Chapter 5 Ten Years of Fear

I stared at the photo as if my eyes could burn a hole through it. My heart clenched in my chest, gripped by an invisible fist, and for a moment I thought it might stop beating altogether.

That man — the one who had driven me to the edge last night, until I could barely breathe — was the same man who had kidnapped Daniel. The same man who led the Mafia in this city. Arthur.

I snatched the envelope and the photo from George's hands. My voice shook with fear, but the thin thread of control I still had forced me to issue orders immediately.

"Destroy every single file we have on this case. Now. I don't care if it's on the computer, the cloud, or some backup drive — delete it all."

George blinked at me, startled by the urgency in my tone. "Sophia, this is a major breakthrough. With this, we could—"

"There is no 'we'!" I cut him off sharply. "Do you have a death wish? We're talking about the Mafia. We're talking about Arthur. We cannot touch this."

The image of last night's Beretta — cold, heavy, lethal — flashed in my mind. That wasn't some cheap replica. That was the real thing, the kind that could end my life in a heartbeat.

And I… I had taunted him. I had smiled at him with his gun pointed at me, and then I had run.

The memory twisted my stomach. I had lain beneath a killer, a man who could pull the trigger without blinking, and I had let him touch me, kiss me, own me. Those hands that had roamed every inch of my skin had also gripped a gun, pressing its barrel against Daniel's face.

"Do you understand? From this moment on, we have nothing — nothing — to do with Daniel's case." My fingers dug into George's shoulder as I spoke, each word deliberate.

The seriousness finally sank in. George's face went pale. He nodded hard and pulled out his laptop, immediately beginning to wipe the files.

I collapsed into the seat, my body cold from the inside out.

This never happened. I had to make myself believe that.

Then my phone screen lit up. A message appeared.

The number was unfamiliar, but I recognized it instantly. I knew those digits by heart.

It was his number.

[Ms. Windsor, last night's six thousand dollars… won't be enough.]

[You're worth far more than that.]

[Tonight, eight o'clock. Same place. We'll discuss the rest.]

My blood froze in my veins.

He dared to contact me.

This wasn't business. This was a threat.

My fingers trembled as I blocked the number and deleted the message. But I knew it was pointless. He knew my name. He knew my face. And with the reach of the Mafia, finding my home or my office would be child's play.

I was no longer the hunter in control. The moment I brought him back to that hotel, I had become his prey.

"George, call the security company. I want the systems at my apartment and office upgraded to the highest level. And my car — get me the best bulletproof vehicle money can buy." My voice was hoarse, my breath uneven.

The next few days were a blur of fear.

I didn't go home. I stayed in the most secure hotel in the city, with four bodyguards shadowing me everywhere I went. I didn't even check my phone, afraid that another message from that devil would appear.

I forced myself to attend a high-profile client appreciation gala, pretending everything was normal. I smiled, I laughed, I played the part.

When the event ended, the host — Garrett, a respected banker in Asteria City — sought me out.

"Sophia, we owe you for this one. Without your intervention, the bank's reputation would have been in ruins." Garrett raised his glass, his eyes warm with approval.

I smiled modestly. "It was the least I could do."

He took a sip of his drink, his gaze sharpening. "Your way of handling things… decisive, precise, leaving no loose ends. It reminds me of someone I once knew."

My pulse skipped, but I kept my expression neutral. "Oh? Who might that be?"

Garrett's eyes narrowed slightly as he drifted into memory. His voice dropped to a near whisper, meant only for the two of us. "His name was Davis. Like you, he was a force to be reckoned with. But his game… was far deadlier than public relations."

The name hit me like a thunderclap.

Davis.

The smile froze on my face. My grip on the wineglass tightened until my knuckles turned white.

That name was supposed to be buried. Forgotten. Never spoken again.

Garrett noticed my reaction, his brow furrowing. "Ms. Windsor, are you all right?"

I forced myself to breathe, to pull my mask back on. I managed a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I'm fine."

But inside, the question screamed.

How did he know that name?

The name tied to a nightmare I had spent ten years running from.