Chapter 59 Plot

Chapter 59 Plot
The lobby of Seratti Tower was a temple to cold hard cash. Polished black marble floors reflected the recessed lighting like a dark mirror, and the air was chilled to a crisp, sterile sixty-eight degrees that made the sweat freeze on my skin.

I walked past the main security desk, keeping my head down, hair falling over my grimy face. My oversized canvas jacket, scavenged from the slaughterhouse, hid the sling and the dried blood on my clothes.

I felt the eyes of the shift commander on me, a flicker of recognition brewing behind his desk. I was ten feet from the private elevator bank that led straight to the penthouse.

Now, Estava, I thought desperately. Now.

As if on cue, the lighting system in the lobby spasmed. The tasteful recessed lights flared blindingly bright, popped, and then plunged the vast space into emergency red strobes. A split second later, the fire alarm shrieking klaxon began to howl, vibrating in my teeth.

Chaos erupted. The few late-working executives in the lobby scattered, dropping briefcases. The security guards behind the desk jumped up, radios crackling, distracted by the sudden systems failure.

I didn't run. Running drew attention. I walked with measured, terrifying purpose to the brushed steel keypad next to the private elevator.

My shaking fingers punched in the code Enzo had provided.

Seven. Four. Alpha. Nine. Two.

The small screen flashed green. WELCOME, MR. SERATTI.

The heavy steel doors slid open instantly. I stepped inside the velvet-lined car. The doors sealed shut, cutting off the shrieking alarms and the flashing red lights, replacing them with sudden, oppressive silence and soft classical music.

I pressed the penthouse button. The elevator began its smooth, rapid ascent.

My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack the bone Estava had just set. I leaned against the mirrored back wall, staring at my reflection. A filthy, bruised girl with wild eyes stared back.

Find the wall, I told myself, closing my eyes. I imagined the cold iron barrier in my mind, holding back the terror, holding back Hera’s seductive whisper.

I wasn't just going up. I was feeling him.

Through the bond, past the pain of my broken shoulder, I felt Vesper. He was close. Not in the car, but just outside it. I felt the strain in his muscles, the agonizing flare of pain in his cracked ribs with every movement as he climbed the maintenance ladder in the shaft, keeping pace with the rising car. He was pushing his battered body past its breaking point just to be there when the doors opened.

Fifty floors. Forty. Thirty.

The numbers on the display counted down to zero hour.

Ding.

The sound was soft, polite, and terrifying. The elevator jerked to a stop. The doors slid open.

I stepped out into the penthouse foyer.

It was exactly as I remembered it: minimalist white marble, abstract sculptures that cost more than most houses, and a staggering view of the city lights through floor-to-ceiling windows.

And, as predicted, two mountains in expensive suits stood guard. Markov and Steiner. They had worked for my father since I was in braces.

They spun at the sound of the elevator, submachine guns raised before they even registered who it was.

"Freeze!" Markov barked.

Then they saw me.

They lowered their weapons slightly, confusion replacing professional detachment. They took in the dirt, the matted hair, the way I was hunched over, cradling my left arm.

"Miss Sylvania?" Steiner asked, his thick brow furrowing. "Jesus. What happened to you?"

I played my part. I let my shoulders slump, let a sob hitch in my throat. I looked small. Broken.

"I'm done running, Markov," I whispered, my voice trembling genuinely. "Please. I just... I want to see my father. I want to go home."

They exchanged a look. They were hired muscle, used to threats, not surrender.

"He's in the study," Markov said gruffly, holstering his weapon but keeping a hand near it. He tapped his earpiece. "Mr. Seratti. Your daughter is here. In the foyer. She’s... alone. And unarmed, looks like."

A pause while he listened to the response. Then Markov nodded.

"He says bring her in."

Markov stepped forward to frisk me. He was rough, efficient, checking for wires or weapons beneath the oversized jacket. He stopped when his hand brushed my sling, and I cried out in real pain.

"She’s clean," Markov grunted, stepping back. "Just banged up bad."

"This way, Miss," Steiner said, gesturing toward the arched doorway leading to the main living area and the study beyond.

I took a step, then stopped. I needed to draw Seratti out. If we went into the study, Vesper would be trapped in the foyer with the guards when he dropped in.

