Chapter 2 - The Sanctuary in the Clouds
Evan stood on the wet granite steps, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. He looked past Luca’s broad shoulder to Clare, who was staring at him with a quiet, absolute coldness that signaled the total death of her feelings.
"Clare," Evan hissed, trying to project strength. "You're making a huge mistake. If you walk away now, don't think you're coming back to the apartment."
"I left my keys on the kitchen island, Evan," Clare said, her voice steady, stepping out from behind Luca. "And I took my mother’s pearl necklace. You can keep the furniture. I’m done."
Evan took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides. "You bitch—!"
Luca didn't hesitate. He took one step forward, grabbed Evan by the lapels of his soaked suit jacket with a single hand, and lifted the younger man onto the tips of his shoes.
"If you complete that sentence," Luca whispered, his dark eyes burning with a terrifying, ancient threat, "I will ensure that your investment firm loses every municipal contract in the tri-state area by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Then I will look into your personal offshore accounts."
Evan went pale, his breath catching in his throat. He knew Luca Duca didn't make empty threats. The Duca family didn't just control buildings; they controlled the docks, the unions, and the private ledgers of half the judges in the state.
"Get in your car," Luca ordered, letting go so abruptly that Evan stumbled backward onto the wet pavement. "And if I see your vehicle near Clare’s apartment building or this tower again, we won't have a conversation. My associates will."
Evan scrambled back into his Audi without another word, slammed the door, and accelerated wildly into the dark Manhattan traffic, his tires screaming against the wet asphalt.
Silence fell over the entrance of Duca Tower once more.
Clare let out a long, ragged breath, her shoulders collapsing as the adrenaline flushed out of her system. She swayed slightly, her knees threatening to buckle under the weight of three months of hidden abuse and fear.
Luca turned around instantly. His hands caught her by the arms—gentle, careful, holding her steady without applying a single pound of unnecessary pressure.
"I have her," Luca called out quietly.
A black, armored Maybach pulled up to the curb. Marco, Luca’s trusted head of security and lifelong friend, stepped out holding a large black umbrella, opening the rear door.
"Where to, Don Luca?" Marco asked smoothly, his sharp eyes scanning the street for any lingering threats.
Luca looked down at Clare, whose head was resting lightly against his broad chest, her breath hitching as silent tears finally spilled over her lashes.
"To my penthouse at the Carlyle," Luca said. "She isn't going back to her apartment tonight."
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"Luca, no," Clare murmured weakly, trying to pull back. "I can get a hotel room..."
"You are exhausted, you are bruised, and Evan Mercer knows where your apartment is," Luca said gently, guiding her into the warm, leather-scented interior of the Maybach. "Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we dismantle his life."
