Chapter 2 - The Mask Slips
Camille stepped into the dim light of the foyer, her expensive silk robe rustling softly. She paused ten feet away, her sharp green eyes scanning my blood-stained cuff and the rigid, terrifying stillness of my posture.
A flicker of genuine unease crossed her face, though she quickly masked it with an artificial, practiced pout.
“You look terrible,” Camille murmured, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to touch my chest. “Did something happen at the docks? You know Patrick worries when you bring business home.”
I didn't flinch away from her touch, but my gaze locked onto hers with a dead, predatory coldness that made her hand freeze mid-air.
“Where did you get that ring, Camille?” I asked softly.
She blinked, confused by the pivot. “My engagement ring? Your mother’s heirloom, Roman. You gave it to me yourself.”
“No,” I said, stepping out from the shadows into the faint light. “I’m talking about the ring on your left thumb. The gold band with the emerald inlay. Arthur gave that to you, didn't he?”
The color drained from Camille’s face so fast it looked like someone had thrown a handful of ash across her skin. Her hand dropped instantly to her side, her fingers curling into a tight fist against her thigh.
“I don't know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, her voice losing its polished composure. “Arthur is your lawyer. I only see him when we review the wedding catering and pre-nup details.”
“Is that what you call reviewing pre-nups?” Naomi stepped out from behind the column, her phone still clutched in her hand, the screen glowing faintly. “Because the audio file I just played for Roman sounded a lot more like a corporate execution strategy.”
Camille’s head whipped around toward Naomi, her eyes turning murderous. “You. You miserable little spy. You’ve been sneaking around my house?”
“It’s not your house, Camille,” I said, my voice dropping into a register that made the temperature in the room plummet. “And it never was.”
Realizing the game was up, Camille’s mask of sweet domesticity shattered entirely. Her lips curled back in a bitter, venomous sneer. She tossed her head, her posture straightening as she traded fear for unbridled arrogance.
“You think you’re so untouchable, don't you, Roman?” Camille laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “You sit in your glass tower and play king of the Chicago underworld, while men like my father and Arthur Velez buy and sell your entire empire right under your nose. You think a few audio recordings will save you? The probate court already has the draft filings. Arthur filed them at midnight.”
My blood boiled, every instinct screaming at me to crush her throat, but I forced my fists to stay loose at my sides.
“Arthur filed papers based on my incapacity,” I said quietly. “Which means he needs me dead or missing for them to take effect.”
“Oh, you won't be missing, Roman,” Camille smiled, her eyes glittering with malice. “Arthur and my father planned a very public, very tragic accident for your next late-night drive down by the river. By tomorrow morning, your children will be shipped off to Vermont, and your entire fortune will belong to the syndicate.”
May you like
Before she could finish the sentence, the heavy oak front door of the penthouse rattled violently, followed by the sound of a key turning in the deadbolt.
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