by Eden Summers
After the elevator stops, the doors open into an expansive sunlit entertaining area.
“Walk toward the kitchen,” the guard instructs. “Once you reach the dining area, continue down the hall to the first door on your left. You’ll find Mr. Costa in the study. I’ll have your gun waiting for you on ground level.”
I step out onto the marble tile. “Why am I not surprised he’s in the penthouse?” I say for Hunter’s benefit.
There’s no reply apart from the gentle glide of closing steel as the elevator leaves, taking the guard with it.
This place is wide open space. The living room before me with its modular sofa and towering artistic paintings transitions into the dining area up ahead, with the kitchen beside it on the left. Closest to me is a staircase with a glass balustrade leading to a hall on the upper level.
But there’s no fucking security.
There isn’t a soul in sight as I continue forward, scanning nearby rooftops, hoping a familiar rifle scope is tracking my movements. There’s no sound either. No voices of children or of men—only the slow thud of my footfalls.
I reach the kitchen, eying the darkened hall up ahead with the soft glow of artificial light coming from the open office doorway. I stop, waiting for a hint of the approaching trap to shut in around me, and hear the low murmur of muffled conversation in the distance.
I don’t doubt it’s Costa, but when there’s no evidence those kids are even here I’m loath to move further. I’m lacking alternatives though.
I have to keep walking.
I follow my instructions to the start of the hall, the foreign conversation growing louder. I keep my head high, letting anyone watching via hidden surveillance know that I’m not fucking daunted in the slightest when I reach the office threshold and scowl as I look inside.
“Mr. Torian.” Costa sits behind a grand oak desk in a cream woolen sweater, smiling enough to make deep wrinkles around his eyes.
Two men—his sons—flank him in black suits, their posture stiff, faces blank. Even if I hadn’t done my research, it wouldn’t be hard to recognize the resemblance in the chiseled jawlines and tightly pressed lips.
“It’s good to see you again.” The old man beams. “You were a child the last time I laid eyes on you.”
I keep my mouth shut, unable to reciprocate the civility, and focus my attention on a younger man seated on what looks to be a dining chair at the left side of the desk, facing me.
There’s no natural light in here. The curtains are drawn. But I can clearly see the fear emanating from the guy as his leg jolts a frantic rhythm. This fucker has guilt written all over his pockmarked face.
“Let me introduce you.” Costa reclaims my attention, sliding backward in his plush office chair to pivot to the left, waving a hand at the raven-haired man behind him. “This is my oldest boy, Salvatore.”
He swings in the other direction, indicating the son with lighter features, dark blond hair. “And Remy.”
Both men are roughly my age, the spite in their eyes matching my own. They’re battle ready. I may not be able to glimpse a weapon but I’m sure they’re locked and loaded under their designer suit jackets.
“Enough with the pleasantries.” I return my stare to Emmanuel. “Where are my niece and brother?”
“Your brother?” He raises a brow. “Interesting. I wasn’t aware your father had another child.”
“Where are they?” I add vehemence to my tone.
“There’s no need to rush. We have a lot to discuss.” He indicates one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. “Sit. Please. These unfortunate circumstances could work out to be an exciting opportunity for us all.”
My palms heat, the building sweat the first sign of my waning restraint. “I have no time for exciting opportunities. My sister is beside herself with worry. And those kids must be—”
“Those kids have had a wonderful time. And I told you there was nothing to concern yourself with. We’re all family here. Now sit.”
Burning animosity claims me. Heat lashes my neck. Cheeks. Throat.
“Sit.” His smile fades, his psychotic jubilation simmering. “While I have you here, I want to discuss some business I had with your father.”
“I’m not discussing anything until I see those kids.” I stride forward, grabbing the top of the chair he’s trying so hard to get me into, the leather squeaking beneath my harsh grip. “Not a damn fucking thing, old man.”
