“We need you to examine a body outside,” he said.
Dorothy gave me one last glance and followed Matvet, her coat billowing as she disappeared. I stood there holding the envelope, staring at the three men left in the room. One had his shirt off, revealing a stitched wound across his ribs. Another was trying to light a cigarette, while the third leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and a dark stain spreading across his pant leg.
I looked down at the envelope again. This was a personal matter. And the worst part? I felt like I was losing something I never signed up for.
Since I had no choice, I left the clinic. Dorothy and Matvet were already several steps ahead, and their pace didn’t slow. I followed in silence. As we turned a corner, agitated, muffled voices grew louder, the kind that carried bad news. Dorothy and Matvet were heading straight for it, and I did, too.
We stepped outside. The sunlight barely touched the concrete courtyard where the commotion was. Artur stood with two other men, and Renat was nearby, raging into his phone.
A black object lay on the ground between them—a body wrapped in a body bag. My steps faltered. I stopped several feetaway, the chill in my spine spreading like ice.
Dorothy knelt beside the body and unzipped the bag. The harsh rasp of the zipper made my skin crawl. From where I stood, I saw part of the man’s face — pale, mouth slightly ajar.
He was dead.
Dorothy lifted the limp hand and inspected the wrist. Her gloved fingers moved along the body. I couldn’t look away.
“What the fuck is that?” Renat snapped, lowering his phone and stepping closer. He crouched, blocking my view, and then his voice sharpened. “Oh? So now Luigi knows Alessia?”
My heart stopped. I stepped back without meaning to. No one had seen me behind the stone pillar, but Renat’s following words hit like a punch.
“Why the fuck is she involved?”
My throat tightened, and for a moment, I didn’t know who the hell Luigi was. The way Renat said it made it sound like I had committed a crime just by knowing someone beyond Marco. But who the hell was Luigi?
Artur turned away from the body. “Take care of it,” he ordered, then walked toward me. His boots cracked against the stone ground with a fury he didn’t speak aloud.
He brushed past me without a glance. But I felt the storm. He was furious, and I didn’t know why. What did I do? All I’d done was try to be on his good side, and now this?
When I saw Renat turning toward the mansion, I spun and followed Artur. I didn’t want to face Renat. I entered Artur’s quarters and noticed the basement door was ajar.
He was downstairs in the underground gym. Following the sound of his grunts, I descended the steps, my heartbeat syncing with the rhythmic impact of fists slamming into a heavy bag.
His back muscles flexed with each devastating punch. Sweat dripped from his skin, but the tension in his movements wasn’t from exertion. It was a barely contained storm. I should haveleft, but the envelope in my hand was the only reason I didn’t turn back. I noticed his phone on a nearby table, so I could place the envelope beside it and leave.
But as I reached the table, his movements stopped, and he turned. His gaze burned through me, and his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. I showed him the envelope, but he said nothing. I placed it beside his phone and pointed at it, hoping that would be enough.
His stare never wavered, but I gave him a thumbs-up and turned to leave, because what else was I supposed to do?
“Come here.” His voice cut through the room like a blade.
Bracing myself with an exhale, I said, “Sir, I know I’m interrupting. I can come back later. Or tomorrow. Tomorrow sounds good.”
His knuckles cracked as he adjusted his gloves, his eyes never leaving his task. “Get the fuck over here, young woman.”
“Yes, sir.” I walked back fast, my heart racing.
He finished securing his gloves before tilting his chin toward the floor. “Grab the gun.”
My stomach knotted. “Sorry?”
His head lifted, and the intensity in his gaze had me nodding before I even registered the movement. I crouched and picked up the gun; its weight was foreign in my grip. It felt wrong, so I quickly held it out to him.
He ignored my attempt and walked deeper into the basement. “Follow me.”
“Me?” I hesitated, staring at the gun. I wasn’t supposed to be holding this thing. But I had no choice but to trail after him. “Sir?”
The basement was massive, sectioned off for different purposes. We stepped into what I realized was a shooting range. The circular targets lined up at the far end confirmed it.