Clarissa's tears hit the marble edge of the tub. The explicit sounds from the video continued to echo off the tile walls, making her stomach churn with shame.
Giovanny stared at her wet eyelashes. His jaw tightened. He slowly raised his free hand, his thumb reaching out to wipe the tear from her cheek.
Before his skin could touch hers, a sound ripped through the room.
It wasn't a normal ringtone. It was a piercing, high-pitched siren coming from the black encrypted phone sitting on the vanity.
It was the family's red line. It only rang for life-or-death emergencies.
Giovanny's hand froze mid-air.
He dropped Clarissa's wrist. He stood straight up out of the water. A massive wave crashed over the side of the tub, soaking Clarissa's knees.
He didn't care that he was completely naked. He grabbed a white towel, wrapped it violently around his waist, and lunged for the black phone.
He pressed it to his ear. "Speak."
Through the receiver, Clarissa heard a woman screaming. It was Genevieve, Giovanny's mother. Her voice was hysterical, sobbing his father's name over and over.
Giovanny's face turned the color of ash. The dark, possessive lust in his eyes vanished instantly. It was replaced by a terrifying, absolute zero coldness.
"Where?" Giovanny barked into the phone. "Symptoms?"
He listened for three seconds. "I am on my way."
He threw the phone onto the counter. He turned to Clarissa.
"Get dressed. Now," he ordered. His voice left no room for argument. It was the voice of a general going to war.
Clarissa sat frozen on the floor, her brain struggling to process the sudden shift.
Giovanny didn't wait. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.
He dragged her into the massive walk-in closet. He ripped a heavy black trench coat off a hanger and shoved her arms into the sleeves, roughly covering her soaked silk dress.
He grabbed a pair of trousers and a dress shirt for himself. He pulled them on with frantic speed. His hands were shaking slightly. He buttoned his shirt wrong, skipping a hole in the middle of his chest.
He grabbed Clarissa's wrist again and pulled her out of the bedroom.
They sprinted across the living room. Giovanny raised his left wrist and spoke into his smartwatch.
"Prep the chopper. Roof. Sixty seconds," he commanded.
They crashed into the private elevator. Giovanny slammed his fist against the roof access button. His chest heaved up and down.
The doors opened to the roof.
The freezing New York wind hit them like a wall of ice. The deafening roar of the helicopter blades drowned out everything else.
Clarissa shivered violently. The wet silk dress clung to her legs under the coat, freezing her skin.
Giovanny pushed her toward the chopper. He practically threw her into the backseat, climbed in after her, and slammed the heavy door shut. The noise cut out instantly.
He grabbed a pair of noise-canceling headsets and threw one at her. He put his on and pressed the mic.
"Hamptons. Bartlett Estate. Maximum speed," Giovanny ordered the pilot.
The helicopter jerked violently and shot into the night sky. The glowing grid of Manhattan tilted and shrank beneath their feet.
Inside the cabin, the air pressure dropped.
Giovanny leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. His broad shoulders were tense, radiating a frantic, helpless energy.
Clarissa watched him. She had never seen this man-this untouchable titan-look so fragile.
Her heart ached. She slowly reached her hand across the leather seat.
She placed her palm gently over his cold, clenched knuckles.
Instead, he flipped his hand over and roughly clamped his fingers around her wrist. His grip was bone-crushing, treating her not as a source of comfort, but as a physical grounding tool to anchor his own spiraling anxiety. He didn't look at her, completely lost in his own selfish panic.
Forty minutes later, the helicopter banked hard. The dark ocean and the massive, brightly lit Bartlett Estate came into view.
The wheels hit the grass of the helipad with a heavy thud.
Before the blades even slowed down, Giovanny kicked the door open. He pulled Clarissa out into the wind.
They ran across the wet grass toward the main house. The dew soaked Clarissa's bare feet.
They charged up the stone steps.
The heavy mahogany doors flew open. Arthur Pembroke, the elderly butler, stood in the doorway. His eyes were red and swollen with tears.
