Chapter 3 - The House With No Guest Room
Adrien did not take Danielle to a hotel.
He took her to his home.
The Moretti residence occupied three secured floors of a limestone building overlooking Central Park, guarded by men whose names Danielle recognized from calendar entries but had never met.
When Adrien carried her through the private elevator, she protested.
“I can walk.”
“You nearly fainted getting into the car.”
“I was making a dramatic entrance.”
“You’re terrible at dramatic entrances.”
“That hurts.”
“You’ll survive.”
The elevator opened.
Danielle expected cold marble.
Instead, she found books.
Thousands of them.
They covered an entire wall of Adrien’s private living room.
She stared.
“You read?”
Adrien looked offended.
“I’m a criminal, Danielle, not illiterate.”
Her mouth opened.
Then she laughed.
He had never heard her laugh like that.
The sound did something inconvenient to his chest.
He set her down.
“Guest room is down the hall.”
“Thank you.”
“There isn’t one.”
She blinked.
“You just said—”
“I realized I don’t have one.”
“Your apartment has more square footage than my entire building.”
“I dislike overnight guests.”
“So where am I sleeping?”
“My room.”
“No.”
“I’ll use the study.”
“Absolutely not.”
They argued for four minutes.
Danielle lost because she sneezed halfway through explaining why his proposal was ridiculous.
By evening, her fever had climbed.
Adrien stayed.
He moved calls into the study, speaking quietly while Danielle slept.
At midnight, she woke from a nightmare.
Her mother’s name escaped her lips.
Adrien appeared at the bedroom door.
“Danielle?”
She sat upright, breathing hard.
For once, she looked defenseless.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Waking you.”
“I was awake.”
“Of course you were.”
He brought water.
She drank.
Then she noticed his loosened tie and rolled sleeves.
“Did you work all day from out there?”
“Yes.”
“You canceled Zurich.”
“Yes.”
“Are we bankrupt?”
“Tragically, no.”
Another faint smile.
Then Danielle looked at him.
“Why are you doing this?”
Adrien could have given a dozen easy answers.
Security.
Responsibility.
Loyalty.
Instead, he said, “Because when your chair was empty this morning, I was afraid.”
Her expression changed.
Men like Adrien Moretti did not admit fear.
He sat on the edge of the chair across from her.
“I’ve had people disappear before.”
Danielle knew enough not to ask.
“They usually disappear because someone wants me to notice.”
“And you thought—”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“I thought someone had taken you because of me.”
Danielle stared at the water glass.
“Maybe they tried.”
The security system chimed.
Adrien was standing before the second sound.
A guard spoke through the intercom.
“Mr. Moretti. We intercepted a courier downstairs.”
“What was he carrying?”
“A package addressed to Ms. Carter.”
Adrien’s gaze went cold.
“Don’t open it.”
Minutes later, security scanned it.
No explosive.
Adrien opened the package himself.
Inside was Danielle’s missing office keycard.
She had not known it was missing.
Beneath it lay a photograph.
Danielle leaving work the previous evening.
Taken from across the street.
On the back, six words had been written in black ink.
SHE KNOWS WHAT YOU DID.
Danielle read them over Adrien’s shoulder.
“Who is ‘you’?”
Adrien looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, she believed him.
Then Adrien noticed something in the photograph.
A reflection in the glass behind Danielle.
A man.
He knew the face.
His name was Paul Vieri.
Victor Salerno’s driver.
Adrien picked up his phone.
“Find Victor.”
The answer came seconds later.
“Boss, Victor’s gone.”
Adrien’s eyes hardened.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“House is empty. Phone disconnected. His wife says she hasn’t seen him since yesterday.”
Danielle went pale.
Adrien looked at the photograph again.
May you like
Victor had vanished the same night Danielle discovered the hidden payments.
Coincidence had just left the room.
