The tactical placement of his guards. The earpieces. The quiet air of absolute danger that surrounded him.
Everyone in the city knew the Russo family. They controlled the union halls, the shipping docks, and half the municipal judges—though sensible people never breathed those facts aloud.
"Will the rest of your guests be arriving shortly?" Elena asked, sticking firmly to her training.
Adrien pulled back the leather chair at the head of the long mahogany table and sat down.
"There is no party."
Elena blinked. "Sir?"
"Just us." He rested his long fingers on the table. "I own this building, Elena. I can dine alone if I wish."
The casual use of her first name made her skin prickle. She had never worn a nametag in the private wing.
"Of course, Adrien," she said carefully. "Would you like to examine the wine list?"
"The 2001 Masseto," he replied, never taking his eyes off her face. "And whatever dishes the chef feels proud of tonight."
May you like
He gestured to the empty chair directly across from him.
"Sit down. You'll join me."
