Chapter 5 - The Trap Springs
I didn't wait to hear Moretti’s response. I scrambled backward on hands and knees away from the window, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow: Moretti didn't just stumble onto our marital troubles. Someone close to Dorian was feeding information to the syndicate, using our collapsing marriage as leverage against him.
And now, standing out on the freezing balcony in the middle of a Chicago sleet storm, I realized I had made a catastrophic mistake.
A heavy pair of leather boots crunched on the gravel path directly beneath the balcony.
“Hey! Who’s there?”
A deep, unfamiliar voice shouted from the courtyard below. A bright beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight cut through the darkness, sweeping upward and catching the edge of the guest wing landing where I was crouched.
Panic surged through my veins. I scrambled to my feet, slipping on the icy metal stairs as I tried to rush back toward the master suite balcony.
“Mrs. Cross!”
Noah’s voice boomed from the French doors above. The glass slid open instantly, and Noah stepped out into the storm, grabbing my arm just as my foot slipped off the icy step. He hauled me over the threshold with one powerful pull, slamming the glass shut and locking it against the wind.
Inside the warm, brightly lit bedroom, I collapsed against the edge of the mattress, trembling from head to toe, completely soaked through and freezing cold.
Noah stood before me, his face pale with shock and suppressed anger. “What were you thinking, ma’am? Mr. Moretti’s men are still on the grounds. You could have been killed.”
“Noah,” I whispered, grabbing the lapel of his wet jacket, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Moretti... Moretti knows about the divorce. He talked about it inside the study.”
Noah’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, a fraction of a second too late to hide the flash of sudden realization that crossed his features.
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“He shouldn't know that, ma’am,” Noah said carefully.
“No,” I said, staring straight into the eyes of the man who had guarded Dorian for six years. “He shouldn't. Unless someone in this house told him.”
