No one knew about their conversation, just as no one knew where Clara was. Perhaps Ellara and Seraphina knew, but that remained a secret, one they wouldn't tell anyone, including Natalie.
Ellara finally left the room, and as usual, Mora handed her a cup of coffee, which Ellara took naturally before sitting by the pool and starting a new painting.
Natalie was curious about what she was painting, so she approached for a look, but the canvas was only covered with a base layer of colors—black, purple, gray, and blue, mixed together to form shades of blue-black and blue-purple.
"What are you painting?" Natalie asked.
Ellara didn't answer her, just continued to paint on her own.
She sat by the pool for the entire morning, and Natalie squatted beside her for the same duration.
"When are you going to look into Clara's information?" she finally couldn't help but ask.
She had already figured out that Ellara was painting a starry sky.
Ellara finally responded to her, saying, "No rush."
As the sunset approached, Ellara finally rose from her easel, feeling a bit hungry, and looked towards Mora.
Mora had already pan-fried the steak, which was Kobe beef air-freighted from the continent in the Southern Hemisphere.
"A bit old," Ellara commented after taking a bite, but she still finished the steak.
"Will improve next time," Mora replied.
Natalie watched them, doubting if she had found the wrong people.
Their life was too plain, not at all like those in the underworld.
But who dictates how anyone's life should be?
Like her, a lady of a prominent family, instead of thinking about skincare and traveling, she's making trouble every day. Perhaps underworld figures just enjoy such a plain life?
Natalie, however, was a restless sort. Looking at Ellara by the poolside, she asked Mora, "When is she done?"
Mora shook her head, signaling her not to disturb Ellara, and then went to the kitchen.
Mora knew that Ellara's mood was far from calm at the moment. Painting was one of her methods to suppress her murderous intent, yes, she wanted to kill someone.
It might have been because of Seraphina's words, or perhaps due to last night's fight.
But she didn't like killing, so she started painting, a method a psychiatrist had told her long ago.
The painting was completed swiftly, with the final brushstroke applied the next morning, and then Ellara rose with satisfaction.
"When are you planning to go see Clara?" In the living room, Natalie pressed her, feeling quite annoyed by Ellara's slacker behavior.
Ellara stopped in her tracks and looked at Natalie. In reality, she had no intention of going to see Clara because Clara was indeed dead. She lied to keep Natalie stable.
"Whenever," she smiled.
Natalie could tell she was being brushed off, but there was nothing she could do about it and left with a stern expression.
Ellara left after lunch, the red sports car pulling out of the garage and disappearing at the end of the street.
The underground boxing gym had few people in the afternoon, and the not-so-young bartender stood in front of the bar, wiping glasses.
"Creak—"
The iron door was pulled open, making an ear-piercing noise.
The bartender looked up and saw Ellara entering. His breath hitched, and he quickly put down the rag and glass in his hand.
"Please follow me," he bowed before Ellara, his tone respectful.
Ellara said nothing, just followed the bartender downstairs. Few people knew that this underground boxing ring had a basement. It was so ordinary that the mob bosses of Elysian Bay liked to meet here because its ordinariness made it inconspicuous.
But things that are too ordinary are never ordinary.
The basement was dimly lit, the walls damp. As soon as Ellara entered, she felt the cold draft.
It would be very cool in the height of summer, Ellara thought.
The basement of the boxing ring was spacious, with many iron doors separating the rooms from the corridor, quiet yet eerie.
Ellara walked all the way to the iron door at the very end. From within, the sound of iron chains clanking could be heard continuously. The chains sounded thick, which is why the sound was so loud.
The sound of the chains and the man's groans accompanied each other, making the basement seem even colder.
"Has he talked?" Ellara didn't open the door; she asked the bartender coldly.
The bartender shook his head and said, "He says it's for money. Quite spineless, probably not a professional killer."
"What about the others?" Ellara continued to ask.
The bartender replied, "People from all areas have gone to look for them. They all want to make amends by pleasing you."
Ellara finally opened the iron door. She glanced at the only chair in the room, feeling a bit disgusted.
In the room, a man was suspended from the ceiling by chains, his feet off the ground, swinging back and forth in the air, trying to find a foothold. Upon seeing Ellara enter, he became much more docile; it was the man who had taken four bullets from Ellara that night. He was now in a sorry state, the bullets removed, but his body was covered in whiplashes, and blood was everywhere. His eyes and the corners of his mouth were bruised, indicating the extent of the torture he had endured.
"Why did you want to kill that little girl? For money?" Ellara looked at the man, her eyes devoid of warmth.
"I've always heard..." The man's voice was weak, whether from the torture or the struggle he had just endured, "that the underworld of Elysian Bay has a queen, and it's you, isn't it, little girl?"
"You ask me why I took this job, of course it's for money!" The man's voice shifted from weakness to madness, "Those high and mighty people have no idea what kind of miserable life people like me live! But someone transferred half a million to my card that night, so I came."
Ellara analyzed his demeanor, only to give a cold, mirthless smile.
The bartender handed Ellara the man's file, saying, "He used to be an employee at a real estate company. After being laid off, he became a homeless person. His wife and daughter left the country, but he stayed in Elysian Bay."
Ellara took one last look at the man and then walked out.
This man was just one of the many assassins who had come that night, and all his moves were still very amateurish.
But he was the only one who made a move; the other assassins hid in the shadows, perhaps more experienced and therefore more cautious.
That day, the man had a poison pill in his mouth, likely a requirement from the person who hired him. If it was really just about the money, why would he have that poison pill?