"I... I think I'm going to be sick," I gasped, leaning against a marble pedestal holding a bronze bust. "Please. Water."

Steiner sighed, irritated. "Get her some water, Markov. I'll watch her."

Markov grumbled and headed toward the kitchen. One down.

Steiner stood over me, arms crossed. "You caused a lot of trouble, Princess. Boss is not happy."

"I know," I whimpered.

Then, the heavy oak double doors at the end of the hall opened.

My father stood there.

Whatever image I had built up in my mind of a terrifying crimelord crumbled. He looked tired. His silk shirt was wrinkled, and he held a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand. But his eyes—cold, calculating, eyes like mine—were sharp.

He looked at me, huddled by the pedestal, filthy and broken. A slow, smug smile spread across his face.

"Look at you," Seratti murmured, walking slowly down the hall toward the foyer, savoring the moment. "The prodigal daughter returns. And she looks like something the cat dragged in and chewed on."

He stopped ten feet from me, swirling his scotch.

"Where's your pet monster, Sylvania? Did he finally chew through his leash and run off?"

"He's gone," I lied, letting a tear slip down my cheek. "He went crazy. The wolf... it took over. I barely got away."

Seratti laughed. It was a cruel, dry sound. "I told you. You can't domesticate beasts. You should have stuck with your own kind."

He looked at Steiner. "You can go, Steiner. Check the perimeter downstairs. I'll handle my daughter."

"Yes, sir." Steiner nodded and turned toward the elevator.

Seratti took another step toward me, his expression shifting from smugness to cold anger. "You cost me a lot of money, girl. You embarrassed me. And Martha..." He shook his head, feigning regret. "That was your fault, you know. You forced my hand."

The mention of Martha sent a jolt of pure, hot rage through me. The violet energy coiled in my gut, hissing, wanting out. Burn him, Hera whispered in the back of my mind. Burn the bastard where he stands.

No, I thought fiercely, clamping down on the wall in my mind. Not yet. Not like that.

"I know, Dad," I whispered, using the childhood name that tasted like ashes in my mouth. I straightened up slowly, wincing. "I'm sorry. I just want it to be over."

"It is over," Seratti said, closing the distance. He reached out, grabbing my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him. "Now, you're going to tell me everything you know about this 'goddess' nonsense, and then we're going to decide what to do with—"

I was about to ask him how he got to know about the goddess nonsense in particular, but I stopped. A soft thump from behind him made him freeze.

It wasn't the elevator doors. It was the sound of the emergency ceiling hatch in the elevator car drop open, followed by heavy boots hitting the marble floor of the car.

Steiner, halfway to the elevator, spun around, reaching for his gun.

He was too late.

A blur of motion launched from the open elevator car. Vesper didn't look like a quarterback anymore. Covered in grime, his face a mask of bruises, his green eyes glowing with predatory light, he looked like a nightmare dragged up from the slaughterhouse basement.

He hit Steiner with the force of a wrecking ball. He slammed the guard's head against the marble wall with a sickening crack. Steiner dropped without a sound.

Seratti let go of my chin, stumbling back, his scotch splashing onto the floor. His eyes went wide as he processed the sight of the "gone" monster standing over his unconscious guard.

"You," Seratti breathed. He reached for the small of his back, where he always kept a sleek little Glock.

I didn't let him get it.

I stepped in close, grabbing his gun arm with my good hand. I wasn't strong enough to hold him, but I didn't need to be. I just needed to be a conduit.

I let the wall down. Just a crack.

I channeled the violet energy—not into a blast, but into a concentrated shock.

My dad screamed as the dark energy jumped from my hand to his arm. His muscles seized violently. The gun flew out of his paralyzed fingers and skittered across the marble floor. He dropped to his knees, gasping, clutching his numb arm.

Vesper was there in an instant. He grabbed him by the back of his silk shirt and hauled him to his feet, slamming him face-first into the wall beside the bronze bust.

Vesper pressed his forearm against the back of Seratti's neck, pinning him. He leaned close, his voice a low, terrifying growl right in my father's ear.

"Hello, Thomas," Vesper whispered, using the Warlord's tone. "We need to talk about your retirement plan."