He sighs. “As you wish.” He glances over his shoulder to Remy. “Take him to see the children. Make it quick.”
The son jerks his chin in acknowledgement and strides around the desk to the office door. I stalk after him, following back down the hall, past the kitchen.
“Wait here.” He continues up the stairs to walk from view.
The eerie silence returns, the open and close of a door in the distance the only sound. None of this makes sense. Costa is far too calm and collected. There’s no malice. And the fatherly act grates on my nerves.
The door opens again bringing numerous sets of footfalls. Heavy ones.
A hulking guard comes into view at the top landing. Another passes, descending to the bottom of the stairs. Then Remy escorts an older lady, two surprised kiddie faces peeking out from around her waist.
She must be Emmanuel’s crazy-ass wife.
“Uncle Cole?” Stella’s eyes widen before she rushes down the steps.
My relief is suffocating. I grin at her, dropping to a knee as she runs into my arms.
“I was so worried.” Her arms squeeze around my neck, tight enough to stifle circulation.
“I know, princess.” I return the hug, resting my head against hers. “But everything is all right. You’re safe.”
She clings tighter, refusing to let go.
“Did anyone hurt you?” I whisper in her ear. “Are you okay?”
“I have a big bruise on my stomach.” She leans back, meeting my gaze. “And my head is sore.”
My veins surge with the searing need for retaliation.
“That didn’t happen on our watch.” Remy makes his way down the stairs, passing the guard. “They’ve been looked after since arriving here.”
Stella nods, but the confirmation doesn’t lessen my struggle. That fucker in the office hurt her. Bruised her. What else did he do while she was unconscious?
“I understand what you’re thinking,” the older woman adds from the upper level. “And I assure you there’s nothing to worry about. I would stake my life on it.”
How the fuck would she know? She better not have examined my niece.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Cole.” Stella cups my cheeks. “My stomach hurts a little, but I’m okay.”
She calms me the slightest bit, only enough to stop me seeing red.
“And how about Tobias?” I guide Stella to my side and reach for my half-brother who slowly walks toward us. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” His gaze seeks Remy’s, as if in approval.
The man doesn’t react.
Pressure builds inside my skull. Someone has to pay for what’s been done. Someone here, within these walls. “Do you have any bruises?”
Tobias shrugs. Once. Succinct. “Mine aren’t as bad as Stella’s.”
“And Emmanuel has taken good care of you?”
They both nod, not needing encouragement from the man’s son to make their decision. Not that the lack of prodding makes their response genuine. It merely means it’s possible they were trained prior to my arrival.
“It’s time for us to get back to the office,” Remy instructs. “We’ve got a lot to discuss. Tobias why don’t you take Stella back upstairs to play for a while?”
Both children look at me with widening eyes. It isn’t fear exactly. There’s surprise. Followed by heartfelt disappointment.
“I want to go home.” Stella grabs my hand, entwining her small fingers with mine. “They’ve been nice, but I don’t want to stay any longer.”
I raise my
gaze to Emmanuel’s son. “You heard her. It’s time to go.”
The guy smiles, the curve of his lips contrasting with his harsh eyes. “I insist.” He slides a hand beneath his jacket, making a barely subtle move for his gun.
The guards do the same.
Fucking pricks.
At least they’re not obvious enough to upset the children.
“Fine. I’ll give you a few minutes.” I untangle my fingers from Stella’s.
“Wait.” Tobias dives for me, wrapping his arms around my neck to snuggle close in an unexpected show of affection. He’s not a clingy kid. He’s barely touched me since I found out about his existence in Greece, so having him bury his face in my neck is a fucking shock.
“They’re not good people,” he murmurs in my ear. “They didn’t hurt us, but they’re not good people.”
I stiffen and force myself to wrap my arms around his shoulders, the reciprocated affection the only acknowledgement I can give as the adults scrutinize us. “I miss you, too, kiddo.”
“Come on now.” Remy jerks his chin toward the stairs. “Go back to your room and play for a while.”
