CHAPTER 2: Secrets in the Smoke
CHAPTER 2: Secrets in the Smoke
Three days passed, and the Whitmore Estate became my luxurious prison. I was given a bedroom larger than my entire apartment, filled with silk sheets and designer clothes that arrived in unlabeled boxes. But no matter how soft the bed was, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Vincent’s gray eyes snapping open inside that mahogany casket.
Vincent had stayed locked in his study, conducting a silent, brutal purge of his organization. The tension in the house was thick enough to cut with a knife.
On the fourth night, unable to rest, I crept out of my room. The mansion was deadly quiet. I found myself drawn toward the glass conservatory at the back of the house, a beautiful glass dome filled with exotic night-blooming jasmine.
But I wasn't alone.
Through the leaves, I heard voices. Harsh, whispered, and familiar.
"He’s tracing the toxin, Raymond," a woman's voice hissed. It was Elena. "The chemist we used in Colombia—Vincent’s men found him this morning. It’s only a matter of time before he talks."
"Calm down, Elena," Raymond’s voice replied, smooth and venomous. "The chemist knows nothing about our involvement. He dealt with a middleman. But the waitress... she’s the real problem. Vincent keeps her too close. He’s protecting her."
"Then we eliminate her," Elena said coldly. "A tragic accident. A slip in the shower. If she dies, Vincent loses his only anchor to that day. He’ll become reckless. And a reckless king is easy to dethrone."
My breath hitched. My foot shifted, catching the edge of a terracotta pot. It scraped against the marble floor with a sharp screech.
"Who’s there?" Raymond barked.
Panic seized me. I turned and ran, my bare feet making no sound on the rugs as I bolted down the hallway. I didn't look back until I threw open the heavy doors of Vincent’s study, bursting inside without knocking.
Vincent was sitting behind his desk, surrounded by monitors showing security feeds. He looked up, his brow furrowed in anger at the interruption, but his expression softened when he saw my pale face and panting chest.
"Grace? What’s wrong?"
"It was them," I gasped, rushing to his desk and gripping the polished wood. "Your sister. Your uncle. I just heard them in the conservatory. They used a chemist from Colombia. They... they want to kill me, Vincent. They want to kill you!"
Vincent didn't look shocked. Instead, a dark, dangerous calm washed over his features. He stood up slowly, walking around the desk until he was inches from me.
"I know," he said softly.
I blinked, stunned. "You know? Then why haven't you arrested them? Why are they still walking around your house?"
"Because in the mafia, Grace, accusation without absolute proof leads to a civil war," Vincent explained, his hand reaching out to cup my jaw. His thumb brushed against my lower lip, sending a strange, electric shiver down my spine. "I needed them to feel safe. I needed them to make a move against you, because that is the move that will expose them."
"You used me as bait?" I whispered, heartbreak mixing with my fear.
Vincent’s gray eyes flared with a sudden, fierce emotion. He gripped my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. "Never. I would never let them touch a hair on your head. You think I keep you here to protect myself? Look at me, Grace."
I looked up into his eyes, trapped by the intensity burning within them.
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"The moment I opened my eyes in that casket, the world was black and cold," Vincent whispered, his voice shaking with a rare vulnerability. "The first thing I saw was you. You brought me back from the dark. You aren't my bait, Grace. You are my light. And I will burn this entire city to ash before I let anyone hurt you."
Before I could process his words, his lips crashed down onto mine. It was a kiss born of adrenaline, danger, and a fierce, possessive hunger. It was demanding, yet desperate. In that moment, surrounded by betrayal and death, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, realizing with a terrifying certainty that I had fallen for the devil himself.
