Chapter 17

Helena

I speedthrough the city streets, weaving dangerously between cars and lanes. My heart races in sync with the tires as I take sharp turns, barely keeping control of the vehicle.

I am aware that driving while distracted poses a risk of causing an accident. However, I’m struggling to keep my composure in the present moment. Focusing on anything beyond the next mile marker forces me to confront where I just left—or rather, who I just left. Saying goodbye to Raphael tonight ripped something vital from my soul. Our first unhurried hours together brought me an unprecedented level of joy. We laughed over pizza and shared secrets while lounging comfortably on his couch, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything I never thought to wish for in this cruel world was within reach.

The mere thought of that night fills me with longing. I desperately wanted the magic to continue, but alas, it had to come to an end. In the safety of Raphael’s embrace, his steady heartbeat and warm gaze melted away my walls and allowed me to fully trust and let go. But now, regret pierces through me like shards of glass, making each breath a struggle.

Fool that I am, I let seductive dreams cloud my judgment, ignoring the leased nature of joy for a half-demon like me. I don’t deserve tender devotion or a peaceful future from anyone, much less heaven’s paragon son. Clinging greedily to Raphael can only taint his radiant spirit until he realizes the mistake of desiring a soulless half-breed like me.

So really, this midnight summons saves us both future misery down the road. What Raphael and I share lives fiercely for the moment, but cannot last beyond stolen rendezvous. I’ll treasure each illicit memory of his skillful hands, but this fantasy ends here. The world rumbling by outside this speeding car carries no place for angels and demons entwined.

And then there’s Draven. I have a fiance, I have to remind myself. Although, now I realize, never have I known intimacy before this evening, and that perfect glimpse of happiness keeps my mind reeling.

My path lies along a shadowed lonely road, predetermined by my bloodline. And Raphael shall remain untarnished, free to seek worthier lovers that his family would accept. Not some tainted wretch like me.

Tires screech as I take the next turn recklessly fast, nearly clipping the curb. Damn it! Get it together! Brooding over might-have-beens changes nothing. I made my choice of leaving Raphael behind, and now dealing with Dominique Uphir becomes sole priority before I shatter completely.

I never expected him to reach out so soon. But reach out, he did. With that text alone, reality came crashing in, reminding me who I truly am and why I’m here in the city.

Gradually, the posh downtown high-rises give way to dingier warehouses and factories. I creep along abandoned streets searching for the meeting coordinates Uphir indicated, wary of who or what else lurks in this creepy district.

At last, I spot the grimy sign for Paper Street Manufacturing hanging crookedly over a gated entrance. I drive through the rusty chainlink, and the dark loading docks loom ahead of me like a gaping dragon’s mouth. My headlights reveal shifting shadows as I idle in my car.

My instincts scream to throw this vehicle in reverse and tear back to the safety of Raphael’s condo, into his sheltering arms. Fear sinks icy claws down my neck that this cloak-and-dagger scene with Uphir may prove my final ruin. If I’m wrong about this, surely even six feet under, Uncle Luci will find new ways to torment my pathetic soul for dragging his name through the mud.

Through sheer stubbornness, I strangle the frenzied thoughts, shoving open the car door on protesting hinges instead. The urgent answers Uphir dangles before me override any irrational fears inspired by childhood horror tales. Lucifer’s reputation and assets are at stake if someone keeps embezzling from the DeLux’s locked reserves. I swore to solve this financial farce, and come hellhound or high water, I mean to finish this tonight.

My heels click an erratic beat across the cracked concrete, loud as gunshots in the oppressive silence. Pieces of litter scrape past in a biting wind, carrying whispers of spectral voices just out of sight. I strain every sense, searching the murky corners for threats, pulse thrumming wildly beneath my thin silk dress.

Finally, the weak glow of my phone’s screen offers an anchored point of light in the gloom. Glancing between it and indistinct building numbers, I creep down a long featureless hall in search of the meeting coordinates. But each nondescript door I pass remains sealed tight, with no response to my tentative knocks.

Unease prickles my skin like the legs of too many spiders. This feels all wrong—why summon me urgently just to ignore my arrival? Has Dominique set some elaborate trap to punish my snooping into his business? Perhaps brazening my way uninvited into the offices of the mysterious gangster would have been a better plan...

Muffled cursing from my left interrupts my spiraling doubts. I freeze, throat seizing in sudden dread. But the persistent scuffling noises sound more irritable than violent. Edging closer beneath a flickering overhead bulb, I peer into the cracked opening of a side door left conspicuously ajar.

From this angle, only vague shapes are visible through the narrow gap. Steeling myself, I curl cautious fingers around the cold metal to widen it by incremental degrees so as not to draw attention. More of the cramped room comes into view, mostly occupied by hulking pipes and electrical boxes in questionable repair.