“It’s okay, children.” The older woman coos from above. “We can start another game of Candyland.”
Stella remains hesitant while Tobias releases me, slowly inching backward.
“Go.” I nod. “Don’t worry.”
I battle an invisible army as they reluctantly walk side by side to the guard at the bottom of the stairs. I’m thrumming with the need to act. To fucking slaughter. The compulsion for revenge makes goose bumps break out along my arms. But I keep myself in check and push to my feet, not saying a word as they climb the steps to meet the woman at the top.
“My father isn’t a patient man,” Remy warns.
A plethora of my own subtle threats bite at the tip of my tongue, demanding to be heard. I swallow their bitter taste and glare before making my way back through the living room, down the hall, to the office, finding Emmanuel in the same place behind the desk. Salvatore has remained at his side, the jittery fucker still anxiously pulsing his foot against the floor.
“I told you they would be well looked after.” Emmanuel’s face lights with sickening enthusiasm. “They have been a delight for me and my wife to spend time with. We’re yet to be blessed with grandchildren. So our hearts have been warmed by this act of fate.”
I breathe through my temper. I clench my teeth against the possessive violence inside me.
Emmanuel is fucking insane if he isn’t unsettled by the current situation. He has no clue what I’m capable of. Or if he does, he’s too maniacal to care.
Either way, he’ll soon learn.
“Is this the man responsible?” I glower at the young guy who repositions himself in the wooden chair. “Did you steal them from my home?”
He doesn’t respond as I stalk forward, sidestepping the leather seats to stop before him. “Are you the one who bruised their skin?”
His mouth opens, closes, opens again. He’s a pathetic gaping fish, gulping for air.
“Yes,” Emmanuel answers. “This is Jordan. I assure you he’s remorseful for his actions. And accepts whatever punishment necessary.”
Whatever punishment? I scoff.
No, he would never accept if he knew what was going through my head. Instead, he’d run, and so he should.
“How did you do it?” I snarl, discreetly scanning my surroundings. I take in any potential weapon within reach, every glint of metal, every sharp, pointed object.
He shakes his head. “I just did what Robert told me to do. We timed your guards. We knew when we could slip in and out unnoticed. It wasn’t hard.”
His confession is a lethal hit to my pride.
He stole from me. Easily. Without concern.
“And their bruises? If the crime against me wasn’t hard, then I assume hurting those kids was intentional.”
He glances to Emmanuel.
“Look at me, asshole.” I grab his chin, wrenching his attention back to mine. “Why were they hurt?”
“I-I dropped the girl while trying to climb over your wall.” He frantically shakes his head. “It was an accident. I never meant to—”
“It wasn’t an accident to abduct them. So what did Robert plan to do with them?”
He keeps shaking his head. “I don’t know. I swear I have no idea.”
“Were you aware he was a rapist? A human trafficker?” I get closer, right in his face as I dig my fingertips into his jaw. “Did you even spare a single thought to what could’ve been done to them?”
There’s no response.
“You stole from me,” I grit through clenched teeth. “You handed over two of the most valued people in my life to a man capable of unfathomable atrocities, and you don’t even have the balls to answer me?”
The whites of his eyes increase. His shaking doubles.
“Did you kill their nanny?”
“No.” He reaches for the edge of the desk, clinging tight. “I didn’t kill her. I just injected her with some—”
I lunge for the metal letter opener partially hidden under the stack of papers on Emmanuel’s desk, twisting it in my palm before stabbing it into the top of his hand, straight through to the wood beneath.
Jordan yells, the sound vibrating off the walls before I slam my palm over his mouth.
I press harder and harder, until his suffering is nothing more than smothered whimpers. “You killed her. She was barely an adult herself and you gave her a lethal dose.”
Moisture fills his eyes as he frantically attempts to dislodge the weapon pinning him.
