Chapter 7
The elevator continued its smooth, rapid ascent, ascending past the guest floors and the administrative levels. The quiet hum of the machinery seemed to amplify the intimacy of the small, brightly lit space. Verity looked at the polished leather of Soren's shoes, tracing the lines of his tailored trousers up to his broad chest, before finally meeting his cold, observant eyes.
"Is it customary for an employer to ensure a maid's sick mother receives the best medical care in the city without ever mentioning it?" Verity countered, her voice soft but unwavering.
Soren’s angular face registered a flicker of surprise. "Did you think I would let the woman who keeps my house running smoothly suffer under the weight of medical debt?" he asked.
"You saved her life, sir," Verity whispered, her expressive eyes shining with unshed tears. "You didn't ask for gratitude. You didn't ask for loyalty. You just did it. I couldn't stand by and watch Cressida destroy you with a lie. I couldn't let you believe your family didn't love you."
"Do you believe loyalty is a currency to be traded, Verity, or is it something freely given?" Soren asked, his deep voice carrying a strange, gentle warmth.
"I believe it is freely given to those who earn it," she replied, her delicate hands smoothing the white apron of her uniform.
The elevator chimed loudly, signaling their arrival at the penthouse level. The brass doors slid open.
The corridor before them was bathed in the same bright, airy, luminous light as the ballroom below, yet it felt entirely different. It was sterile, quiet, and deeply oppressive. The ivory-paneled walls were devoid of art, and the thick carpet absorbed the sound of their footsteps.
"Are you ready for what we might find behind these doors?" Soren asked, his hand instinctively dropping to the concealed holster beneath his suit jacket.
"I am right behind you," Verity assured him, stepping out of the elevator.
They moved swiftly down the wide hallway, approaching the heavy, reinforced double doors of the master suite. Standing directly in front of the doors were two more armed guards. These men wore tactical vests over their suits, their faces hardened and alert. They raised their weapons the moment they saw the mafia boss approaching.
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"Halt right there, Mr. Harrow," the lead guard commanded, his American accent clipped and nervous. "Cressida's orders. No one accesses this floor."
"Do you know who you are pointing that weapon at?" Soren asked, not slowing his pace. His tailored suit jacket swept back as he drew his own heavy, dark pistol with his tattooed hand, keeping it aimed squarely at the center of the lead guard's chest. "Are you confused about whose name is on the deed to this building?"
