"The police no longer believe it was a suicide."
The office felt too small.
Not physically—there was space, glass, air, the city stretching endlessly beyond the windows—but something in the atmosphere had tightened to the point where even silence felt sharp.
Steven stood across from Adrian's desk, the folder still open in his hands, the words he had just said hanging in the air longer than they should have.
Adrian didn't respond immediately.
He stood by the window, his back partially turned, his reflection cutting through the city lights behind the glass. For a moment, it looked like nothing had changed.
Then Steven added—
"And Victoria didn't send the photos to Elena."
That was when the shift happened.
Subtle but absolute.
Adrian turned.
Slowly.
Steven stepped forward, placing the documents on the desk, his tone measured, careful.
"Forensics traced the files. They were routed through multiple servers, masked origin, altered metadata. It wasn't her. She didn't send them."
Adrian looked down at the photos, then back at Steven, his expression unreadable—but something darker had already settled beneath the surface.
"Which means," Adrian said quietly, "someone else wanted Elena to see them. And someone wanted her to react. And someone got exactly what they wanted."
"First of all, we need to stay calm…" Steven said it carefully.
Adrian looked at him and something in that look made Steven swallow involuntarily, a cold shiver running down his spine before he could stop it.
"Calm…" Adrian repeated.
He turned away again, walking slowly along the windows, his steps controlled, almost thoughtful.
"Calm…" he repeated once more—
And then the glass left his hand.
It shattered against the wall with a sharp, violent crack, fragments scattering across the floor.
"Someone planted a bomb under my car!" Adrian snapped, his voice rising in a way Steven had never heard before. "In my house!"
Steven flinched.
"My wife is being hunted by some psychopath, far away from me," Adrian continued, stepping closer now, his control still present—but stretched thin, dangerous. "And I'm supposed to stay calm?!"
Steven swallowed again, forcing himself to stand still under the weight of something he had never witnessed before.
Adrian Virelli didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
The world adjusted itself around him without that.
But now—
he was furious.
And Steven knew, with absolute certainty, that whoever had caused this would not survive it.
Adrian exhaled slowly, dragging control back into place piece by piece.
"Names," he said.
Steven nodded quickly and opened the folder again.
"There are three likely candidates."
Adrian didn't sit.
"Alessandro Moretti. He's been silent since Milan," Steven continued. "Too silent. He lost a major contract to you and didn't retaliate."
"That's not restraint," Adrian said coldly.
"No," Steven agreed. "It's preparation."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
Moretti was patient, strategic. The kind of man who didn't strike until the damage would be irreversible.
"He has the resources," Steven added. "And the motive."
"To dismantle me slowly," Adrian finished.
Steven nodded.
"Viktor Sokolov."
A slight shift.
Adrian's attention sharpened.
"He's less subtle," he said.
"Yes," Steven replied. "But that doesn't mean he's incapable of precision when it matters."
Adrian moved again, slower now.
"Sokolov breaks things," he said. "He doesn't manipulate."
"Unless breaking something requires manipulation," Steven countered. "Like Mrs. Virelli."
The word lingered.
Adrian didn't respond immediately.
Because that version was possible.
Steven hesitated.
Adrian noticed.
"Steven."
"Dominic Reyes."
Silence.
Different now.
Adrian didn't move but something in his gaze hardened completely.
"He's been expanding," Steven continued carefully. "Closer to your territory. Closer to your partners. And unlike the others…"
"He doesn't attack directly," Adrian finished.
Steven nodded.
"He studies. Manipulates. Waits."
Adrian's thoughts aligned quickly now.
"He would know how she'd react," Adrian said quietly. "And he'd know exactly how to use that. What about Sam?"
Steven stiffened slightly.
"Still missing. Which means he was either working for someone," Steven added, "or he thought he was."
Adrian's gaze snapped to him.
"Find him."
"We're trying—"
"Not trying," Adrian cut in sharply. "Find him." Adrian turned away again, running a hand slowly over his jaw. "This wasn't random," he said. "None of it."
Steven didn't argue.
"Victoria. The photos. The gala. Elena leaving." Adrian's voice lowered. "Someone pulled the right strings at the right time."
"And now she's exactly where they want her," Steven said.
Alone.
Exposed.
"Find out who pulled the strings with Victoria," Adrian said suddenly, his voice dropping into something far more dangerous. "Who the hell killed her, and who sent those damn files."
Steven didn't move.
"I want to know who that woman is," Adrian continued, stepping closer again, his gaze locking onto Steven's. "The one who got into Elena's head at the gala. I want her address, her date of birth, her shoe size, her bank PIN. I want everything."
Steven nodded slowly.
"And I want it by tomorrow evening."
"Yes."
Adrian held his gaze for one second longer.
Then—
"If my wife doesn't come back within 24 hours," he said quietly, each word deliberate, final, "I'm flying to Venice."
The room went still.
Because that wasn't a threat. It was a decision.
Steven gathered the documents quickly.
"I'll handle it."
Adrian didn't respond. He was already thinking ahead.
—
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Adrian stood alone, his gaze drifting to the shattered glass on the floor, then back to the city.
Elena thought she was far enough.
Safe enough.
Untouchable.
A slow breath left his lungs.
Because now—
this wasn't just about bringing her back.
It was about finding the man who thought he could take her from him.