I spend all of the night at home, huddled in my study over the computer.

The flashdrive Milo gave me only has a handful of pages on it and none of them make any sense.

He's after an apartment on Park Avenue, barely half a mile away from mine. It's nearly 3,000 square feet. A property like that should easily be worth nine million, maybe more.

How the hell does he expect me to get nine hundred and nine thousand for it? Even if it was getting torn down next year, it would still be worth more than that.

Furthermore, it isn't even for sale.

I barely realise I'm tapping my pen repetitively until I glance down.

What does he expect me to do? Turn up on the doorstep and offer the owner a ridiculous price they would never consider? I'll be laughed out the door.

I lean back in my chair with a frustrated sigh. None of this makes any sense. I have no motive for why Milo is doing any of this, and it makes it impossible for me to understand what's going on.

I have so many questions, but Milo doesn't want to hear any of them. He made that perfectly clear.

Why nine hundred and nine thousand? It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, so this must all mean something. Clearly there is some kind of personal connection or value in this deal to Milo.

Either that, or I'm working for a complete psychopath. Either option seems valid right now.

My phone rings and I reach for it sluggishly, glancing at the screen.

The text is from an unknown number.

Bring the contract at 5pm tomorrow. Don't be late.

That's it. That's all it says.

***

At precisely ten to five the next evening, I stare up at the apartment with the contract tightly in my grasp.

I've never been so unprepared for anything in my life.

I don't know the terms of this sale; I also have no idea who I'm meeting, and that makes me incredibly nervous.

I don't like being kept in the dark. I've built a successful brand off going the extra mile and knowing every detail about my clients. I never walk into a negotiation uncertain like this.

What buyer would even agree to Milo's deal? Maybe he has something over them? I can't figure it out.

The questions race through my mind, one after the other as I stand firmly in place on the sidewalk.

Something is at play here. I can feel it creeping its way to my bones, unnerving me from the inside out. I'm half tempted to run away and never return.

Inhaling a breath of nervous air, I straighten my shoulders and walk forward. I have no choice but to be confident and composed. If whoever I'm meeting senses weakness, it's game over.

That much I know for certain.

I knock once on the front door before stepping back slightly, forcing my hands not to fidget.

I'm met at the door by a woman not much older than me. She's tall and muscular. Even in the flat boots she's wearing she towers over me and my five-inch heels.

When she folds her arms across her muscular chest, I notice the tattoo of a blade running down her left forearm and the many gold rings on her fingers.

"Adele Buchanan," she greets confidently, extending her hand towards me. "I'm Renee, the seller's agent. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," I answer, thanking her when she opens the door wide enough for me to walk through.

I can feel her tracking me when I walk inside. Clearly, she is very much linked to Milo's world. Simply by the way she stands I can tell she already has the upper hand on this deal.

She knows I'm out of my depth here, barely able to stay afloat.

Looking away from her unnerving stare, I glance around the apartment. The warm, homely decor wasn't what I was expecting. The colours are mostly cream with touches of pink and soft green. Even the furniture is dainty. From what I can see everything looks untouched, like a show home. There isn't a single family picture to be seen.

Strange.

I glance over my shoulder at the kitchen as Renee closes the door behind me, locking it with the deadbolt with a purposeful bang.

My skin prickles. "Expecting company?" I ask from behind the island counter.

"The company's just arrived," she answers, turning with quirked lips.

Her smile is eager in a sickening kind of way. I keep a neutral expression, releasing a shallow breath before my brain can jump to conclusions.

She looks at me expectantly, like she's waiting for me to speak, but I have nothing to say. The best I can do is offer a blank stare. I don't trust my brain to form a sentence.

"How's Milo doing these days?" she asks when I don't say anything, tilting her head to one side.

Shit.

Milo always remains anonymous with these kinds of deals; no seller's agent should know who he is.

Internal alarm bells start ringing as I watch her demeanour change, a darkness creeping over her previously neutral expression.

"I have no idea what you mean," I answer without hesitating, the warning feeling in the pit of my stomach growing more and more by the second.

I've walked right into a trap.

"Drop the bullshit, Adele. You've been a very hard person to get to this week," Renee—if that's even her real name—admits, laughing bitterly at my confusion. "Milo has had you very heavily guarded. Dante had to send me himself. Women are less of a threat it seems, go figure." She rolls her eyes, pulling a knife from her coat pocket with ease.

