Alessio sat in his revolving chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight as he leaned back and gazed out at the Manhattan skyline. The city partied beneath him, a thousand lights blinking like stars trying to compete with his mood. But nothing could distract him. Not the view. Not his drink. Not even the deafening silence in his penthouse.
It had been two days.
Two fucking days since the masquerade ball, and he could not tear her out of his mind.
Two days since she slipped through his fingers, again.
Celeste.
He hadn't seen her face. Not once. But her body. God, her body. He remembered every inch. The way it pulsed under his touch, the way her hips moved like sin. Her scent had haunted him since the first night he met her. Nostalgic and addictive.
It had stopped him from pulling the trigger, and made him spare her life that night in the library. And when he found her invitation card on the floor, he knew she'd be back. She had to.
She was reckless enough to steal. Brave enough to lie to his face. Smart enough to run.
But not smart enough to stay gone.
Letting his thoughts float back to that night, he had arrived at the casino hours before the party began, and hid near the entrance like a predator waiting for his prey, praying to God she wears that scent again. He didn't need to see her face. He just needed to smell her. Hear her.
And she came.
Waltzing in like temptation itself, dressed in white like a sacrifice at his altar. The moment her scent hit the air, his heart did a triple beat. He had to grip the edge of the wall to stop himself from grabbing her right then and there.
He knew that she was the type to run. So he waited. Watched, and stalked. He never took his eyes off her. Not even for a millisecond.
When she dared dance with other men, when their filthy hands touched her, when she leaned into that fat twerp… he had felt the urge to commit mass shooting. Right there. Right then. He didn't care. He just wanted her in his arms.
He didn't know what she wanted from him. But whatever it was, he would've given it to her. And more. She didn't need to give him her fucking number.
And when she lied that her name was Celeste, he knew. He knew it was her. The one who had haunted his dreams and ruined his sleep.
He laughed softly to himself, as he turned to the portrait beside him. It rested on the easel near his chair.
It was an incomplete sketch of her.
He feared that if he didn't capture her, she might vanish from his mind the way she had slipped from his grasp.
So he had drawn her the moment he returned home that night. Her curves. Her thick, luscious hair. Her honey-brown orbs. Her slightly bruised, but soft skin. He remembered the way it felt beneath his fingers.
But a face was missing.
He sipped his wine, eyes locked on the drawing.
Her breasts weren't quite right.
So he picked up his pencil and corrected them, his strokes slow and delicate. Even now, his body hardened at the memory of her pressed against him.
The soft click of the door opening broke his focus slightly. It was Greg, his personal assistant.
Greg's steps were quiet, as he got closer. "Boss" he greeted, bowing.
Alessio didn't look up. "Tell me you have good news."
Greg sighed. "We did find some clues…"
Alessio set his wine and pencil down. "Report."
Greg quickly pulled out a tablet and began scrolling. "We ran every parameter. Should I start with physical evidence first."
Alessio nodded.
"Fingerprint scans on the masks she swapped only revealed the identity of the woman she switched with. It's like she wiped the mask clean before handing it over."
"She probably did." Alessio smirked. "She's quite meticulous."
"For the bathroom stall, we searched the tiles, handles, locks. Not a single usable print. Champagne glass, cutlery… the same. Anything she touched was either smudged or too faint for anything to be detected."
Alessio didn't like the direction this was going.
Greg continued, swiping to the next page. "We analyzed the fibers on the mask. All belonged to the switched woman."
Alessio clenched his jaw, as he got up from his chair. "Anything caught on surveillance?"
"Not really" Greg grimaced. "CCTV inside the casino, hallways, bathroom entrances caught her. I mean, she is in the footage, but always masked. So we could not secure a facial ID."
Alessio folded his hands, frowning. "Outside?"
"Traffic cams caught the car she entered, and we thought we'd finally got something. But the plate was fake. Driver untraceable."
Alessio leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Fuck. What about witnesses?"
"I questioned the woman she switched with. She never saw her full face. Not even during the mask change."
"What about the staff?"
"We interrogated everyone. From the attendants, waiters, even security. No one saw her face. The manager gave us every feed and record he had. Nothing turned up. Whoever she is, she planned this right to the second."
"Of course, she did…" Alessio murmured to himself, walking to the window.
"But boss…" Greg hesitated. "Are you certain the girl she switched with isn't the real Celeste? Her DNA was the only one that showed up consistently."
Alessio's eyes snapped to him, as he turned around. "Don't mistake shadows for substance, Greg. That girl—" he walked to the portrait and pointed. "Is Celeste. The other one, nah. Her voice was different. Her body changed. And she didn't have the moles."
"Moles?"
"Eight." Alessio said, ruffling his hair. "Celeste had eight visible moles."
Greg blinked. "You counted her moles?"
Alessio smiled at him with his eyes. "I counted everything." He turned back to the window.
Celeste had used the little moment he was distracted with the fake one to escape. If she'd waited one more minute, he would've caught up to her.
He realized the other lady was a fake the moment she tried to touch his bulge. The real Celeste would've never been that bold. It was at that moment, he assessed her body, and saw the stark differences. But it was too late, as he saw the real Celeste running towards the exit.
He laughed, low and bitter. "She played me damn good."
Greg stepped forward. "Boss, I think we may have hit a wall with this. Maybe this… Celeste… and her accomplices planned everything too well, that she can't be tracked."
Alessio chuckled, darkly, retrieving a cigar from his drawer. "She's a smart one, but no one is untraceable. No one. They all make mistakes eventually. And when she does, I'll be waiting."
He lit the cigar, and turned to stare at the skyline. For a long moment, the room was silent.
Greg shifted again, then asked, "So what would you like us to do next, Boss?"
Alessio smiled. A cruel, knowing smile. "There's one person we haven't looked at."
Greg frowned. "Who?"
Alessio turned slowly, eyes gleaming. "The man with the burn on his hand. The one she talked to the longest."