Page 8 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

“Did you recognize either of them?” I ask.

“They weren’t on our flight,” Armstrong confirms. “We hadn’t seen them before they came out of the crowd, and it didn’t seem like they were moving from the direction of any gate.”

“Are they American then?” I ask, more confused than ever. Why the fuck would Americans be furious at Fantasia? Then I remember she had Achilles fly all the way here to take a hostage from another mafia family and reconsider my doubts. The woman actually has quite the talent for angering people on a global scale.

“Nah, not American,” Barnes says with a headshake. “They were wearing the colors of the Crowes.” At my blink, he gestures to his empty breast pocket. “They all keep handkerchiefs here, white with a stripe of gold in the middle. They’re an old Irish family.”

“What the hell did Fantasia do to make them mad enough to chase her all the way here?” I ask, morbidly fascinated.

Disappointingly, Barnes and Armstrong both shrug. “No idea,” Barnes says. “To my knowledge, they keep to themselves. They rarely leave Dublin, much less maintain connections outside Ireland. I can’t imagine how or why she would have any dealings with them.”

I notice then that both Barnes and Armstrong avoid saying Fantasia’s name. I suppose she does outrank them on a technicality, even if she is in exile, so they wouldn’t refer to her by her first name. Perhaps they're having a hard time calling her Miss Warwick since I'm technically Mr. Warwick. It probably feels too much like we're married. Not that it matters. Not that I’ve thought about it.

Or maybe it’s a show of contempt, considering she was very recently their enemy.

Achilles assured me he picked men for this long term assignment who were interested in emigration to the States, who had no strong personal ties in England, and who also had very mild personalities. But I imagine the most even-tempered person would still find Fantasia’s abrasiveness difficult to stomach over time.

Despite the fact that this job is a temporary one, it could take Fantasia more than a year to complete the rehabilitation program Achilles has arranged for her. Who knows how long it will take before she even accepts speaking to a therapist, much less improves enough to be left on her own without fear of relapsing or… otherwise hurting herself.

I flash back to Fantasia’s bedroom, the heat of her body and the disappearing inches between us. I tried to move too fast. She’s only just arrived in the country she’s been exiled to, and she’s already been the target of an attack by strangers. As much as I want to shut the two of us in a room until we’ve worked through every one of our issues, I need to remember how stubborn, and at the same time, how brittle Fantasia is.

If I push too hard, she will break, and the week she spent feverish and raving in Wesley Hall will look like a tea party.

I sigh heavily and run a hand through my hair. “I’ll call Achilles and tell him about this,” I say. I should be the one to let him know where I am anyway. He won’t be happy, about the attackormy presence in Raleigh, but I need to at least try to talk him through it.

I can only hope it will take the police time to discover Armstrong and Barnes’s real identities when reviewing the camera footage from the airport. There were dozens of witnesses who’ll be able to describe their appearance, and they’ll be traced back to their flight and country of origin easily enough. But as members of the Ashwood mafia family, and with a boss as competent and thorough as Achilles, there are layers of protections that keep these men from having to follow the same rules as ordinary citizens. It’s how they were able to board our plane fully armed to begin with.

It’s entirely possible the police will discover their identities only to realize their hands are fully tied. Then they’ll hopefully turn their attention to the men who started this whole thing in the first place.

To the mysterious Crowes.

Chapter 5

Fantasia

The half hour I take to compose myself doesn’t feel like nearly enough time. My skin is feverishly hot in every place Piers’s fingers touched me, even after I splash cold water over my face and neck. My own hands trace and retrace his path over my face, sending sparks down my nerves every time. I feel more unstable now than I did running from gunmen in the airport.

I hate this. I hate that Piers has this power over me, even now. He didn’t kiss me on the lips, but I’m blushing hard enough that even my collarbone feels hot.

It would be better to stay in my room until Piers finally gets bored enough to leave, but somehow I don’t expect I’ll get that lucky. Does he plan to stay here himself? In what room, with me in the master suite and Barnes and Armstrong taking the other two? Will he be satisfied crashing on the couch? For how long?

What the hell was his goal in coming all the way here?

It can’t just be that he wants to know why I ordered Achilles to kill him, surely. I meant it when I told him it doesn’t matter now. I’m powerless and an ocean away. At least I would’ve been if he hadn’t followed me. I pose no threat to him now.

My fingers curl on the edge of the sink, squeezing so hard my knuckles go white.

Is he just here to gloat? Was kissing me part of some ridiculous attempt to humiliate me?

This is why I can’t hide up here. I need these answers, and I need to stand my ground until Piers gives them to me. I won’t let him haunt me for another year, not when I’m not even allowed a glass of wine to dull my awareness of him.

Straightening to my fullest height and raising my chin to an imperious angle, I leave my room and go in search of Piers.

A quick peruse of the second floor tells me he’s not here. I’ve yet to explore the third floor, which is probably attic space and perhaps more rooms that can be used for offices, but I doubt I’ll find him there. Instead, I try the downstairs.

Before I even hit the bottom step, I hear his voice coming from the den, quick and agitated. I slow my steps, hanging back just outside the threshold of the door.

“I’m not going to apologize for going behind your back,” Piers says firmly. “I did it because I knew you’d interfere, and I was right.”

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