Chapter 151: Two Options.

I drive to the penthouse, park in the underground garage, and head for the elevator.

I own the building. I bought it when I was much younger, back when Father’s drinking got out of hand and the walls of our family home felt like they were closing in on me. Whenever I couldn’t stand another evening of his temper, I came here and disappeared for a while.

It was quiet and I was mine.

No shouting, no slammed doors. No one waiting to remind me that I was expected to become exactly like him.

I’d sit by the windows and watch the city below, sometimes for hours, until the noise in my head settled. I rarely stayed overnight, but when I did, I slept better here than I ever did at home.

It’s been a long time since I’ve visited. I’ve had more pressing matters to handle, and there was no reason to come back. Still, I trust Dorothy, the housekeeper in charge, to have kept the place clean and tidy.

The elevator rises smoothly. I watch the numbers change above the doors, my hands in my pockets, thinking about the woman I’m about to meet.

The doors slide open and true to form, the penthouse is spotless. The polished floor reflects the soft lighting, the furniture sits exactly where I remember it, and the air carries the faint scent of lemon cleaner and fresh flowers. The curtains are drawn just enough to let the late afternoon sun spill across the living room. Nothing is out of place.

Dorothy has done her job well.

I find her in the hallway, adjusting a small arrangement of flowers. She looks up at the sound of my footsteps, and her face brightens when she sees me.

"Well, look at that." She smiles. "It’s been a while, son. You never come around anymore."

I sigh.

What is it with people and telling me I don’t come around anymore?

"I’ve been busy."

"Ah." She studies me with the patient look of someone who’s known me too long to believe that’s the whole story. "You’re always busy. Do you need anything?"

"Yes, actually." I glance toward the living room. "A lady will be here soon. I need you to let her in. Once she’s here, you can leave."

"Of course, son. I can do that."

"Thank you, Dorothy."

She gives me a small smile, then returns to her flowers. I continue down the hall, but her voice follows me.

"Try to eat something while you’re here."

"I will."

I won’t.

Dorothy has been my housekeeper since I bought this building. Father killed her husband after he tried to betray the family. He’d been the sole provider for their household, and after his death, Dorothy and her children were left struggling to keep their lives together.

I took pity on her and offered her a job here. She needed steady work, and I needed someone I could trust to look after the place. It was practical.

I pay her generously, probably much more than anyone else would for the same work. I want to make sure she and her children are cared for. It’s one of the few things I’ve done that doesn’t come with a price attached.

I head into the living room and make my way to the bar. The bottles are arranged neatly, their labels facing outward. I take down a bottle of whiskey, get a glass, and pour myself a generous amount.

The first sip burns down my throat and I welcome it.

I don’t like waiting for people. I like to be the one who arrives, who makes the other person wait, who decides when the conversation begins and when it ends.

But waiting for her is necessary, so I’ll make the sacrifice.

I settle into a chair and rest my glass on the table beside me. The penthouse is quiet enough that I can hear the faint hum of the air conditioning. Outside, the city carries on, cars moving along the streets far below.

My thoughts keep returning to the hospital.

Isabella’s wrist. The faint marks where that woman’s fingers had closed around her.

I’m still furious.

Not just because the woman threatened my wife and sister. She made a choice to bring a weapon into a hospital, to wave it at two women who were simply trying to leave. She could have hurt Isabella, she could have hurt Nerissa.

And I know exactly how much of this started with me.

I brought that woman into my home. I gave her reason to believe she could still approach me whenever she pleased. I let her mistake my past attention for a promise.

That ends today.

A short while later, a flash of blonde hair appears in my vision. She’s wearing something that leaves very little to the imagination. I look at her and find myself wondering how the hell I ever found her attractive enough to get my dick up with her.

She spots me and practically skips across the room.

"God, I’ve missed you." She reaches me and settles onto my lap as if she belongs there. "I’m glad you called today. I knew you’d snap back to your senses soon."

I don’t answer.

She takes my silence as encouragement. Her fingers brush my collar, and she leans closer, smiling as though we’re picking up where we left off. Then she pushes herself off my lap, lowers to her knees between mine, and reaches for my zipper.

When I catch both her hands firmly. Her smile falters. She looks up at me, confused.

I point to the chair opposite me, the table between us.

"Sit your ass down."

She blinks. "What? I... but you always liked this part."

"Sit. Down."

Her mouth twists into a pout. For a moment, she stays where she is, watching me as if she expects me to change my mind. When I don’t, she swallows and slowly rises. She moves to the chair I indicated and sits with her back stiff, her hands folded in her lap.

"Did I do something?" she asks.

I set my glass down.

"I’ll save us both some time and energy."

I reach into my back pocket, pull out my gun, and place it on the table between us.

Her gaze drops to it, the teasing smile vanishes from her face.

I watch her take in the weapon, then look back at me. She’s gone still, all that eager confidence draining away.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees.

"You have two options. Pack your things and get out of this country, or I put that gun to your head....i think you know what comes after."