I’ve always loved New York. There’s a certain flamboyance to the city, like a tapestry made of strings from different fabrics. There’s also a certain rush that seems to permeate everything and everyone, and that just adds to that energetic boldness of the city that never sleeps.

Back when I started working in Rome, as a newly annointed member of the Order, I always relished my time off (which, really, didn’t happen that much). I’d grab the first plane out of Italy and spend the whole flight in a state of semi-anxiety, waiting to see the tall buildings of New York City rising in the distance.

After months in Europe, New York was like a warm drink on the coldest of the nights. But now, the city seems grey and desolate. Its bold character now seems harsh and indifferent, and I can’t help but feel more lonely than ever.

Pull yourself together, I think to myself as I look out the window of my bedroom in the Ritz, hundreds of people going about their lives in the street below. Even though I was more than ready to start working for the Donovans, Jonathan forbade me of doing so.

“No way, Connor,” he told me sternly. “Take some time for yourself. It’s an order.” And so, even though I protested against it, he booked me one of the most expensives rooms in the Ritz.

I’ve been here for a week now and, to be honest, all this time off is driving me crazy. After handling all the legal paperwork surrounding my father’s death, I now have nothing better to do than wander through the streets of New York aimlessly. Still, even though it doesn’t calm my restless mind, that’s what I’ve been doing every single day: I’ve been walking and walking, the gears inside my head turning endlessly.

Working as the Donovan’s adviser is a big responsibility, and not to mention, following in my father’s shoes. They are big shoes to fill, indeed. And, of course, it doesn’t help that I already see trouble brewing on the horizon. Hurricane Earl is picking up speed and, sooner or later, that storm will be threatening the Donovans.

It’s only natural that Jonathan’s looking to groom his heir, but I can’t help to wonder if he didn’t bet on the wrong horse. Sure, Earl might be bold and smart, but he also seems completely unhinged… And being unhinged isn’t exactly a good trait to possess when you have a multi-billion dollar fortune to manage.

Whenever I talked to my father on the phone, he always sounded concerned with the way Earl had turned out, but only now I seem to grasp how worrying that is. It isn’t going to be easy to steer someone like him, especially when his own father seems blind to what’s happening.

On the other hand, my father showed some optimism about Clarise. Even though she wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue in college, she somehow managed to graduate from Wharton with flying colors, and she was showing some interest in the business before my father passed away. Even though I can only guess at what my father was planning, I think he was trying to balance Earl with Clarise, if not replacing Earl altogether with his younger sister.

Of course, whenever I start thinking of Clarise my mind drifts off. I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at the funeral. She seemed to glow, almost as if her own soul was on fire.

A few years ago, she was nothing more than a skinny teenager with an easy laugh, and now… Now she’s the kind of woman that makes heads turn whenever she enters a room. And, more than being beautiful, she’s also smart and ambitious. Which sounds good, but also puts her on a collision course with her own brother. And I’m right in the middle of what looks like an inevitable civil war between siblings.

Still, even though it might seem like an impossible task, I’m determined to do my best. After all, my father spent almost half of his life trying to help the Donovans - the least I can do is do my best to live up to his legacy.

Pacing around the room, my gaze wanders over and over again to my cellphone, sitting on the desk in front of the bed. It’s time, I think to myself, to call Jonathan. I’ve had some time off, just like he proposed (or, rather, ordered), and I’m already aching to get down to business. After all, sitting here in this room by myself is just making my mind race in circles around itself. I need to do something - anything.

I already have the cell phone in my hand when the phone on my bedstand starts to ring. I make my way toward it and, picking it up, press it against my ear. “Yes?” I ask whoever’s on the other side, and a polite female voice greets me, happily chirping my name.

“There’s someone here to see you,” that smooth disembodied voice continues, and I arch my eyebrows in surprise. Someone to see me? It’s not like I have any friends in New York City. Well, that’s not entirely true - I have a lot of female friends from my party years, but all those friends are long gone.

“Who is it?” I ask and, the moment that question leaves my lips, my heart skips a beat as I realize I already know the answer.

“Clarise Donovan,” the Ritz’s receptionist replies, and my heart goes from skipping a beat to racing inside my chest. What the hell is Clarise doing here?

“Tell her I’ll be right down,” I say, and then hang up.

As I head out the door, my mind is abuzz with anticipation. Even though Clarise’s just part of my job, I can’t help but feel happy about the opportunity to see her again. After all, the memory of her smile has been the only thing keeping me warm at night.