Chapter 86
Sawyer Scott stood on the expansive terrace, a slender Italian cigar held between his fingertips. He did not light it, content to let the night breeze carry away the rich, unburnt aroma of the tobacco.
He appeared to be in his early thirties, his features sharp and defined, his complexion a healthy bronze from ample exposure to the sun.
There was a careless elegance in the set of his brow and the line of his mouth, but only those who met his gaze directly could perceive the chilling acuity beneath.
Behind him, a white-haired gentleman in a bespoke suit stood with deferential stillness. This was Justin, his most trusted confidant and majordomo.
"Mr. Scott, the godfather of the Smith family, has agreed to a meeting. It is scheduled for ten o'clock tomorrow evening at his private club," Justin reported, his voice a low, professional murmur.
Sawyer gave a faint, noncommittal hum, his eyes fixed on the distant city lights that bled into the darkness.
His thoughts had already drifted far beyond the immediate horizon. He had crossed an ocean to come to Mirandia for a reason, the public one being a request from his father, Ryder Scott.
The old man, now lying frail and fading in a hospital bed, had gripped his hand with a strength that belied his condition.
In his final days, his clouded eyes had held a near-fanatical gleam as he repeated a name and a place, begging his only son to find her.
The woman, according to Ryder's fragmented memories, was the love of his life, lost years ago to the machinations of their family and the cruel twists of fate. She was supposed to have fled to Mirandia.
How utterly laughable.
A frigid curve touched Sawyer's lips.
His own mother, a woman born of an Italian mafia dynasty with a spirit as fierce as wildfire, had been the one to order the hunt for that other woman. She had sensed Ryder's affections lay elsewhere, had even suspected the existence of an illegitimate child.
That pursuit had been the catalyst that detonated the explosive conflict between his parents.
His mother ultimately died in a meticulously planned accident orchestrated by his father.
And Ryder, though he had successfully eliminated his wife and consolidated his power, had been left with the lingering consequences of the ensuing internal war.
The cleanup had taken its toll, and his health had been in steady decline ever since.
Now, this man—who had murdered his wife for power, who had lived a life of ruthless calculation—was, on his deathbed, consumed by a sentimental obsession with his one true love. He was behaving like a callow youth, pleading with Sawyer to retrieve a romance that time should have long since buried.
Sawyer had agreed.
It was not out of filial duty or any flicker of sentiment.
He felt nothing for the man he called father. He had agreed because Ryder, in his desperation, had offered something in exchange—a piece of his inheritance. He had mentioned a name: Nightfall.
It was a clandestine organization Ryder had secretly sponsored in his youth, a group he had later been forced to sever ties with and send away for reasons he never fully clarified.
Ryder had whispered that Nightfall was likely now based in Mirandia. If Sawyer could find a trace of the woman, he might also find a way to re-establish contact with, and perhaps even seize control of, Nightfall.
That was what truly interested Sawyer.
Nightfall. A shadow entity operating outside the established mafia hierarchy, specializing in intelligence, infiltration, and special operations.
To bring such an asset under his command would be of incalculable value to his own ambitions in the Americas, and to his goal of not just consolidating but surpassing the empire Ryder had built in Europe.
As for Ryder's true love, a sliver of ice-cold murderous intent flashed in Sawyer's eyes.
If he found her, he would never allow her to appear before Ryder alive. He would not permit her to tarnish his mother's restless memory or disrupt the Scott family's balance of power in any way.
He would personally send her on her way, ensuring this chapter of the past was buried for good, along with his father.
"Jacob," Sawyer murmured the name, bringing the unlit cigar to his nose and inhaling its scent. "I hear he has acquired a rather interesting fiancée recently? A Windsor?"
"Yes, Mr. Scott," Justin confirmed. "Elizabeth. Her late father was the tycoon, Charles Hughes. She is currently embroiled in a battle with her biological father, also named Charles, for control of the Windsor Group. Jacob seems to have taken a special interest in her."
"Hughes." Sawyer repeated the name, a subtle shift in his gaze. Among the jumble of information Ryder had provided, the surname Windsor had surfaced. Was it a coincidence?
"Make the arrangements," Sawyer said, turning back from the railing. "In addition to the meeting with Jacob, I want you to look into this, Ms. Windsor. And her deceased father, Hughes. Specifically, I want to know if the Windsor family had any dealings with Italian interests some twenty years ago."
"As you wish, Mr. Scott."
Sawyer straightened the cuff of his shirt, revealing a glimpse of a hard-muscled wrist and the faint, pale line of an old scar. Whatever awaited him here, he would uncover it. And he would take what he came for. Anyone who stood in his way would die.
Moretti Estate
In her lavishly appointed room, Lilith Moretti stared at her reflection in the mirror, a twisted smile playing on her beautiful face.
The eyes that had been dulled for days by the glue incident and the death of her beloved dog now burned with a renewed, venomous light.
"Hold all wedding preparations!" She hissed into her phone, her voice trembling with excitement. "Samantha, are you sure this is reliable? Jacob really postponed the wedding?"
On the other end of the line, Samantha's voice was equally thick with schadenfreude. "Absolutely! I overheard Tina confirming it with the planning team! They're saying it's because of busy family affairs, that Uncle Dave's condition is unstable, so it's on hold for now! Lilith, do you know what this means? It means Jacob doesn't care about that bitch as much as he pretends! Her little fairy tale is over!"
"This is perfect!" Lilith slammed a hairbrush onto her vanity and stood, pacing back and forth across the plush carpet. "I knew it! How could Jacob ever genuinely fall for some nobody who crawled out of the woodwork? She must have used some cheap trick to trap him! He's finally come to his senses!"
Her eyes gleamed with a toxic blend of resentment and the thrill of impending revenge. "Samantha, we have to do something. We can't just let that bitch get away with this. I want to see the look on her face when she finds out the wedding is off, when she realizes Jacob is giving her the cold shoulder! It's going to be priceless!"
Samantha was quick to agree. "Yes, yes! You're right, Lilith! We have to make her miserable! Why don't we ask her out? Find a place to, you know, comfort her a little?" An image of a distraught Elizabeth, ripe for their mockery and humiliation, bloomed in Samantha's mind. The thought alone was intoxicating.
Lilith took a moment, her manic energy sharpening into cunning. "If we invite her directly, she might not come. And Smith Manor is on lockdown right now. Samantha, you're part of the family. You should be the one to invite her. Tell her you're in a bad mood and you want to have a drink with your future sister-in-law to blow off some steam. Even if she doesn't want to, she might agree just to keep up appearances. As for the location…"
A calculating glint entered Lilith's eyes. "Let's make it the Aurora Bar. It's a mixed crowd, full of interesting people. We might even be able to arrange a little surprise for Ms. Windsor."
"The Aurora Bar?" Samantha hesitated. "Isn't that place a little too rough? And I heard it's one of Jacob's properties. If something happens, he'll know about it instantly."
"What's there to be afraid of?" Lilith scoffed. "The rougher, the better. If something happens, no one can trace it back to us. So what if it's a Smith family establishment? If Elizabeth runs into trouble there, Jacob won't even know who to blame. It's settled. Samantha, you make the call. And you make sure you get her there."