Footsteps approached the closet.
Elena pressed Vincent deeper into the shadows, her body shielding him as expensive fabric rustled around them.
Then a voice cut through the silence.
Cold.
Familiar.
“Check every room again.
He should have been here by now.”
Vincent’s blood turned to ice.
That voice belonged to his nephew, Marcus.
The boy Vincent had raised after his brother’s death.
The young man he had groomed to inherit pieces of his empire.
The family member he had trusted with his life.
Elena’s eyes reflected the same shock Vincent felt.
She had recognized the voice, too.
But her expression shifted from surprise to something else.
Knowledge.
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