The car pulled into an underground parking lot in a heavily secured penthouse building. Armed guards stood at every entry point, watching silently as Lorenzo stepped out. The sun was now high above Paris, casting gold rays over the blood still staining his shirt.
He peeled off the jacket and tossed it to one of the guards. His white shirt underneath was soaked crimson and clinging to his torso. He looked like a myth—the kind mothers warned their children about.
He walked into the elevator, silence accompanying him like a second skin.
Inside the penthouse, Lorenzo headed straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water hit him, the blood slowly washed off, running in red rivulets into the drain. His eyes were cold, distant. He hadn't been that brutal in a long time. But Silver's name… her event… it had pulled something ancient from within him.
