Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Penthouse
The transition from the blinding crystal lights of the Manhattan ballroom to the subterranean quiet of Roman’s private penthouse was seamless and absolute. Roman carried Sky through the security checkpoint without breaking his stride, her limp body resting against his broad shoulders like a piece of stolen art. The penthouse was a fortress of glass, steel, and minimalist art, suspended high above the Hudson River, completely insulated from the chaotic noise of the city below.
Dr. Alistair Vance, a discreet geriatric and trauma physician whose loyalty was bought and paid for with seven-figure retainers, stood waiting by the master suite's double doors. His medical bag rested open on a leather bench.
"Pulse is erratic, Mr. Duque," Vance murmured, shining a penlight into Sky's unresponsive eyes as Roman gently laid her down across the obsidian-silk duvet. "She’s severely malnourished. Dehydration combined with acute psychological stress. Has she eaten anything substantial in the last forty-eight hours?"
Roman stood at the foot of the bed, his dark gaze fixed on Sky’s pale, drawn face. The delicate earrings she had worn at the gala caught the ambient glow of the city lights outside. "She ate what was placed before her," Roman said, his voice flat, dangerously cold. "Or so I was led to believe by her handlers."
Vance hesitated, pressing a stethoscope against Sky’s chest. "Her handlers, sir? Or her family? The Sterling estate has been under severe financial liquidation for months. If the creditors pushed her into attending your gala while she was in this condition—"
"Then they signed their own death warrants," Roman interrupted, the quiet menace in his tone dropping the temperature in the room by ten degrees.
Vance swallowed hard, quickly administering an intravenous saline drip into Sky’s bruised vein. "She’ll sleep for the next twelve hours. Her body simply shut down as a defense mechanism. But Mr. Duque... when she wakes up, she is going to realize where she is. And given the history between your syndicate and the Sterling shipping lines, she is not going to feel safe."
Roman stepped closer to the bed, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow over the fragile blonde woman. He reached out, his thumb calloused and steady, brushing a stray lock of wavy blonde hair away from her damp forehead.
May you like
"She doesn't need to feel safe," Roman said softly, staring down at her with an intensity that bordered on obsession. "She needs to survive. And under this roof, no one touches what is mine."
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