Chapter 3 - The Secret Dossier
Mara paced the length of the luxurious bedroom, unable to sit still after Dante stormed out of the compound.
The realization that she had been drinking poisoned tea in the Thorne kitchen every single morning made her physically sick.
She needed to understand why a wealthy political family would go to such extreme lengths to assassinate a lowly maid.
Unable to handle the silence, she quietly slipped out of the master suite and wandered into the connecting study.
The room was lined with dark mahogany bookshelves and smelled strongly of old paper and fine cigars.
On the massive glass desk in the center of the room, a thick manila folder had been left carelessly open.
Mara stepped closer, her curiosity overriding her fear of Dante's notorious temper.
The first page of the dossier featured a high-resolution photograph of Mara sweeping the Thorne patio, dated three months ago.
Her heart began to hammer frantically as she flipped through dozens of pages of surveillance logs and background checks.
Dante had not miraculously stumbled upon her at the cemetery that morning.
He had placed a tracking device on her phone, paid off the Thorne family driver, and documented her every move since the night they met.
He knew her favorite coffee order, the exact balance of her pathetic savings account, and the route she walked to the bus stop.
A cold shiver ran down her spine as she realized the man protecting her was completely obsessed with her.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the study swung open.
Dante stepped into the room, his expensive white dress shirt covered in horrifying splatters of fresh blood.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Mara holding his private surveillance file.
"You were spying on me," Mara whispered, dropping the folder onto the desk as if it had burned her fingers.
Dante did not apologize, nor did he look the slightest bit ashamed.
"I was protecting what belongs to me," he stated coldly, walking toward the wet bar to pour a drink.
"I am not a piece of property for you to claim, Dante!" she yelled, her emotions finally boiling over.
He slammed his glass down on the marble counter, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.
"You were living in a house full of vipers, Mara," he snarled, his face inches from hers.
"I beat Preston Thorne until he begged for his life, but he swore he was not the one poisoning you."
Mara stared at the blood on Dante's collar, feeling a sudden wave of terrifying dizziness wash over her.
Before she could process the revelation, her cheap burner phone began to vibrate violently in her apron pocket.
She pulled it out, and the caller ID displayed a blocked, untraceable number.
She answered the call with a trembling hand, putting the device on speakerphone so Dante could hear.
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"Hello, Mara," Bianca Thorne's cruel, silken voice echoed into the silent study.
"I hope you are enjoying your stay with the mafia, because if you ever want to see your little sister alive again, you will bring yourself to the old docks by midnight."
