There's a motorbike outside, and I'm surprised that Adrian rode with it. I guess that's how he waltzed here at the speed of the light soon after ending our call. But we take Camilla's car. I have the keys; I hand them to him. Without peeling his eyes off me, he stuffs my bag in the back seat and opens the front passenger door for me to slip in—which I comply with smoothly.

We don't talk the whole way, although I look at him at every chance I get. But he seems too deep in thought to give me so much as a glance. I wonder what's on his mind, and then I wonder what will happen next because every chapter of my life feels like a mystery to the unknown, and whatever is in the store doesn't seem to work in my favor for the most part.

I hate today, yet most of the time, I'm scared of tomorrow.

Adrian meanders alongside Madison Avenue, giving me enough time to enjoy the classic brownstone buildings and upscale rise-ups of designer shops and restaurants in the area. I'm still awed by NYC, especially at night, even though it's too otherworldly compared to the Las Vegas Strip.

We halt into a posh neighborhood perched in the borough of Manhattan, and according to Adrian's response to my query, it's called the Upper East Side. It's where the willy witch, Francesa, stays. We head into one of the fancy buildings, and after a small ride into the elevator, we stall in front of the door with an intercom, and Adrian presses a button.

The door swings open a moment later.

"I thought you'd take longer," I hear Francesca's voice. Funny, I still remember it. I'm standing a few steps away from Adrian's side who glances at me occasionally. "Didn't you say you had somewhere to stop by first? Did you—" She pauses her rain of questions and pokes her head out as though to confirm what's stealing at least half of Adrian's attention.

And boom! Here we go.

Our eyes meet, and I finally step into view. Shock jumps through her wrinkled, half-terrified face—now that she has no makeup on—and my eyes wander toward her full-length leopard print sleeping robe fastened loosely, revealing a lacy, black bra and black flip-flops with blood-red toenails. I inhale sharply, trying to stay poised and pay less attention to such details.

Jealousy has a way of summoning my nasty attitude, after all.

But wait, so she was waiting for Adrian dressed like that? I smirk as we look each other straight in the eyes, and as I'm certain as the Sun rising in the East that we hate each other equally.

"Oh, you're not alone, I see," she says contemptuously to Adrian, who looks at me briefly and then back at her.

He knows the drill. If that woman behaves then we'll both survive this night unscathed.

"Can we come in?" he asks in a baritone, ignoring her statement of disappointment.

Although reluctantly, Francessa lets us in, where she immediately lurks away with Adrian, leaving me with a blonde housekeeper in a sexy pink uniform. The nosy antenna in my head screams that she may be a sub to this dominatrix, and only God knows what goes on inside her kitchen or dining table daily.

"Sure, a glass of wine will do," I tell her with a genuine smile, for her face radiates politeness and obedience.

"Right away," she replies and walks away.

As I wait, my curious self stands off my inertness, and I start parading around the modern-retro living room that smells of nothing but Francesca's seductive perfume. The high walls are painted golden-yellow and plastered with paintings—a Monalisa right at the entrance hall. Mahogany and white leather make up most of the seating and accent cabinets.

It has elegant furnishing, spacious enough, but with a very limited lighting system as if she is junk to partial darkness ambiance and its sinful aura. Not having anything better to do, I run my fingers over the expensive-looking vase with a very old artisan touch but my mind is only thinking about the secret agenda they're discussing right now.

Bussines, he says.

Is it?

"Why is she here?" Francesca asks, taking a cigarette toward her lip after emptying a glass of rum on the wooden desk.

She looks shaken up. Anyone encountering Vile's assault would. We're inside her soundproof study room, surrounded by bookshelves, file cabinets, the scent of fresh paint, wood, leather, and old books barely read. In here and further behind the walls, there's the dirt of many influential NYC businessmen and politicians.

That's Francesca's specialty.

Seated in the large classic couch situation's urgency, I take a breath, contemplating her restless features. I cannot answer her question, and she knows that by the silence I give her as a response. It's none of her business whom I'm with and when. My personal life doesn't concern anyone. I've long established that boundary with all of my associates.

Annoyed, Franscesa expells a pile of smoke, tilting her head to one side as though she's seeing a very pathetic man doing the most pathetic thing in the world. Her dyed, black hair falls to one side; she plucks a bunch behind her ear using her free hand. And then, slowly, she leans on the edge of the desk, facing me, and gives me her full attention.

