Page 133 of Seeking Vengeance

A goddamn Costa.

I will the sickening disgust to the back of my mind, trying not to acknowledge how I fell for a man who shares the same DNA as my daughter’s abductors. My husband’s murderers.

There’ll be enough time to hate myself for it later.

Right now, there’s too much adrenaline to think, the hormone acting like venom in my veins.

I want to hurt him. To drag the vial of cyanide hidden in my jeans pocket and throw the powder in his face. But whenever I picture his death, the only sensation to consume me is regret.Suffering.

I’d loved him.

I’d adored and admired every part of that man and now every memory is tainted and twisted by lies.

I open the door a crack as another one slams on the other side of the penthouse.

More shouting follows, but this time the voices aren’t raised in anger. Matthew’s tone holds frustration. Panic. And it’s Bishop’s responding aggression that brushes my ears as I inch the door wider.

“That little asshole is running back to Emmanuel as we speak,” Matthew yells. “They’re going to come after her.”

I take the news with a sharp breath.

I need to get out of here. To grab my cell from the coffee table and leave.

“What did you expect?” Bishop mutters. “And isn’t that why you got involved? You couldn’t let her be a target on her own, you had to pin a bull’s-eye on our backs, too.”

Matthew growls a reply too low to understand. A threat? A warning?

I pull the door wide enough to slip into the hall, cautiously wheeling my suitcase in delicately slow increments along the carpet behind me, the knife in my free hand.

I hold my breath with each step toward the conversation, the growing thunder of my pulse in my ears making it harder to hear.

Lorenzo’s name is spoken. Others’, too. Men I’m not familiar with.

“What are the options?” Bishop asks. “How confident are you of an outcome?”

“My only confidence comes from knowing Emmanuel won’t let this slide. He’ll do to her what he did to Grace. And not just Layla, but Stella, too.”

I gasp.

“Layla?” Matthew calls out.

Shit. Shit.Shit.

“Layla.”

This time my name is a command. An impatient warning.

I straighten my shoulders and raise my chin as I continue into view.

The two men stand at the dining table. Tall. Commanding. Aggressive.

Matthew has the sense to look somewhat apologetic beneath the frustration tightening his features. But Bishop, like always, isn’t welcoming.

He gives me a dismissive glance before returning his attention to the man who deceived me. “What are we going to do?”

Matthew ignores him and starts toward me. “Good, you’re dressed. We’ve got a big day ahead.” He speaks as if things between us are normal. As if he hasn’t pummeled the walls of our relationship and left the bricks to fall upon me.

“Don’t,” I warn. “Don’t you dare come near me.”

---