Even from here I can tell it's the same knife we found in Mr Bianchi's coat. The engraved red dagger is unforgettable. It's been haunting me for weeks.

A burning sensation erupts from the back of my throat, realisation falling over me.

"You killed Jordan." It's a statement, not a question.

"You're quite the clever one. I can see why he likes you so much," Renee muses, her eyes wild and bright. "Now, would you prefer the easy way, like Jordan did, or—"

She can't finish her sentence because I throw a fry pan right at her head.

She dodges it easily, and like a rabid animal, this only seems to further her excitement.

She grins, baring her teeth. "The hard way it is."

I step backwards quickly, pull my phone from my bag, and press down on the only name my brain will allow. Not Art, not my parents, not the police—Milo.

"He won't get here in time darling," Renee tells me, studying my face with pleasure. "But I suppose it will be fun to let him know what's going on. Tease him a little."

I ignore her. Milo answers on the very first ring.

"Adele." The surprise in his voice fills my ears. I cut him off breathlessly before he can say anything more.

"Park Avenue." I rush to get the words out before I end the call, focusing only on the predator stalking towards me.

"Why didn't you just bring a gun?" I ask daringly as she follows me around the island in the centre of the room, hunting me with a devilish gaze.

"Now, where's the fun in that?" she asks, twirling the blade slowly between her fingers, displaying it proudly before me. "A gun is too quick. Your body needs to look tortured by the time it gets to Milo, which it will. Don't worry sweetheart."

I'm sweating; trembling. My legs are shaking so badly I could collapse any second. An out of body sensation drifts over me. This can't be real. It can't be.

Then she lunges.

I scream, using both my hands to catch her wrists and fight her off, but she's bigger than me, stronger than me, and quickly she has me pinned against the cabinets with such force I lose the remainder of my breath.

"Such a pretty wee thing. What a shame to ruin such beauty," she teases, running the blade slowly down my cheek. Hard enough to make me bleed, but only just. My body's so numb I barely feel it.

From this close proximity, I can smell the faded scent of cigarettes on her. She's watching me, toying with me, enjoying my fear like it's her favourite game.

"Milo told me the information Dante wants to know, I can give it to you," I wheeze, my words rushed as I look at her, watching her intrigue grow.

Renee looks puzzled. She leans even closer to me, invading every inch of my personal space. "Really? And what supposed information is that, Barbie Doll?"

Taking advantage of her intrigue, I offer a bitter smile. "Go to hell," I seethe, kicking her thigh with as much force as my pointy Jimmy Choo heel will allow.

She shrieks in pain, gripping her bleeding skin when she falls back. "You bitch!" she hisses. "You'll pay for that."

Ignoring her, I reach for one of the chef's knives sitting on the counter, holding it towards her with shaking hands.

"Jordan didn't deserve to die." I don't know why, but I scream this at her from the top of my lungs, anger filling my chest as blood runs down the side of my face, furthering my adrenaline.

She laughs; a haunting, sickening laugh. "You don't know anything about Jordan. You should've run when you had the chance."

As she stalks towards me, I swing the knife she is easily able to take from my grasp.

She's well trained, and I know nothing about fighting. So I do the only thing my brain can think of and run into her with the full force of my body.

My unexpected move is barely enough to knock her from her feet, but it does send her blade sliding across the floor to the other side of the room.

I may not know how to fight, but thanks to Jamie running a weekly boxing class at his local gym, I do know how to punch.

So that's what I do.

I punch her square in the face with as much strength as I can muster and a cracking sound from her nose fills the air around us in return.

Momentarily, I feel victorious, but it's short lived.

She folds her hips in, easily flipping us over so she's got me pinned.

Returning the favour, her fist hits the side of my jaw. I'm able to partially block the blow with my arm, but the pain still radiates down the side of my face, throbbing and burning all at once.

"I've had about enough of you," she growls, and her hands reach for my neck.

I try to fight her. Everything in my being attempts to get her off me but she's a deadweight. The more I struggle, the tighter she strangles me.

I begin to gasp, dizziness creeps in first and then darkness begins to follow.