The key turns in the lock of my own home, and it feels like breaking into a stranger’s house. The air is thick with cigar smoke and the low rumble of male voices. I step into the foyer, the clinical chill of Adrian’s penthouse still clinging to my skin, and the warmth of this place feels like a lie.
Marcus is in the living room, sprawled in his leather armchair like a king holding court. Three of his men are with him—Rico, Tomas, and a new face with cold eyes. Bottles of bourbon and empty glasses litter the coffee table. Marcus’s gaze lifts to mine, heavy-lidded and sharp. Drunk, but not sloppy. Dangerous.
“You’re late.”
“My last appointment ran long.” My voice is smooth, automatic. I set my medical bag down by the console table, my fingers lingering on the cool leather. Inside, the emp