“You’re struggling.” I narrow my gaze. “Let me help.”
He stops. I’m not sure why. Maybe he senses my delight at his suffering and the barely leashed hunger for more.
The best part is that Emmanuel doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t attempt to stop me. For all the wrongs he’s done, the silence from him and his sons is a start toward atonement.
“Please,” Jordan begs under my palm. “I’m sorry.”
I nod, removing my grip from his mouth. “I’m sure you are. Did you even know who you were messing with when you agreed to work with Robert?”
“No. I just thought you were some rich business guy. I thought—”
I tug the letter opener from its pinned place in the desk, releasing his blood-covered hand.
“Shh.” I place a finger to my lips as he whimpers. “You wouldn’t want to scare those children again. They’ve been through enough.”
The first tear falls down his cheek while he sniffs back the dribble from his nose. “I’m sorry, man. You’ve gotta believe me.”
“Don’t worry. I do.” I wipe the carnage from the letter opener onto his pants, and he tenses. “You made a mistake you’ll never repeat.”
He nods. “I promise I won’t. I’ll never do anything to you. I’ll never even—”
“I know you won’t.” I keep holding his gaze, devouring his fear, letting it sink deep into my chest to soothe my anger. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
I launch the letter opener at his temple.
His eyes widen. His mouth drops.
My pulse thunders as I pierce the metal blade through skin, then bone.
He shudders, then slackens, his entire body turning limp. Dead.
For a few heartbeats, there’s nothing but deafening silence. Pure, euphoric revenge. Until the drip, drip, drip of his blood begins to pool on the carpet.
Still, there’s no response from anyone in the room as I jiggle the weapon free and wipe my fingerprints from the shiny metal with the handkerchief in my pocket.
“I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your letter opener.” I meet Emmanuel’s gaze as I return the weapon to its original place on the desk. I’d wanted to see fear reflected in his features. At the least, I expected trepidation. But he lacks emotion. All of them do.
“That was unfortunate,” he murmurs. “I would’ve appreciated if his mistake wasn’
t punished with something as barbaric as death, but I understand the reputation you must need to uphold.”
Unfortunate?
He’s not intimidated by me at all. Or at the very least, he’s fucking good at not showing it.
“Boys, drag Jordan into the bathroom. He’s an unnecessary distraction, and I don’t want the blood to settle into the carpet.”
His sons round the table, undeterred as they grab the chair and carry the body from the room, smearing a trail of carnage along the way.
“That’s better.” Emmanuel holds my attention through the removal. “Now, we can finally talk.”
“What’s to talk about?” I try not to scramble even though my options are narrowing.
“Our future.” He smiles, mischief lighting his eyes. “And the things we can achieve if we work together. Would you like a coffee or maybe some tea? We might be here a while.”
After what I just did, I’m surprised this fucker is offering me a beverage. He knows I don’t want anything other than those kids. At a close second, I want this psychopath to drop the joker grin and level with me.
“Please take a seat, Cole. This is important. I wouldn’t hold you up if it wasn’t.”
I stroll to the front of the chair, sit, and lean back to cross my feet at the ankles, ignoring the deep red staining the carpet in my periphery. “Start talking.”
He claps his hands together in delight. “Now, as I’ve mentioned numerous times, your father and I were once close friends.”
“Drifting apart from him is common. He hasn’t kept in touch with many people since moving to Greece. Myself included.”
“That’s what I’m told.” He nods. “Among other things…”
He’s alluding to insight. To secrets.
I don’t bite. Not even a fucking nibble.
“When we were close,” he continues, “we had many plans to align our families. Combining my legitimate empire with your…” He frowns as if attempting to find the right word.
“Lucrative one?” I drawl.
He chuckles. “Criminal was the description I was looking for. We discussed in detail how my reputable imports were a great way for your family to smuggle product into the country—either what you already specialize in, or something more diverse. And the strength of my distribution channels has only increased with my business’s success.”