The air in the penthouse was extremely quiet. There was a stark contrast to the usual tension that lingered in the home of Christopher Wilson, the mafia boss of the Wilson Mafia family.
Without delay, I plated a simple sandwich and poured a cup of coffee. It was just enough for me.
Within seconds, Christopher walked into the dining area, his movements deliberate, his presence commanding.
For a moment, he paused by the table. His eyes shifted to the empty spot where his breakfast used to be.
He was about to say something but before he could respond, one of his men entered. It was Gavin. His eyes lowered.
He was wearing a black suit. His gun was holstered at his side. He stopped a few feet away from Christopher.
“Boss, we’ve confirmed it was Lorenzo Russo’s men who attacked Ms. Levy yesterday.”
Christopher shifted his gaze towards me. The annoyance in his eyes was replaced by something far more dangerous. It was a controlled rage.
“Russo,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried a weight that sent a chill down my spine.
He straightened his composure. Moreover, his commanding presence filled the room. “I want a full investigation. Every man who was there, every detail. I want to know why he targeted her.”
Gavin nodded his head in agreement. His expression was grim. “Yes, boss.”
“And make sure to bring me Russo’s second-in-command by tonight,” Christopher added further, his tone colder than ice. “Alive.”
Gavin gave a curt nod and left without another word.
At that moment, he turned back to me. His piercing gaze locked onto mine. “You knew they were Russo’s men? Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “You seemed preoccupied with more… important things.”
He took a step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. “Who knows they might follow you to reach somebody…somebody like Scarlett?”
I bit my lower lip as my hopes were shattered. Not for a moment he was worried about me. He was afraid that they might hurt Scarlett. I was so stupid.
When I didn't respond, he stared at the table again and asked, “Where’s mine?”
His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it that could cut the air.
I took a deep breath and turned to face. My facial expression was neutral. “I thought you don't like black coffee.”