Phoebe walked toward the lounge, her stride firm and confident, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing her anticipation. But as she crossed the threshold, the air in the room didn't feel like him. It was lighter, different, lacking that suffocating, dominant chill she had come to associate with the shadow.
She stopped in her tracks. A man was sitting comfortably on the sofa, seemingly relaxed, but his presence was undeniable. Phoebe studied him intensely, her gaze serious and questioning.
I know this face, she realized a flash of recognition flickering in her mind. He wasn't stranger. She was certain of it, but she couldn't quite place the memory. She racked her brain, searching for where their paths had crossed.
"Hi, Miss Fortunata." The man's greeting, smooth, polished, and laced with a soft Italian accent, pulled Phoebe out of her thoughts. She snapped back to reality and continued walking toward him.
"Hi. I apologize for the wait."
"No problem. I should be the one apologizing for arriving so suddenly without any prior notice." He stood up, offering a professional yet charming smile.
Phoebe kept a careful distance. "Do I … know you? I feel like we've met before."
The man nodded, then extended his hand. "We did, briefly. I am the one you met at the Gala Party In Milan. My name is Luca Moretti."
"Ah … yes. I remember now."
"I'm glad you do. It's a pleasure to meet you here, Miss Fortunata." He spoke with a polite, deferential tone that Phoebe found intriguing, yet she remained on high alert, trying to decipher his true motives.
"Yes, I'm Phoebe Fortunata. What brought you all the way Australia? Is it something important?"
Luca nodded, his expression remaining warm and unreadable. "You could say that. It is important, but perhaps not overly serious … yet." He paused, checking his watch. "As it's now lunchtime, perhaps we could discuss this over a meal? If you don't mind, of course. My treat."
He spoke with such impeccable politeness that it made Phoebe hesitate. She couldn't immediately refuse without being rude, but she wasn't about to act recklessly either. Her instincts were whispering a warning she couldn't ignore.
She looked at him, measuring her words. "I … I should probably invite my personal assistant as well. If you don't mind? We can all go together."
A faint, knowing smile played on Luca's lips. "Not at all. The more, the merrier. And in fact, I'm not alone either. A companion of mine is waiting elsewhere."
Phoebe felt a small wave of relief, but her guard stayed up. She turned to her assistant. "Zara, get ready. You're coming with me to lunch with Mr. Moretti."
"Yes, Miss."
They began to walk out, but before leaving the office area, Phoebe discreetly pulled Zara aside. She leaned in, her voice a barely audible whisper.
"Stay close to me, Zara," Phoebe hissed. "I'm not comfortable going with him alone. Something feels off. Keep your eyes open and watch our surroundings."
Zara gave a subtle nod of understanding, her expression tightening. Phoebe then turned back to Luca with a perfectly composed, professional mask.
"Shall we, Mr. Moretti? I know a place that is quite comfortable and not too far from here."
They walked out together, the atmosphere thick with unspoken questions. Phoebe stepped into the elevator, ready to find out exactly what kind of game Luca Moretti was playing.
****
"Boss, do you intend to meet her now, as she requested?" Enzo asked, his gaze professional and steady.
"She gave me forty-eight hours, didn't she?"
"She did. But in my opinion, it might be better to go now. Forgive me, it's just a suggestion to expedite your meeting with the lady."
A cold, faint laugh escaped Raymond's lips. "Unfortunately, I'm still enjoying the view. I want to see how far curiosity will burn before it finally consumes her."
Enzo simply nodded. He was well-acquainted with Raymond's temperament, though he noted the slight shift in stakes this time, this was a woman, after all. To Raymond, the gifts sent to Phoebe were merely an overture, a trifle before the real symphony began.
"Very well. It's time to inspect the shipment that arrived thirty minutes ago. The team is conducting the on-site check as we speak."
Raymond gave a sharp nod and stepped out, his presence instantly dominating the hallway. "I think I'll try this one myself."
A thin smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Behind the steel doors of his private vault, a dark mahogany case lay open. Nestled against black velvet was a Cabot Guns Big Bang 1911.
The firearm was more than a weapon; it was a masterpiece. The frame was forged from a chunk of an ancient meteorite, its metallic Widmanstatten patterns shimmering with a cosmic texture no earthly metal could ever replicate. 24-karat gold accents lined the trigger and the safety, offering a luxurious yet lethal contrast. It felt right in Raymond's hand, cold, solid, and impeccable.