"Stay away from her, or I'll unleash your worst fear," she utters, her hand swinging with a cigarette wedged between her two manicured fingers. "That's what she told me to tell you. Vile." Her grey eyes grow firm.

I hold my breath, but my composure remains intact. I expected this much. I lift my leg and prop it over the opposite knee while falling back into rest. Eyes on Francesca, I fold my arms across my chest without a word, but there's too much in my head right now.

"Damn it, Adrian! Don't be a smart ass and say something!" Francesca bolts and leans over toward my face, exasperated. "Who is she talking about? Is it that girl? Because I've been thinking about it this whole time and everything points at her but the question is... why would Vile be concerned about your sex life? Why would she care at all about you... or her? Why would she go all the length to persuade you into leaving that insignificant girl who doesn't even know the mess she's in?"

At this point, I can't tell why she's so invested in Arabella even if she may be hinting at the truth. It sounds a bit too personal the more I hear her talk. Perhaps if she proves her theory right, it would validate her hatred toward Arabella. She wants her gone.

"You're obsessed with that girl, why?" Francesca barks loudly. "Now I realize your trip to Las Vegas was only because of her. You dragged me into it with the expansion agenda but deep down we both know you needed a reason to lurk around her! You're smitten by her; she's your goddamn weakness, Adrian, can't you see it?! But why would the Pentagon let her live? Why is Vile protecting her even from you, dammit?! Who the fuck is this girl to make you risk everything?"

Her loud voice irritates me but it's not the issue right now. She's getting there, to the ugly truth. She's so close I can see it. And as we glare at each other, realization dawns on her—her eyes crinkle and swiftly she stands upright.

There.... she got it.

"No way," she utters in horror, simultaneously shaking her head and the hand holding a cigarette. "No, it can't be, Adrian. Is she—"

"Yes," I reply, at last, my voice cold. "That insignificant girl is Vile's daughter, Francesca, and that's all you need to know for your own good." I uncross my legs and stand up, ready to cut this conversation short as it won't lead us anywhere.

I've rendered Francesca speechless and motionless. She wasn't supposed to know this much and I don't what angle Vile is playing at to involve her in this.

Quietly, I reach for her fallen hand and take the cigar away from her. After two years of staying clean, I recklessly inhale the nicotine with a long puff.

When I exhale the smoke, I tell her, "I'll make sure Vile doesn't bother you again so stay out of this."

Her lips remain parched; she's too stunned to respond.

But before I go she suddenly snaps, "Wait!" and then cuttles around her desk ungraciously. I wait until she emerges back holding a disposable flip phone. "She left this for you," she says.

I take the phone, stare at it for the briefest moment, and head for the door.

"Be careful, Adrian. I never liked that girl because I knew from the moment I saw her that she'd be the end of you," Francesa warns, making me halt in step. But I don't look back. "She was supposed to be dead. Her entire family. That alone is the death sentence for you."

I know. I reach for the doorknob and scurry off through the dim-lit hall.

I refuse to think of anything until I reach the living room and find Arabella admiring one of Francesca's old paintings. I stop in my tracks, studying her gorgeous features. She's lost weight over time but she looks stronger. She is still dressed in her tight, long-sleeved dress and white sneakers, her layered auburn hair so full and healthy cascading down her back.

Divine. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met.

She quickly detects my presence and spins around to regard me. Her face contorts with worry immediately upon meeting my eyes, but I don't give her enough time to pry.

"Let's go," I demand, reaching for the wine glass she's holding delicately in her hand.

"Already?" It sounds like a complaint coming from her, but I don't care. I grab her hand to ensure that she understands my urge to leave without questions. "Jeez, you should take a chill pill because I was having a moment here"—She grabs a bunch of green grapes from the tray on the console—"and you kind of ruined it."

"Not now, Arabella. I'm not in the mood for your sass," I manage to tell her as calmly as possible while we rush past the door.

"Okay, Mister Castle! Pardon me for being such a nuisance." She is pissed off.

Inside the car, she eats her grapes without saying a word. I sigh deeply, thinking of too much at once, and then I look at her ignoring me completely.

"Are you hungry?" I ask her.

"Thought we're not talking," she retorts.

Oh, Jesus! Women never let anything slide, do they?

"Did you have dinner today, Arabella?" I demand firmly this time.

"No, Daddy! Can't you see that I'm eating the damn grapes I got from the woman I don't even like?" she snaps, glaring at me accusingly. "I'm starving."

Without further argument, I hit the ignition. We ride off to the nearest restaurant downtown.