The automatic doors of the hospital lobby slid open. The crisp New York autumn wind hit them immediately.
Angelo wore a perfectly tailored suit. He pushed Elba's wheelchair out onto the pavement with one hand. He stopped, shrugged off his suit jacket, and draped it over Elba's thin shoulders. He didn't ask; he just did it.
Elba gripped the lapels of the jacket, It smelled of cedar and expensive cologne.
Did the tyrant take the wrong medication today? she thought, utterly bewildered. Why is he being so considerate?
Angelo's lips curved upward a fraction of an inch. He ignored her internal commentary and pushed the wheelchair toward the black Maybach idling at the curb.
The driver, Kris Day, rushed forward. He pulled open the rear door and bowed his head respectfully. "Mr. Potter."
Elba looked up. She saw Kris's face. Her pupils dilated. She jerked her body backward in the wheelchair.
Oh my god! It's Kris! her mind screamed in panic. This degenerate gambler! Next week he's going to tamper with the brakes to pay off his loan sharks, and Angelo is going to die in a car crash!
Angelo was reaching down to help her stand. He froze. His dark eyes instantly turned to ice.
Kris smiled and reached his hands out to grab Elba's arms.
Angelo slapped Kris's hands away with a sharp, violent smack.
"Get back," Angelo snarled. "I'll do it."
Kris stumbled back a step, his face flushing red. He lowered his head, hiding the flash of resentment in his eyes.
Angelo bent down. He slid one arm under Elba's knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her effortlessly, holding her tight against his chest, and placed her onto the leather seat.
Elba held her breath.
His muscles are like rocks, she thought, her heart fluttering before panic set back in. No, stop being an idiot! I can't get in this car!
Angelo slid in next to her. He slammed the heavy door shut, sealing them inside.
He pulled out his phone. His thumbs flew across the screen, sending an encrypted message to his head of security.
Kris got into the driver's seat. He started the engine. He looked in the rearview mirror. "Boss, back to the Long Island estate?"
Elba gripped the seatbelt tight enough to make her knuckles ache.
Don't go back to the estate! she shrieked internally. That toxic snake Georgina probably oiled the stairs waiting for me!
Angelo met Kris's eyes in the mirror. His voice was dead flat. "No. Take us to the Manhattan penthouse."
Kris blinked in surprise, but he put the car in drive and merged into the city traffic.
Elba let out a long, shaky exhale.
Thank god, she thought. The penthouse is his private fortress. Georgina can't get in there. He actually has a conscience.
The car ride was completely silent. Angelo leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. His phone buzzed against his thigh. He opened it, angling the screen away from Elba.
The security report loaded. Preliminary checks on Kris Day showed multiple recent high-risk wire transfers to known offshore gambling havens. It was a massive red flag, with the full report still pending, but the implications were obvious.
Angelo's eyes snapped open. The air in the back of the Maybach grew heavy with his killing intent.
The car pulled smoothly into the underground garage of the Manhattan high-rise. Kris put it in park and hurried out to open Angelo's door.
Angelo stepped out. He reached in and pulled Elba out, keeping her close to his side.
Angelo turned his head slowly. He stared at Kris with eyes like shattered glass. "Kris. You're fired."
Kris's face drained of all color. "B-boss? Why?"
Angelo let out a dark, humorless laugh. He shoved his phone screen inches from Kris's face, showing the bank statements. "Do I need to call the police regarding your intent to accept bribes and sabotage my vehicles?"
Kris's knees buckled. He collapsed onto the concrete floor, gasping for air.
Elba stood frozen. Her jaw dropped.
How did he know?! she thought, her mind reeling. Did he plant a microchip in my brain?!
