ang in her ears, a stark reminder that danger was much closer than she had ever imagined. This wasn't some distant threat looming over her like a shadow. It was here. In the penthouse. S

e didn't lock it. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because she knew, deep down, that if someone really wanted to kill her, a locked door wouldn't stop them. Or maybe... maybe it was because a part of her wanted to believe that Salvatore Russo was the only thing keeping her alive. The next morning, Celeste woke up to the scent of coffee. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The sunlight streamed in through the massive windows, casting a golden glow over the room. The sheets were softer than anything she had ever slept on, and the quiet hum of the city below made everything feel almost... normal. But then reality set in. Her brother was dead. A man had broken into the penthouse last night, and Salvatore had killed him. And she was still trapped here. She groaned, rolling onto her back. She had barely slept, her mind running in circles all night. She needed answers. She needed a plan. Dragging herself out of bed, she padded over to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face before stepping into the hallway. The scent of coffee was stronger now, mixing with something else-something warm and rich. Food. Her stomach grumbled in response, but she ignored it, making her way toward the living room. Salvatore was already there, sitting at the long, sleek dining table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He was dressed in his usual impeccable suit, dark and pressed, his tie slightly loosened. He looked up as she entered, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. "Morning," he said, his voice low and smooth. Celeste ignored the way it sent a shiver down her spine. "You cook?" she asked, nodding toward the plate of eggs, toast, and some kind of cured meat beside him. A smirk tugged at his lips. "I have people for that." Of course, he did. She sat down across from him, eyeing the food warily. She hadn't eaten properly in days, but sitting across from Salvatore Russo, pretending this was some kind of normal breakfast? It felt