Nicky barely had time to lock his door before the pounding started. The sound echoed through the high ceilings of his penthouse, sharp and impatient, rattling something inside him that had already frayed to the point of snapping.
He stared at the door—solid, glossy, expensive—and debated for a second if pretending not to be home would buy him peace.
It wouldn't.
Because the voice on the other side of the door was Renee's. And Renee, when angry, was nothing short of a tactical missile. And she wasn't alone.
"Open the goddamn door, Saint-Claire!" Renee barked. "We know you're in there."
Behind her, Valeria's voice lilted with fury, all silk over steel: "You better open up before I kick it in."
And then Luca, with his signature melodramatic flair: "Don't make me embarrass myself in the hallway, Nicky. We will get in."
Elias added, too casually to be harmless, "You forget I still know your passcode. I'll use it. Don't test me."
