“What’s up?” I ask, marching into Cyrus’s firelit office.
“Have you talked to your brother recently?” The question hits me like a cannonball in the chest. That was the last thing I was expecting to hear.
I stop in my tracks and glare over at my Irish friend. “Why?” I growl, immediately on edge.
Cyrus wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s clearly not completely sober yet, but I am. “Why!?” I repeat, louder this time.
Dante’s been out of sight and out of mind all this time, and for good reason. He already was out of the country when shit hit the fan, and that seems like enough for whoever is behind this mess. Despite all of my men disappearing, and the battle with old snakeskin boots outside of Catalina’s burning hometown, there haven’t been any attempts on my life, which is more than I can say most of the time, and I can only assume that the same can be said for my little brother.
But you know what they say about assumptions...
As far as I know, Dante’s been safe, surrounded by the security detail he left the country with. I’ve sent out messages to them, telling them what’s happening and imploring them to assure me they’re okay, but I’ve never gotten a response.
That doesn’t worry me. It’s typical from Dante and his team. They usually hole themselves up somewhere exotic and forget the world even exists—until they run out of money or booze or girls, then they come running home to make a mockery of my life.
I’ve made sure they won’t go home this time, though. I’ve set up markers and messages that will warn them away when they finally decide to exit from their haze. They’ll be fine, and like I said, I’m not worried.
Or, at least, I wasn’t worried.
“It’s just these records,” Cyrus mumbles, flipping through his phone. “Dante’s name keeps coming up, but I can’t tell why.”
“Send me those fucking records!” I growl.
“I already have.”
“I furrow my brow and check my phone. Sure enough, I have a flurry of new emails, all stacked to the brim with information. Why didn’t I notice them come in?
You were distracted with Cat...
“Do you think Enzo is threatening my brother?” I ask, slowly filling up with fury, before another thought almost makes me explode. “Does he have my brother!?”
I go to punch the nearest wall but I stop myself just before my fist can make contact. “I’ve tried to reach that little brat,” I curse, exasperated. “But he never fucking answers. You’d think, for someone who likes his independence so much, he’d be all for a little responsibility; make some money of his own so he doesn’t need to answer to me while he’s away. But no, he’s got to take and take and then fucking disappear... and maybe right into the arms of a fucking shadow that’s trying to destroy me and my family and everything I’ve ever worked for!”
Cyrus lets me vent, but I can tell that I’m just speeding up his hangover. “I’ll take a look at these myself; you go to bed.” I tell him.
He looks relieved to be let off the hook, but his natural loyalty doesn’t seem to want to let him go. “I’ll help,” he mumbles, sitting back in his chair. “It’s your brother we’re talking about, after all.”
28
Catalina
The chamber door creaks open and I roll over in bed, eager to feel Angel’s touch on my skin again. I’m exhausted, but our eruption of passion at the pub has me restless. I want more. I want him.
“Come to bed,” I groan, my face half shoved in my pillow.
“Tempting offer,” comes an unfamiliar voice. A chill runs down my spine. “But I think I’ll have to take you with me instead.”
Before I can scream, an icy hand wraps around my mouth. I try to bite down, I try to squirm out of the iron grip, but it’s no use; I’m trapped. The bedroom is dark, but it somehow gets even darker as heavy fumes seep into my flared nostrils.
Angel! Help me!
My mind screams for him, but my voice is weak and my cries are stifled. Slowly, I blink into unconsciousness, dragged into the darkness by cold unfamiliar hands.
29
Angel
I sit back in the office chair and a beam of sunlight’s smacks me across the face.