Page 1 of Masked Hearts

Prologue

Blacksilksheetsdrapeover his well-built, yet old body. The years have taken their toll, but his body has fought back. It shows with the way his muscles still appear to be carved in stone, but the air of aged skin has settled on his face and the way his hair looks like a mess of salt and pepper.

He lights up a cigarette, the same way he always does after sex, as he draws the young woman into his side.

Her gorgeous, long, black hair trails down her back and slowly blends into the sheets, long lashes fluttering open as she stares up at him adoringly.

The room is dark and dimly lit, a vain attempt to keep the sins committed in this room a secret from the rest of the world. A loud crack of lightning erupts just outside the windows, illuminating the room and putting every inch of it on perfect display for a split second. Bodies intertwined, clothes sprawled on the floor, and smoke filling the room.

He clears his throat as if about to speak, but instead takes another drag of his cigarette. “These Vitales are starting to insult me with their futile attempts at negotiation. Especially since I haven’t spoken to the man who killed my brother yet,” he croaks out as smoke fills the room. “I want a more drastic approach taken. I will not have my family andLe Milieube taken for a joke by a few silly men in expensive suits.”

“What are you going to do?” she whispers in a seductive tone as she runs a nail along his defined chest.

“I’ll have Kylian find out where they’re hiding him. If I have to speak to this Ambrose person one more time, I’ll blow their entire fucking building to shreds.”

“That’ll spark a war with theCosa Nostra,” she responds, as if trying to bring reality back to the man’s vision.

“I’m well aware of the implications, that is why I want them to findhim,the source of all of my problems.”

“Well good news,” she perks up, “I heard a few whispers that he’s in Mauritius.”

He looks down at her. To most, the look could be considered adoring. But it was far from it—it was purely lust-filled and selfish. This woman before him became his greatest source of intel, and all he had to do was spare a few thousand euros in order to keep her happy and sated. He takes an exaggerated inhale of his cigarette, blowing the smoke up into the air.

“Onn’est jamais mieux que chez soi.”He kills what’s left of the cigarette and sits upright, pushing her off his chest, staring blankly ahead as if possessed with a new sense of purpose. Grabbing his phone, he dials a number and places the call on speaker.

“Hmm?” Kylian’s voice fills the room.

“He's in Mauritius, bring him in.”

He ends the call without any further words and slumps back, quickly pulling the woman back into his chest.

“What are your plans once you get him here?” she asks as he places a kiss against her forehead.

“Say nothing of this to anyone, especially not to Theresa,” he says.

“Theá? You said this wouldn’t involve her.” She sits upright, breaking out of his grasp.

“Eleanor, dear, this is a family matter, and whatever transpires further does not concern you. If Theresa chooses to confide in you, that will be the extent of your involvement, but I expect a full run down should the information she shares become useful.”

Her eyes widen as if the reality of the situation finally dawns on her. “But-but you said–”

“That I love you? I do, sweet Eleanor, but your love for money and attention is what keeps you coming back. Your loyalty is of little value to me, I’m sure you can understand that it is for that reason the extent to which you are involved is limited.”

She exhales deeply, settling back down in the bed. “When are you going to tell her?”

“I will tell her once the negotiations are started. In the meantime, business as usual, make sure you keep an eye and ear out for Pierre.”

Chapter one

Antonio

Thisishowdishonestyand betrayal starts. Not in big lies, but in small secrets. Small moments of withholding just enough information for it to be believable. Withholding just enough that the lie being told is almost as believable as the truth itself. Being able to wear the ever perfect mask that makes almost anything I say believable.

“You have to trust me,” I say, looking into the webcam of my laptop. “I know the markets have been rocky lately, especially after what happened with Adriano, but have I ever advised you incorrectly before?”

Lies.

I rub my palms against my black slacks beneath the table as they become increasingly sweaty.

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