Chapter Six: Smoke, Secrets, and Unsaid Things
780 Words
She should’ve been panicking.
But Adaya sat silent in the back of Salvatore’s obsidian-black Range Rover, her palms resting still on her lap, a quiet storm pulsing behind her ribs.
The bullet had missed by inches.
But the impact—that tremor of mortality—lingered in her bones.
Salvatore drove like he commanded the city itself. No wasted movement, no unnecessary speed. Just a controlled burn. Romeo followed in a separate SUV, his voice clipped over the Bluetooth as he issued orders in codes Adaya didn’t understand.
“We’re going off-grid,” Salvatore said without looking at her. “Phones off. No tech. No leaks.”
“Where are you taking me?”
He flicked a glance in her direction. “Someplace no one finds without a map they don’t know exists.”
She swallowed. “I don’t run from threats.”
“You’re not running. You’re surviving,” he said, gaze hard on the road. “Big difference.”
The words settled into her like a weight she didn’t want but needed.
They turned off the main road an hour later. Onto gravel. Then dust. Then silence.
When the car finally stopped, it was in front of a secluded estate hidden behind tall pines and a locked gate guarded by men in black who nodded once and said nothing.
Inside, the air smelled of leather, woodsmoke, and something old money couldn’t bottle—power.
Adaya stepped into the foyer slowly, eyes adjusting. The windows were thick. Bulletproof. The furniture sleek but not cold. A fireplace crackled in the main lounge, throwing soft amber light across the polished floor.
“Welcome to the cabin,” Sal said dryly. “My father’s hunting lodge. Not even Ricardo knows it exists.”
“And I’m just supposed to trust you?”
He turned to face her, slowly. “No. You’re supposed to stay alive.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
Because the truth was, it wasn’t the shooting that scared her most—it was how safe she suddenly felt here, in a stranger’s fortress.
In his world.
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Later that night, wrapped in one of the oversized robes she’d found in the cedarwood wardrobe, Adaya wandered into the kitchen where Salvatore was pouring whiskey.
“You should be resting,” he said without turning.
“You should be less mysterious.”
He smirked, poured a second glass, and slid it toward her. She hesitated before taking a sip. It burned. Good.
“I’ve had enemies before,” she said quietly. “Jealous competitors. Snide reporters. Even boardroom snakes.”
“This isn’t that,” Sal said. “This is personal.”
She looked at him then, really looked—at the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes softened just slightly when they landed on her.
“Tell me what I don’t know.”
He didn’t flinch.
“Ricardo,” he said finally. “I have reason to believe he’s involved. With Brandon. Maybe not directly, but through intermediaries.”
Her heart skipped. “Your own brother?”
“My brothers were raised by wolves in silk,” he said with a bitter twist. “Only difference is, I learned to lead them. He still wants to bite.”
“And what about you, Salvatore Blackwood?” she asked, voice low. “What do you want?”
He stepped closer.
“To protect what matters. To destroy what doesn’t. And right now, Adaya—” he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “—you matter more than you realize.”
Her breath caught. The air between them was electric. Terrifying.
But just as she leaned slightly forward…
A sharp knock echoed through the lodge.
Both froze.
Romeo’s voice filtered through the hall: “Sal. You need to see this. Now.”
They followed him to the secured study, where a laptop sat open. Surveillance footage. Someone had hacked Adaya’s office cams—five minutes after the shooting.
The figure in the footage?
Elara.
Adaya’s former best friend. The one who stole her fiancé. The one who vanished after the miscarriage.
She was back.
And she was inside Alaster Logistics.
“Why would she be at my company?” Adaya whispered.
Romeo’s voice was grim. “She’s not alone. That’s the same woman seen with Brandon two weeks ago in Melbourne.”
Sal looked at her, his voice dark as thunder.
“This isn’t about jealousy. Or business. This is something deeper. Older.”
Adaya’s blood ran cold.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, an old truth cracked open:
Sometimes the ones who claim to love you… are just waiting for your walls to fall.
- Writer
