I bring up a few more file backups, the camera in my office that only sometimes stays on. Usually, for meetings, I shut it down. No need for video evidence of some of my activities, or anything that Kai or the others might organize in my name.
Thankfully, a file shows for the date she left, and I quickly open it, fast-forwarding to the time which matches the hallway file leading into the office.
It shows her entering the office, flipping on the light, and doing a quick scan of her surroundings. All perfectly normal, until she steps around my desk to study the pictures I keep on a shelf.
For a moment, I glance over my shoulder at the frames and then back at the screen. What made her stop and inspect these? Why now, why today?
I lean in to watch closely. She goes over the pictures one at a time, her fingers trailing over the images. I wish I could see her face and know what she was thinking, but all I can see is her back and her hand from the angle of the camera.
There’s a pause as her hand hovers over one of the frames. Then she picks it up and studies it closely, holding it near her face like she’s trying to memorize it. Just as quickly, she drops it and races from the room.
I turn and scan the shelf from top to bottom. One picture is missing. I find it on the floor, the glass over the image cracked. It’s the shot of my mother and me when I was just a boy, taken very shortly before she disappeared.
Why did this upset her? Did she realize it was my mother and me? Why would that make her run as if she’d seen a ghost?
I set the frame gently back on the shelf, making a note to replace the broken frame. Maybe she thought I’d be upset because she broke the frame with that particular picture. I’d hope she’d know me by now, to know that despite my temper, I wouldn’t punish her for such an accident.
I stare at the frame a little longer and then spin to face the camera feed again. Now I have more questions and still no answers.
It’s time my angel answers for her actions. I’ve let her rest from her ordeals long enough.
I flip the light off on my way back into the hall and run right into someone shrouded in the shadows.
The little gasp of pain she lets out tells me it’s Andrea. I release her wrists, which I’d grabbed to keep from her toppling from our impact.
She puts a few feet of distance between us. Even in the dark, I can see the yellowing bruises on her skin. She’s wearing a dark-colored robe—purple?—cinched tight from throat to toes, yet she still tries to pull her hair over her shoulder to hide her face.
I hold up my hands in surrender, so she knows I won’t touch her again. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Stop it. Don’t speak to me like an invalid.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to bite back at her tone, but I know she’s hurting, and I don’t kick my men when they are down. If striking out at me makes her feel better, I can take that for her and let her use it to heal. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
She stiffens, a shaft of light cutting across her bandaged knuckles. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m just going to the kitchen to get a drink.”
All my men have apartments, or houses, elsewhere. But they all also have rooms here in the penthouse to use at their will. My five are the only ones who can come and go without special permission. “I’ll walk with you.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t need a babysitter. It’s just a drink.”
My patience only goes so far. I step closer and lean in. “Watch your tone, Andrea. I know you need to heal and that you don’t need to be coddled, but I’ll only put up with so much abuse before I bite back. And I always bite to kill.”
She ducks her chin. Submission has never been in her nature, and it hurts so badly to see it there now.
“Are you ready to tell me who I’ll eviscerate for hurting you?” She, like Valentina, hasn’t shared a single detail about her attackers or the attack. So far, the only information I’d gleaned was from the doctor’s medical report. And even then, it took some persuading to make him hand it over.
“Not yet. I’m not going to talk about it yet.” Her voice is thready, and her tone rushed.
If I thought she’d held her tongue so she could hunt these men down herself, I might let it stand. As of now, though, she hasn’t made a move to leave the penthouse once in the days after her attack. Worse, she won’t come to the meetings, nor will she let anyone help her outside of the care I insist on by the doctor.