Page 37 of Her Convict Wolf

“Yes. I’ve been speaking to my FBI handler on an encrypted line. The meeting in a small town. The place is under heavy guard.”

“Okay,” I say. That gives me a measure of relief at least. “Be careful, my angel. If you feel in your gut like anything is wrong—anything at all—you get out of there. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“And, I love you more.”

* * *

It’sdark by the time I pull up in front of the Manzoni family compound. A sprawling mansion surrounded by fifteen-foot walls and an electric fence. Almost impossible to breach. I park in a side street and walk over to the front entrance. Police tape crisscrosses the gates. The property is empty now. Seized by the FBI. According to an article thatSiriread to me when I was driving, the government plans to sell it, in order to compensate the family’s victims.

I listen hard. It’s all quiet within. I walk a loop around the perimeter wall. There’s a guard or two, probably some civilian security officers. Nothing I can’t handle. I return to the front gate, shift for superior speed and agility, and I’m up in seconds. The electric fence is still activated, and it emits an angry buzz as I leap over it. Clinging to the shadows of the lavish grounds, I evade three different guards, patrolling around the property. They look professional, in decent shape, for humans at least. But they’re no match for my animal.

I know all the mansion’s weak points. The first thing I did when I started working there was assess them all and make sure they were suitably protected. I locate the grate that conceals an entrance to the basement. I smile. It hasn’t changed since I was last here. I haul it up and drop down ten feet into the basement. It’s a storage space, and at the far end of the space is a heavily-protected door, with a passcode access. Her father’s major weakness was his arrogance, and I remember he wasn’t too careful with his passwords. I dredge up all the numbers that used to be important to him. It only takes five tries before I hit the jackpot—the date that he reached the age of twenty-one and became head of the family business. I shake my head. At least he took the precaution of reversing the numbers.

As I creep through the house, memories blast through me. I remember the pride I felt when I first became his bodyguard. The sickening feeling when I realized how corrupt he really was. And the joy of spending time with Emory—his innocent little daughter. So pure, so full of curiosity about the world—a world I thought she’d never get to enjoy.

Well, now she’s mine, and I’m going to make sure she has every pleasure that life can bring. We can travel the world together. Hike the Amazon, visit the polar bears, go see the aurora borealis. Every last thing she wants.

The kitchen door is wide open, and a heat floods to my crotch as I remember all those naughty fantasies of hers. Now they’re a reality, because the adult Emory is my girl.

I take the grand staircase, two at a time. Along the corridor, onto the third story, then I locate a pulldown ladder and climb up into an attic.

It’s real dusty up there. It hasn’t been accessed in years. I suspect Manzoni may not even have known about it. It’s not the kind of thing he would have given a damn about. There’s a bunch of Emory’s old toys. I remember the rocking horse, the little car she used to drive by peddling her little legs, and the tent covered in pink unicorns.

At the back, I find it—a simple wooden box. There’s something important in here. Something she needs to know about. Her mom once told me that if anything ever happened to her, I should look after it and give it to Emory when she was twenty-one. I promised her I would, and I intended to keep that promise. But when her father fired me, I had to choose between going to find the box and saying goodbye to Emory, and I chose the latter. I’ll never know if I made the right decision.

The lid is locked with a heavy padlock, but I break it open with my claws.

It’s packed with notebooks. Diaries, I realize. I pull out the one to the far right, heart beating faster, and leaf through to the final page. It’s written in a faint, shaky scrawl.

I don’t have much time left. He’s killing me slowly. I accept my fate. I made my bed when I married into this evil family. I only pray that someone will look out for my little girl. I trust Maxim. He’s been so good to her. But Franco never keeps his staff for long…

There are two more lines that I can’t make out.

My head swims, and I sit down heavily on the floor.

The official story was that Emory’s mom was sick. But it sounds like her father was… poisoning her?

I leaf through the diary impatiently.

He knows I tried to leave him

Says one, dated three months earlier.

I think it’s in my food. Every time I eat, I get so dizzy and nauseous

Says another.

I close my eyes. I know Manzoni is the scum of the earth. But, his own wife!?

My beast unleashes a roar.

He killed my girl’s mother. This just got a lot more personal.

I pack up the box again. Then I cast around, looking at Emory’s old toys. So many sweet reminders of her childhood. Which should I take with me? Emory loved all her possessions. Despite her father’s wealth, she wasn’t a spoiled kid, at all. She appreciated everything that was given to her.

We can give them to our kids.

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