The Tailor Who Stitched the Truth for the King of the Underworld
The silence in the penthouse became deafening.
Aries grabbed my wrist, his grip tight and warm in the dark.
“Sienna,” he whispered close to my ear. “Don’t move.”
I stood frozen, my heart pounding in my throat.
In the silence of the dark apartment, I heard a faint, metallic click.
It came from the direction of the private elevator.
The emergency backup light on the elevator panel flared a dim, pulsing red.
The metal doors began to slide open.
I held my breath, my fingers digging into the fabric of Aries’s wool sleeve.
The red glow from the elevator panel washed over the polished concrete floor in pale, bloody stripes.
A silhouette emerged from the opening doors, dark and wide-shouldered.
Aries did not flinch.
He raised his hand, his fingers curling slightly in the air.
In the darkness, the silhouette stopped instantly.
“It is clear,” a voice said.
It was Killian.
My chest rose and fell in a sharp, ragged gasp.
“The perimeter is compromised,” Killian said, his voice low and tight. “They cut the main line from the basement.”
“How many?” Aries asked.