Alexander was already striding toward the source of the sound—the suite at the end, Valeria 's.
Charlotte tiptoed behind Alexander, curiosity overriding common sense.
Just as he raised a hand to knock—
The door of the next room was suddenly opened.
A new figure emerged.
Tall, lean, wrapped in a black bathrobe left scandalously open to reveal a chiseled, inked chest. Tousled dark hair framed a face that was all sharp cheekbones and lazy danger.
His eyes were pale, his smile slow.
"Don't," the man said, voice dripping amusement. "It's fine. My sister's just... working through some feelings."
Alexander narrowed his eyes. "This is a luxury hotel. We don't do murder. Or carpet stains."
The man laughed softly. "Relax. I'll buy you a new carpet. Persian, if you want."
Charlotte's mouth fell open, whispering to herself: "Oh my God. That has to be Valeria's brother. The real Black Hand. He looks like he walked out of a mafia drama and onto a runway."