There—a figure paces the grimy concrete in a crisp double-breasted suit so pristine it nearly glows in the gloom. Even from behind, I recognize Italian leather shoes shiny as onyx, silvered hair impeccably neat. My pulse leaps, body swaying forward instinctively before I catch myself.

So Dominique does lurk here after all.Relief wars with simmering outrage that he deigned to keep me wandering like an idiot. Sharpening a glare for the strange Coldplay ringtone chirping from my purse, I choose that moment to fling open the balky door with a thunderous creak. Time for answers from the elusive crime lord.

Uphir whips around, mouth already open to rip into whoever interrupted his call. But his smooth baritone halts awkwardly mid-complaint as he registers me hovering on the threshold. “Oh! I... didn’t hear you arrive, miss. Apologies.”

Despite my frazzled nerves and general vexation with tonight’s events, I can’t help but blink dumbly at the figure revealed fully from the shadows. Dominique Uphir is no late-middle-aged gangster cliche. He stands tall and striking, his gunmetal eyes dominating his aquiline features that any sculptor would beg to immortalize. His strong brow and chiseled jaw exude a confidence earned from success, not false bravado. A silver-streaked wave of chestnut hair falls across his forehead, but his unwavering gaze remains fixed on mine.

A strange hooking sensation stirs low in my belly and jolts me from my rude staring. I clench my jaw and snap my eyes back to Uphir’s, trying unsuccessfully to calm my hammering heart.

Oblivious to my turmoil, Uphir clears his throat politely, gesturing to a rickety folding chair. “Please, have a seat Miss... Forgive me, I don’t believe I caught your name previously?”

I banish my inner conflict, summoning haughty annoyance to arm myself facing this adversary. Perching gingerly on the seat across from Uphir, I smooth my features to cool marble. “Helena Morningstar, consultant in management.” Of course, he already knew my name. I left it in my voice message. This is just one of those power moves men like him usually rely on.

One sharp brow quirks upward. “Consultant? For what organization, exactly?”

“My own. I operate independently.” Tilting my chin defiantly, I meet his searching stare. “And I have pressing questions for Dominique Uphir, who I’ve had the hardest time tracking down. Are you him?”

My sharp demand seems to amuse more than intimidate him. Uphir tips back leisurely in his folding chair as if it were a throne, studying me with new interest. “I am. And I likewise have questions for this mysterious consultant who leaves cryptic messages and then appears unannounced, making demands.” He taps a contemplative finger to his lips. “You have me at somewhat a disadvantage here, Ms. Morningstar.”

I bristle at his smooth words undermining my position. “If anyone is at a disadvantage, it’s me.” Leaning forward intently, I fold my arms. “Why such secrecy, Mr. Uphir? If you have nothing to hide regarding certain company finances, why not speak openly as law and basic ethics require?”

Uphir blinks, taken aback for the first time tonight. “You lost me, Miss. What finances are these?”

A humorless laugh escapes me before I can restrain it. Is he really feigning ignorance? I expected slippery denial or counter accusations from a proven criminal. But this guileless act may prove the most challenging to navigate.

Smoothing my expression to cool politeness, I elaborate crisply, “The DeLux Café. As acting manager these past weeks, I found substantial accounting discrepancies—fellows covering illicit cash withdrawals from locked reserves. Quite aggressively too.” I raise my phone, the damning photo glowing between us. “Care to explain?”

Silence swells, broken only by an overhead pipe sputtering. Uphir studies me, grey eyes calculating. Then he sighs, leaning back and loosening his slate tie with one hand. “Well, now. It seems this conversation requires more trust if we intend to make any progress.”

Standing abruptly, he strides for a dilapidated mini-fridge, producing two bottles of water. The plastic crackles loudly as he twists off each cap before returning to offer me one. I accept reluctantly. Nothing tonight makes much sense, but I know better than to accept open food or drink from those involved with the DeLux’s shady underground.

Uphir smiles, sensing my suspicion. “It’s only water. You’re safe with me. Now...” Settling once more, he meets my gaze squarely. “Let us start from the beginning.”

His earnest warmth catches me off guard. Dom acts as a concerned mentor focused wholly on assisting me. It spurs an impulsive confession before better judgment can rein me in.

“From the beginning then...” I take a bracing gulp of cool water. “I’m consulting for my family’s club. I expected minor cash troubles given the current economy. But the discrepancies keep cropping up inexplicably, until they become too large to ignore.” My free hand fists, anger returning. “At first, I blamed it on greedy staff pocketing some extra cash on the sly. But then, massive chunks started disappearing repeatedly from the owner’s reserves, and they were otherwise inaccessible. That’s when my suspicion shifted. Someone higher is betraying my family’s trust and profiting off it illegally, funneling funds to clandestine enterprises—registered under your name.”