He lifted the weapon, testing the perfect balance of the grip. In his eyes, this pistol was exactly like Phoebe; beautiful, rare, and incredibly lethally dangerous if handled by the wrong hands.
*****
"Boss, the shipment is expected to arrive within the next thirty minutes. Also, regarding the individual who tried to breach the system yesterday, we've successfully traced the data and identified—"
"That bastard!"
Raymond's sudden outburst of fury made Enzo stiffen in surprise. He looked at his Boss, his mind clouded with confusion. "I beg your pardon, Boss? What is it?"
"How dare he … how dare he approach her!"
Enzo's confusion only deepened as he watched Raymond gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. Raymond's eyes were fixed on the screen, burning with a predatory fire.
"Prepare the Jet! We're leaving. Now!"
"Forgive me, Boss, but where exactly are we heading?" Enzo asked, trying not to let his own assumptions trip him up.
"Australia!"
At that moment, Enzo's doubts vanished. There was only one reason Raymond would drop everything for that continent. "Are you going to see the Lady in Australia, Boss? I thought you said you didn't want to see her just yet, not until the forty-eight-hour deadline was up?"
Raymond didn't stop. He didn't even slow his pace. The air around him seemed to vibrate with a cold, suppressed violence.
The look Raymond shot back was as sharp as dagger, cold enough to draw blood. He turned abruptly, his long strides dominating the hallway. "I don't recall teaching you to ask so many questions, Enzo Danotta!"
Before Enzo hurried to catch up, he took a short, sharp breath to steady his mind. He hadn't meant to be intrusive, he simply hadn't forgotten that only a short while ago, Raymond had insisted on staying away.
*****
"The pattern is too identical. Even the way he intentionally handed you that gift just before you parted ways … it felt like a statement," Celia began, her voice low but piercing, she glanced toward the velvet box on the coffee table. "That diamond bracelet … the price tag is astronomical. It's exactly the kind of luxury your anonymous admirer usually sends. Isn't that his way of finally showing his face?"
Celia's logic was flawless, yet a cold shiver of intuition crawled up Phoebe's spine. Something felt fundamentally wrong.
"You analysis isn't flawed, Cel. I've been thinking the same thing, but …" Phoebe trailed off, trying to shake the lingering unease. "Why wouldn't he just admit it? Why play these games?"
Celia let out a dry, knowing laugh. "That's the point! He wants you to connect the dots yourself. Think about it, if he wanted to be blunt about his identity, why spend all this time for operating in secret? Why not just walk through those doors and claim you from the start?"
The logic felt like a noose tightening around Phoebe's neck. The more they dissected it, the harder it became to deny that Luca Moretti was the man behind the shroud.
"I'm still not entirely convinced," Phoebe whispered, her voice barely audible. "My certainty hasn't event hit ninety percent yet."
"Well, I can't force you to see what's right in front of you," Celia shrugged, her expression shifting to one of genuine concern. "But keep your guard up. We don't know his endgame. If it really is him, we still don't know the motive hiding behind all that sparkle."
Phoebe nodded, her mind a chaotic blur. But the, without warning, the world tilted. Her stomach churned violently, a sudden wave of nausea hitting her with the force of a tidal wave. Without a word, she bolted for the restroom.
"Hey! Where are you going?" Celie cried out, jumping to her feet. "Phoebe! Again? What's wrong with you?" Cellia followed in a panicked rush, pacing outside the door until Phoebe finally emerged. But Phoebe didn't get far, she collapsed against the edge of the sink, her face a ghostly pallor as she trembled under the weight of another heave.
"Are you okay? Are you sick?" Celia moved I, rubbing her back.
"I was fine this morning," Phoebe rasped, wiping beads of cold sweat from her brow. "But no … my stomach feels like it's being shredded."
"What did you eat? Was something poisoned?"
Phoebe shook her head weakly. The nausea clawed at her throat again, though her stomach was empty. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating.
"Is it food poisoning … or are you …" Celia's voice trailed off into a heavy silence.
"What?" Phoebe asked, staring at her own fractured reflection in the mirror.
Celia met her gaze, a sharp, terrifying realization dawning in her eyes. "Or are you … pregnant?"
The world went dead silent. Phoebe froze, her breath hitching in her throat as a chilling stillness settled over the room like a shroud.