Page 96 of Savage Vows

The concierge’s hesitation only fuels my annoyance. Her smile is brittle now, faltering under the weight of my stare. Behind me, Nash shifts slightly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti,” the concierge says again, her voice wavering. “As you know, guests on the secured floor value their privacy?—”

“This isn’t about privacy,” I snap. “It’s about my wife. Open the damn elevator.”

Doing her best to maintain control, she gestures subtly to one of the security guards.

“Let me see what I can do, Mr. Moretti.” She picks up the phone.

I hear faint ringing, then the sound of a woman’s voice with noise in the background. Bella?

“This is the concierge. There’s a guest in the lobby for Alessia Moretti.”

“A guest for Alessia?” she repeats.

The background noise gets muffled.

“I’m sorry. She’s not here.”

A giggle reaches me, sending anger through me. She thinks this is funny?

On the other end, the phone is hung up.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti.” The woman gives a fake half smile. “She’s not here. Maybe you could call her later?”

I’m about to put my fist through one of Rafe’s Sterling’s fancy fucking walls.

“Boss?” Nash angles his head to one side, indicating I should follow him.

I do, down a long hall, past the car dealership and pastry shop, to a set of stairs. I know there are cameras everywhere, and every one of my moves is being tracked, and I don’t goddamn well care.

We enter the stairway. At the landing, he shows me the screen of his phone, and I nod. Chiara will be meeting us on the third floor and handing over her key to access the floor. I know it’s also protected by fingerprints, but keys are available for guests with security details.

She’s waiting for us when we exit the stairwell. “Sir…” She looks from me to Nash. Her usual poise is gone, and her shoulders are pulled back. “Sir, I need to let you know that your wife doesn’t want to see you.”

“Isn’t that too fucking bad?”

“She’s with Mrs. Moretti,” Chiara says, her voice soft but firm. “They’re fine. Safe.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it,” I snap, stepping closer. My height and anger are enough to make her shift back slightly, though she holds her ground.

“Nash?” she says to her boss.

“Do as he says, Chiara”

“I need to go on record as saying this is a bad idea, and that I’m doing this under duress.”

“Enough.”

“Sir,” she tries one more time. “I’ll lose her trust. And it was hard enough to earn it.”

Chiara has a point, but she’s standing between me and the woman I married. “Swipe the card.”

Her lips press into a thin line, but after a tense pause, she does as Nash instructed, swiping her badge and stepping aside. The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside without another word, Nash right behind me.

The ride up is silent, the mirrored walls reflecting the anger etched into my features. My fists clench and unclench at my sides as I prepare for the confrontation ahead.

When the elevator stops, the hallway is eerily quiet, the plush carpeting swallowing the sound of my footsteps. Light spills from the crack beneath the door to 5301, laughter and muffled conversation filtering through.

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