Uphir merely nods, waving me on as my breath grows short. Weighing his placid response, I venture the next damning confession: “In following the obscured paper trail, all clues point to you, Dominique Uphir. You run half a dozen shell companies with controlling interests tangled through Luxury Management and franchise leadership. The pieces align too neatly between this hidden money siphon and your activities basically next door...”

I trail off pointedly, pulse thrumming as I await his reaction to such inflammatory suggestions.

Across from me, Uphir strokes his goatee absently. “A compelling theory, you present. I can see how suspicion reasonably fell upon me.” He chuckles without mirth. “My interests do intersect closely with your family’s... establishments. But I can assure you, Ms. Morningstar, my own dealings adhere strictly to human laws and ethical practices.”

I snort rudely before thinking better of antagonizing someone likely entangled with dangerous segments of society. But Uphir beams unexpectedly.

“There now! You show refreshing candor, young lady.” He leans forward earnestly. “Not all in my position could say the same alas, so some skepticism remains reasonable. But I conducted my own quiet investigation into your club’s troubles once whispers reached me. After much effort and calling in favors, I recently uncovered the true culprit.”

I gape, mind whirling to process his words. Dominique Uphir admitting backroom researching affairs at the DeLux? Either he crafts lies to deflect any blame, or far greater forces stir these waters than I ever imagined. And his revelation about already identifying the real embezzler steals any response from my lips.

Oblivious to my internal floundering, Uphir smooths a few errant hairs back into place, grim satisfaction weighing on his broad shoulders. “You were wise coming to me for aid. We must collaborate if the Board hopes to oust this swindler from their midst.”

I seize that leading thread desperately, thoughts racing. The Board—so he knows Uncle’s true name and standing, not just his flashy club ownership persona. Meaning Uphir is undoubtedly far more than the human entrepreneur he appears. But why assist the DeLux? What stake does he hold in these schemes?

I regain speech finally, tongue clumsy around the multitude of questions swarming my brain. “Forgive me, I don’t follow... You know things, truths about my family most don’t even guess. Why offer help?” Eyes narrowed in suspicion, I prod for the catch not yet revealed. “What interest have you in preserving the DeLux or stopping this faceless thief?”

Now Uphir levels a measuring look, gauging my reaction to his next revelation. I hold brittle stillness. His solemn words drop into the space between us, pointed as a dagger.

“Because if Lucifer Morningstar falls, he won’t be the only one struggling in the power vacuum left behind.”

My lungs are crushed violently, rational thought fading away. It’s one thing to deduce Mr. Uphir’s sketchy connections from afar, but hearing him casually name-drop the most infamously ruthless denizen of Hell in friendly tones is another level entirely.

My stunned silence eventually prompts Uphir to elaborate. “This is not my original face or name, of course. But the core identity remains, however altered by myths over centuries.” His lips quirk oddly. “I was Dumuzid once, a powerful Sumerian king. Ruled wide fertile lands with fair hand, so stories go. But that ancient mantle matters little now.”

He strokes the tumbler absently. “I prefer Dominique these days. Kingship never fulfilled me as money and shadows do. So I cultivate both, making friends in low places.” A wink sends wholly inappropriate sparks through my core before I smother them ruthlessly. “Lucifer understands there are mutual benefits from our association, both profiting from humanity’s insatiable hungers.”

Dumuzid. King Consort of Sumeria, slaughtered for power, then resurrected as cautionary tale. Of course, the face I summoned from frustrating dead ends transforms into literal lore walking our earth still. At this point, no outrageous reveals could shock me further tonight.

“So...” Speaking forces steadiness upon me. “You brought me out here for more than just commiserating, I expect? Or was this dramatic alleyway farce purely for your amusement?”

“Right you are.” Deft fingers withdraw an expensive crocodile briefcase I hadn’t noticed from the shadows. He lays it gently atop a nearby crate. My heart double beats apprehensively. But Dominique only enters a quick combination sequence, then swings the container to face me. No scorpions or flesh-eating scarabs emerge, so I risk scooting closer.

Nestled inside lie several disturbingly familiar folders, their contents spilling haphazardly. Endless rows of disjointed figures flash before my eyes. I reach tentatively to trail fingers over the crumpled spreadsheet headers. “Can it be..?”

“The infamous ledger’s missing pages?” Dominique supplies helpfully. “Quite right.”

I catch up a handful of scattered pages, scanning them frantically.

It’s all here…