Chapter 5 - The Witching Hour
|
The antique grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the half-hour mark. 11:30 p.m.
Dante and Elena moved systematically through the sprawling penthouse, shutting off every light switch and closing the heavy blackout curtains. The massive, opulent apartment plunged into an eerie, suffocating darkness, illuminated only by the faint, ambient glow of the Chicago skyline bleeding through the gaps in the fabric.
They positioned themselves behind the heavy marble kitchen island, which offered a clear, protected line of sight down the main corridor leading to both elevators.
The silence was agonizing. Every raindrop hitting the glass sounded like a gunshot.
“Why didn't he just poison me?” Dante asked quietly, keeping his eyes locked on the darkness of the hallway. “Your father had you inside my house for three years. He could have slipped something into my drink at any time.”
“Because a quiet death raises questions,” Elena whispered back, crouching beside him. “The commission would demand an autopsy. They would trace the poison back to him. He needed it to look like a violent cartel hit. A tragic home invasion by an unknown rival. That’s why he brought Raymond Cole into it. Cole provides the muscle, my father provides the access, and they split your empire.”
“And you were supposed to be the grieving widow,” Dante realized, the sheer, sociopathic brilliance of her father’s plan making his blood run cold. “You inherit my legitimate businesses, and your father controls you.”
“Yes,” Elena confirmed, her grip tightening on her weapon. “But I refused to play the part. I locked my door so he couldn't use me to plant evidence. I stayed silent so he couldn't use my words against you. I made myself completely useless.”
Dante looked at her in the dim light. She had sacrificed her own happiness, endured his frustration and the whispers of the city, entirely to act as a human shield for a man who believed she hated him.
Suddenly, the low, persistent hum of the penthouse’s central air conditioning cut out. The subtle glow of the microwave display vanished.
The entire building had just lost power.
May you like
“Silas is on time,” Dante murmured, his senses sharpening into a razor's edge. “The elevators are dead.”
“They won't stop,” Elena warned. “My father is thorough. They will take the emergency stairwells. They’re coming.”
