Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Having too much to get through, I scoop my coffee off the dining table and cringe at the circle it left on the hardwood. I’ve always been a fan of a good coaster, only whenever I need one, there’s never any in sight. I suppose it doesn’t matter. The second I walk out of here, my housekeeper will sweep through and leave the room looking untouched.
Moving through my home, I find myself passing the main staircase that leads up to the private suites, right where Chiara sleeps, and I feel a pull, urging me to go check on her. I pause, my gaze sweeping up the long staircase, and I immediately berate myself. I shouldn’t feel this way. She’s just some random woman who I happened to find locked in a cage at Ezekiel’s auction. She isn’t anyone special, certainly not someone who is worthy enough for me to take time away from work.
Anger at my lack of self-control surges through my body, and I push myself to keep walking toward my office, but a movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I pause again, watching Rohan reach for the front door and pull it open just in time for Sergiu to stride through, not bothering to spare a single second to thank Rohan for opening the door.
“Cousin,” Sergiu booms as he stalks through my foyer and meets me in the middle with two manila folders tucked under his arm.
He claps me on the back, making a move to greet me, but I hold back, not having the patience for it today and needing answers about last night’s bullshit raid. “Have you got a name for me?”
Sergiu nods. “I’m waiting for the call to come through any minute now,” he says before handing me the manila folders. “In the meantime, I come bearing gifts. Everything you requested on your new . . . pet. And the names and contact details of the workers killed in the raid last night.”
I nod and flip through the list of names, not recognizing any of them, and yet each one seems to sting harder than the last.
There are a million more questions I need to ask to follow up on the conversation we had last night, but I move on to the next folder instead, and right on top, I find a photograph of Chiara. She must be only a few years younger here, maybe nineteen or twenty. Her cheeks are full, and her green eyes are so bright, a stark contrast to the girl I met last night. One thing is for sure, when she’s not plagued by fear, starved, or covered in grime, she’s fucking gorgeous.
My attention is piqued, and I flip through the pages inside, quickly scanning over her birth certificate and the copy of the missing person’s report that was filed two days ago when she failed to show up for her shift at the bar she worked at. “I trust you’ve taken care of this?” I ask Sergiu.
“Just about,” he says. “The report mysteriously went missing from police records, but this was filed a few days ago, so I can’t guarantee that there aren’t physical copies on a desk somewhere, but with her name scrubbed from existence and her birth certificate suddenly gone, we should be okay. I’ve got men keeping a close eye on that though.”
“Good, and—”
Sergiu’s ringing phone cuts me off, and as he reaches for it and glances at the caller ID, a familiar excitement flashes in his eyes. He holds up a finger, telling me to hold that thought while he takes his call. “Speak to me,” he says into the phone.
I listen to his call, keeping a keen eye on my cousin as he takes in the information that’s being shared, and the second his lip quirks up into a wicked grin, I know we’ve got exactly what we need.
Sergiu ends the call with his gaze locked on mine. “We got ’em.”
“Call a meeting,” I tell him, excitement drumming through my veins. “We’re going hunting tonight.”
7
CHIARA
It’s well into the afternoon when I wake from yesterday’s exhaustion, and while I’m still a little groggy, I feel well-rested and ready for my day. I’ve never woken up feeling so refreshed in my life. Could it be the expensive bed and the fancy Egyptian linen? Or . . . My gaze shifts to the glass of water that was left out for me last night.
No, it couldn’t be. There’s no way he slipped me something again. First in the car and then again in my drink. This is bullshit. How stupid could I be to have fallen for that? I should have known better, but I was so exhausted and confused when I came to bed last night that it didn’t even occur to me not to trust the glass of water that had been left on my bedside table. God, I’m an idiot.