Chapter 3 - The Safe in the Sewing Room
The private lift descended in silence, dropping from the Grand Ballroom on the top floor directly to the private executive residence on the penthouse level of the Aurelia.
Ava stood in the corner of the polished brass cabin, her hands tightly clutching the collar of Niko’s coat. The adrenaline that had sustained her on the stage was beginning to ebb, leaving her limbs feeling heavy and cold.
Niko stood beside her, his hands tucked into his trousers pockets. He didn't speak, didn't ask questions, and didn't offer empty words of comfort. He simply gave her space to breathe.
When the doors slid open, they stepped into a vast, dimly lit apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing skyline of the city. The furniture was minimalist—dark leather, dark wood, and warm, low lighting that felt like a sanctuary after the blinding glare of the ballroom.
"Sit," Niko said, gesturing toward a deep leather sofa near the glass wall.
Ava walked over and sat down carefully, keeping the coat securely wrapped around her shoulders. She looked down at her lap, her fingers tracing the raw, frayed edge where the emerald silk of her dress had been torn from her shoulder down to her waist.
A quiet tap echoed from the hallway, and a woman in a crisp suit entered, carrying a glass of warm water and a soft cashmere wrap.
"This is Elena," Niko said, standing near the window with his back partially turned to give her privacy. "She will help you change out of the ruined dress into something comfortable. Take your time."
Twenty minutes later, Ava was dressed in a soft cream-colored sweater and dark trousers provided by Elena. The ruined emerald dress sat on a marble table nearby, handled by Elena with as much care as if it were made of glass.
Niko walked back into the room, holding a glass of amber liquid in one hand. He pulled the gold key from his vest pocket and set it down on the low table between them.
The black rose shone under the ambient lamplight.
"Where does it go?" Niko asked directly.
Ava stared at the key. She reached out, her fingers touching the cool metal. "My mother had a private studio in the old carriage house behind the Whitmore mansion. When she was alive, she spent eighteen hours a day in there. After she died, Victoria locked it up, claiming it was going to be converted into a pool house. She said my mother’s old things had been thrown away."
"Victoria was lying," Niko said softly.
"How do you know?"
"Because Eleanor Monroe was not just a designer, Ava," Niko said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "She was the chief creative consultant for my father's export holdings twenty years ago. She designed custom fabrics that carried hidden security threads—fabrics used to ship sensitive documents across international borders without detection."
Ava looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. "My mother worked for the Moretti family?"
"She did," Niko confirmed. "And when she married Richard Whitmore, my father warned her that Whitmore was drowning in debt. Two years before she died, Eleanor created a secondary asset trust. She locked the ownership deeds to her original pattern archives, her international patents, and her personal fortune inside a vault that could only be opened by a key she crafted herself."
Niko pointed to the key on the table.
"The Whitmores have been searching for that key for six years," he said. "They knew the vault existed inside the carriage house, but without the key, trying to force it open would trigger an internal thermite seal that would incinerate every document inside. That's why Victoria kept you around."
Ava felt a cold shudder run down her spine. "She didn't keep me as a stepsister... or even as free labor."
"She kept you because she thought you knew where your mother hid the key," Niko said flatly. "She monitored your room, your belongings, your mail. What she didn't realize was that Eleanor didn't leave the key in a box or a drawer. She sewed it into the hem of the one gown she knew you would never cut or sell."
Ava reached over to the ruined emerald dress lying on the table. She lifted the heavy hem, feeling the curious, raised ridge near the lower border—the ridge she had touched a thousand times growing up, thinking it was just a double-folded seam her mother hadn't finished trimming.
"She kept it safe on me," Ava whispered, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes and tracing down her cheeks. "All this time, I was wearing her protection."
Niko stood up and walked over to the desk near the window. He picked up a leather folder and tossed it onto the table beside the key.
"Tomorrow morning, Richard Whitmore has an emergency board meeting with his investors to explain why the foundation’s auction was interrupted by a federal police inquiry," Niko said. "They are going to try to destroy every remaining record in that carriage house tonight before my legal team can execute a preservation warrant."
Ava wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "They have guards at the estate."
May you like
Niko looked at her, his lips curving into a faint, dangerous smile that reminded her instantly why people called him the Mafia King.
"They have four security guards paid on late cheques," Niko said softly. "I have forty men who own this city’s night. We are going to the carriage house tonight, Ava. And you are going to open your mother’s safe."
